Page 83 of The Proposal Pact
“I prefer you without any.”
“Ugh, I don’t need to know that,” I tell them.
Grace giggles. “There are some on display behind you, just choose any set or one-piece you like.”
I turn around, to the long wall full of delicate hangers with even more delicate lace and silk hanging from them. My eyes trail from one piece to the next, and immediately I picture them on my wife’s perfect body. Her peach ass wrapped in the hot pink lace, leaving nothing to the imagination, or those forest green silky thongs that would slip right in between her cheeks, taunting me. I can see her perky nipples poking through the mesh material with daisies on them as I suck each one into my mouth.
Fuck…my cock twitches behind my zipper and that’s before my gaze settles on a mannequin wearing what looks like strings without the bottom part. It would leave her sex wide open to me.
Fuck…not to me. Not. To. Me.
“So? Which one can I get you?” Grace’s voice startles me, and I have to clear my throat before speaking.
“All of them.”
She blinks. “What do you mean, all of them?”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Get me one of each in her size.”
“And what size is that?” She quirks an eyebrow.
“I can show it to you with my hands, will that work? Because that’s how I know her size.” And will never erase from my mind now.
Grace rolls her eyes, muttering, “Men,” before she strolls away and starts picking out piece after piece in the correct size, and my gaze turns to a stunned-looking Luke.
“What the fuck are you doing, Callum?”
I pay for the lingerie, grab the bag Grace hands me, and leave the boutique without answering him.
Because I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.
“Husband? Is that you?” Sophie’s voice greets me as soon as I enter, and an unwilling smile tugs on my lips.
“The one and only,” I call back, and a second later she floats out of the room.
Yes, floats. That’s the only way to describe it as Sophie comes toward me in a short polka-dot dress with thin straps that hits her mid-thigh and an oversized red knit cardigan. Her short hair is parted off to the side, revealing small studs in her ears in the shape of a lemon. The same shape as the small across her body.
On her feet are her trusty old Converse that she wore to our wedding, and I’m getting a sense that those are her moral support shoes.
She’s one chaotic mess. And, Jesus Christ, I’ve never seen a more beautiful mess in my life.
“I’m ready to go to your parents’ place. Are you going to change? Wait, you still didn’t bring any of your clothes here.”
I’m standing there gaping at her, completely speechless, when she comes right up to me and looks down at the large bag in my hands.Before she can ask, I thrust it in her hands, like a moron, and she barely has enough time to clutch it before it could fall to the ground.
“Um, Shrek? What is this?” Sophie asks, peeking over the tissue paper Grace stuffed on top.
“It’s yours,” I grunt, still unable to form normal, human words.
“Mine?” She tilts her head down, looking at me from underneath her lashes.
“Yeah.”
“Did Grace ask you to give this to me?”
“No.”
“Okayyy.” She walks over to the kitchen counter, setting the bag down and pulls the tissue paper out, revealing the contents.
