“Blue,” he says, without needing to think. She’s not leaving with any of them but he’ll stand on the other side of a change room door and contemplate it. “Red?”
"We'll try one of each," she says. They're in no rush to get back. Either Joshua will be home, or he'll still be out. She picks through the racks for a matching set she thinks will fit her. Really, she has no idea.
“Is that allowed?” he asks dubiously, glancing around. When his gaze comes back to her, there’s a trace of slyness there: he knows what she’s doing, and he thinks he knows why, even if he’s too shy to admit it.
"Then you'll help me," Jill concludes. He does need to feel needed, after all.
She does not think she will be leaving this shop with swimwear, but this is already fun. One more glance around them to make sure the coast is clear, and she guides Clive to a fitting room.
He steps ahead of her, elbowing the door open and setting the bags on the floor. He keeps an arm on the door, ready to close it behind her, eyes up and alert.
Clive leans back against the wall, the metal cool on his shoulder blades. He watches her with the smallest smile, musing on how even the silliest of moments with her can break through the weight on his shoulders. How he likes to be swept up with her.
"They didn't see us," he says. "Take your time."
He watches the strip of flesh between her shirt buttons widen in a way that he hopes is polite, but watching someone change is watching someone change. Will he ever tire of watching her?
She certainly won't ever tire of him watching her. She slips out of her skirt before setting it aside. Without hesitation, her bra follows. She supposes the panties stay, given the repeated signs and the little sticker on the crotch of the bikini bottoms.
"This is tiny," she mutters, pulling the bottoms on. The blue material is far smaller than her panties, held in place by ties on either side.
She turns to look at her bum in the mirror. Her entire cheek would be exposed if not for her underwear. Let alone the front!
He's seen her tits time and time again, but under the harsh fitting room light and in such close proximity, he feels like a teenaged boy again, catching a glimpse of something he isn't supposed to be privy to. Having her stand mostly-bared before him in such a small, hidden space demands patience until he's asked otherwise: he quietly holds his emptied cup between both hands so neither hand is free.
Clive swallows his breath anyway. Somehow, her underwear peeking out from under the bikini bottoms doubles the sensation: it's a stark reminder of what else he could be seeing.
"I like it more than I thought," he says, politely looking away from what he can see of her reflection –– long hair cascading down her back, the taper of her hips to a waist he can engulf with his hands –– and to the front. Just one little tug of his thumb and he could bare her cleft to his eyes. To his... get it together, Rosfield. He draws himself up a little more soberly. "But of course... inappropriate to go about in."
Jill means to test his patience. They may not be together, but she's comfortable wearing little to nothing around him. He knows her body well, as she knows his. She reaches for the bikini top and examines it before figuring out how to get her arms into the straps.
"Can you tie the back for me, Clive?" She asks, pulling her hair out of the way. Already she can tell the little blue triangles cover her nipples and little else. "I only wish to see how it looks."
"Of course," he says, stooping to set the cup down and bringing his face inches from her ass in the process. He stands up again, slowly, unsure if she would see him lingering in the mirror, and
He is, allegedly, good with knots, but the knot of a hunter with a length of rope turns out to be quite different from the delicate little bow of a bikini. He hunches over a little to see what he's doing, fingers moving clumsily over the slippery cord, nose hovering inches from the nape of her neck. He can see every little blemish down her back, every fine silver hair, but he has to look at this stupid blue cord.
He ties it snug in the worst bow known to mankind, knuckles brushing her skin, and when he withdraws he lets his fingertips skim her lower back. He glances at her through the mirror, over her shoulder. Meeting her eyes is tricky when he can see, peripherally, even her modest tits are barely contained.
The almost-touches are maddening. She wishes he'd just put his massive hands on her, claim her mouth for himself, but he's too gentle with her for that. She looks at herself in the mirror, curves and soft swells exposed while so little is left hidden. Jill takes a half step back, as if to see herself better in the mirror, but it just puts her flush against Clive.
She glances up at him and apologizes under her breath while not sounding at all sorry.
"I've seen lingere that covers more," she says. "I don't think I'd be comfortable with Joshua or Dion seeing me in something like this."
