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I discover a table filled with bins of underwear, and a shelf full of the most beautiful purses I've ever seen. "I don't think I'll need a purse."

Antonio steps next to me, puts his hands on my hips, and pulls me against him. "Not right now, but once you're my wife, certain things will be expected of us."

"Wife." I stare at him, but he only smirks and pushes me toward the rows and rows of clothes. "Go shopping."

Slowly, I walk over to the first table while my mind is taking a seat on a rollercoaster.Wife? I guess that was implied with all theyou're in or you're outstuff. Still, the word is taking me for a spin—a happy spin.

"Don't overthink, just go with it," Antonio encourages.

I stare at the heaps of underwear placed in front of me. If memory serves, those panties are like five hundred bucks a piece. I swallow and pick seven. Surely a week's worth should be enough? And again, my mind echoes:Wife?

"Seven?" Antonio stares at me in disbelief.

"They can be washed," I assure him, thinking that I kind of like the idea. It's crazy, irresponsible, and probably the dumbest idea ever. Still, I kind of like the thought of forever with Antonio.

"Not if I rip them," he responds, soaking me with the image.

Not losing eye contact with him, I pull out another pair. He raises an eyebrow, and with a sigh, I add another to my pile.

He shakes his head, "You are the most reluctant woman I've ever gone shopping with. I'll make this easy for you. Pick, or I'll have everything brought to the house."

"Everything?" My voice makes a weird, squeaky sound.

"Everything," he assures me with a firm nod.

And with that, I finally let go. Of everything. I stop thinking about the word wife. Dollars. Or anything out of the moment. I start picking outfits and trying them on behind a thoughtfully arranged curtain, while Antonio takes a seat in an overstuffed chair, sipping a glass of whiskey he poured from a small bar to the side.

"You look gorgeous," he says when I step out wearing a tight pencil skirt and flowy blouse.

"Bellissima," he nods the next time I emerge wearing a summer dress.

With every outfit I try on, my confidence grows. Not just from his words but from the way he's looking at me. As if I were the most precious person in the world.

A naughty thought enters my mind when I try on a black dress and am rewarded by a deep,hmm, of masculine appreciation. The naughty thought keeps growing when he closes his eyes for a second, then leans forward with his elbows on his thighs, regarding me like some kind of goddess when I emerge wearing a flowing skirt, another blouse, and a short jacket.

Before I can lose my nerve, I snatch a matching pair of naughty, naughty, black lace panties and a bra, and yes, a garter and nylons—I did notice that he seemed to have picked quite a few on the website. I take the clothes off and slip into the lingerie that feels like a second skin. Soft without a trace of scratchiness.

"Uh oh," I mutter before I can change my mind.

I'm prettysure Scarlet is the woman of my dreams. I've never enjoyed going shopping with any woman because they never seem to want to stop. Scarlet though… I could spend the rest of my life in this chair and watch her model one outfit after another. She is beautiful beyond anything and graceful on top of it. She would put any supermodel to shame, and not only because she has just the right amount of meat on her bones that these women are lacking, but because of the refined elegance with which she holds herself, with which she walks, no, almost floats. Every single time she emerges from behind the curtain, she leaves me nearly breathless.

The store manager and employees did a great job selecting a wide variety of clothing. They would fit anyone's taste, but everything Scarlet picks up screams class and is something I would have picked for her myself.

She doesn't even consider any of the trashy-looking, covering-nothing tops or tight pants that are the latest rage and don't leave much to the imagination. She doesn't need to; she looks even more sexy wearing that summer dress she just showed me than the clothing many of the women surrounding me usually wear.

Whenever the curtain splits, my dick stiffens more, until I'm leaning forward in the cushioned chair to get some relief.

When a small,Uh oh, comes from behind the curtain, I'm on my feet.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"I think I got stuck…" she mumbles.

"I'm coming in," I announce, because damn, she makes me want to be a man with manners.

I'm totally unprepared to find her leaning back on the small lounge chair the salespeople thoughtfully added. Her head rests on top of her hand while her other gently moves around the curve of her hips. One leg is bent, the other stretched out. Her brown hair falls like a curtain over the raised part of the lounge chair.

Fuck me.