Her lower back ends up right against his groin, and he has to put his hands on her hips just to keep her from taking another step and really putting on the pressure. He ducks his head to the side so he can see the full length of her in the mirror. The bikini top tries valiantly to contain the pale underside of her breast, but it can't without her nipple peeking out. Her panties seem enormous under the narrow triangle of the bottoms. His thumbs settle on the ties.
"You can wear it in the bath at home," he says, just barely teasing, mouth settling just above her ear. "Or to our clubs..."
The bath at home? Where only a few walls separate them from Joshua? Absolutely not. To think that the clubs would be more appealing... still, she breathes out a laugh, leaning her shoulders back against him. Her ribs expand, doing nothing to help the position of the bikini top.
"Curious how it feels more revealing to be in this than entirely bare," she murmurs. She likes how they look in the mirror, openly admiring them both.
He nuzzles his cheek against the side of her head, scruff against the drawn-back curve of her bangs. She's much too slim to block his figure behind hers, especially undressed, and he braces himself once more against the wall of the change room so she can lean into his frame.
"It's to tempt me," he murmurs right back, voice low, and he dips his head briefly to press a kiss to the shell of her ear. His cock starts to strain against the taut fly of his jeans, and, undoubtedly, against her. He meets her eyes through the mirror again and he digs his thumbs in and tugs gently so the fabric pulls against her crotch, so he can see just how tight it is against her hidden flesh. "As I'm not supposed to see."
She leans against him and thinks she likes how it looks with the bikini tighter against her body. A shame she couldn't convince him to try anything on himself. Maybe next time, now that he sees what trying swim suits on might entail.
"What if I told you I planned on tempting you since we left the house?" Perhaps more of a hope than a plan. She's been content to hold him through the night, or be held if that's what he's needed, all tame.
"I'd be forced to contend with the idea that you are more conniving than you seem," he says, looking at the swell of her lips against the fabric, and then he can't resist -- he slides a hand along her bare hip and cups her, feeling her through both layers of fabric. He pets her with his fingertips and squeezes, rougher than he should but desperate to feel her. His other hand holds her against his hips.
There's a brief flash of teeth as she grins. Flattering words, from him. She holds onto his arm for some sense of balance and feels momentarily guilty--a thin pair of panties really is no protection against what Clive does to her.
She'll just have to purchase these bikini bottoms. So, there's no harm in pressing her body against his, never close enough for her satisfaction.
"I want a better memory than that book store." Which, in retrospect, isn't a good memory for her at all. One of the last good days when he was struggling. They're in a better place now.
He nods subtly, pressing a kiss to her temple, then back to her earlobe, his teeth just barely grazing them. He works his fingers against her, grinding the fabric against her, exploring the hidden contours of her with pressure alone. He watches the whole time, fixated on the sight of her soft, pale flesh around the tiny strip of fabric.
"They'll hear us," he warns. "We'll never be allowed back."
His other hand slides up to ruck the bikini right off her tits, the string taut against the fullness of her chest even as it fully fails to conceal her from his gaze.
She'd seen an ample amount of mirrors at the club, but she thinks she likes this better. Just them, in a tiny room, the large mirror before them displaying a pretty picture. How handsome he looks with his hands on her.
"They won't hear us if you keep quiet," she teases, voice low. There's a small bench, and Jill hopes it can support the weight of them both. "Sit, and I'll make sure of it."
Time to put that strength to use again once more, and feel her under him as he lifts her just enough to manoeuvre himself to the bench. He sits, settling her weight into his lap firmly, his legs splayed so he can drape hers over his, spreading them open. The bikini's narrow crotch could never hope to contain her lips; without her panties underneath, she'd hardly be hidden at all.
"A difficult task, looking at you like this," he mutters, but he can make silence work.
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He likes red.
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"We'll try one of each," she says. They're in no rush to get back. Either Joshua will be home, or he'll still be out. She picks through the racks for a matching set she thinks will fit her. Really, she has no idea.
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"Oh? You don't want to come in with me? There's room."
Not that she's scoped out this store previously, of course. Nor does she know the shopkeeper prefers to spend her time lounging in the backroom.
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"I can't be meant to tie the back of this top by myself," Jill reasons.
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She does not think she will be leaving this shop with swimwear, but this is already fun. One more glance around them to make sure the coast is clear, and she guides Clive to a fitting room.
At least he can put down all the bags.
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“Blue first?”
It doesn’t really matter.
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She glances at Clive, happy. This is fun.
"I'll be quick."
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"They didn't see us," he says. "Take your time."
He watches the strip of flesh between her shirt buttons widen in a way that he hopes is polite, but watching someone change is watching someone change. Will he ever tire of watching her?
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"This is tiny," she mutters, pulling the bottoms on. The blue material is far smaller than her panties, held in place by ties on either side.
She turns to look at her bum in the mirror. Her entire cheek would be exposed if not for her underwear. Let alone the front!
"This leaves very little to the imagination..."
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Clive swallows his breath anyway. Somehow, her underwear peeking out from under the bikini bottoms doubles the sensation: it's a stark reminder of what else he could be seeing.
"I like it more than I thought," he says, politely looking away from what he can see of her reflection –– long hair cascading down her back, the taper of her hips to a waist he can engulf with his hands –– and to the front. Just one little tug of his thumb and he could bare her cleft to his eyes. To his... get it together, Rosfield. He draws himself up a little more soberly. "But of course... inappropriate to go about in."
Of course.
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"Can you tie the back for me, Clive?" She asks, pulling her hair out of the way. Already she can tell the little blue triangles cover her nipples and little else. "I only wish to see how it looks."
One strong wave and it's all over, she thinks.
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He is, allegedly, good with knots, but the knot of a hunter with a length of rope turns out to be quite different from the delicate little bow of a bikini. He hunches over a little to see what he's doing, fingers moving clumsily over the slippery cord, nose hovering inches from the nape of her neck. He can see every little blemish down her back, every fine silver hair, but he has to look at this stupid blue cord.
He ties it snug in the worst bow known to mankind, knuckles brushing her skin, and when he withdraws he lets his fingertips skim her lower back. He glances at her through the mirror, over her shoulder. Meeting her eyes is tricky when he can see, peripherally, even her modest tits are barely contained.
"What do you think?"
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She glances up at him and apologizes under her breath while not sounding at all sorry.
"I've seen lingere that covers more," she says. "I don't think I'd be comfortable with Joshua or Dion seeing me in something like this."
Clive? Sure. Men she loves like brothers? No.
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"You can wear it in the bath at home," he says, just barely teasing, mouth settling just above her ear. "Or to our clubs..."
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"Curious how it feels more revealing to be in this than entirely bare," she murmurs. She likes how they look in the mirror, openly admiring them both.
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"It's to tempt me," he murmurs right back, voice low, and he dips his head briefly to press a kiss to the shell of her ear. His cock starts to strain against the taut fly of his jeans, and, undoubtedly, against her. He meets her eyes through the mirror again and he digs his thumbs in and tugs gently so the fabric pulls against her crotch, so he can see just how tight it is against her hidden flesh. "As I'm not supposed to see."
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"What if I told you I planned on tempting you since we left the house?" Perhaps more of a hope than a plan. She's been content to hold him through the night, or be held if that's what he's needed, all tame.
Here there's no threat of waking anyone up.
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She'll just have to purchase these bikini bottoms. So, there's no harm in pressing her body against his, never close enough for her satisfaction.
"I want a better memory than that book store." Which, in retrospect, isn't a good memory for her at all. One of the last good days when he was struggling. They're in a better place now.
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"They'll hear us," he warns. "We'll never be allowed back."
His other hand slides up to ruck the bikini right off her tits, the string taut against the fullness of her chest even as it fully fails to conceal her from his gaze.
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"They won't hear us if you keep quiet," she teases, voice low. There's a small bench, and Jill hopes it can support the weight of them both. "Sit, and I'll make sure of it."
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"A difficult task, looking at you like this," he mutters, but he can make silence work.
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