Page 32 of Role Play
Forrest
“If you don’t stop moving, I’m going to accidentally stitch your breasts together.” I focus on the cinched fabric of her neckline between my fingers, trying to find the right spot to spear the fabric.
The harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom bounces off the white tiles and I hesitate. Denim I can work with; this material is a pain in the ass. Her fidgeting isn’t helping because every time she shifts, her chest jiggles around, begging for attention. The bathroom smells like expensive hand soap and the faint trace of someone’s perfume—probably from one of the wedding guests who was in here earlier.
“Sorry. My feet hurt,” Sora says, holding out one leg and shaking her foot. “These shoes are unforgiving.” The thin straps of her heels have left angry red marks across her feet.
After tucking the needle flat against my palm for safety, I grab her slim waist and plant her on the bathroom counter. The cool marble surface makes a solid thud as she lands. She loudly sucks in a short heave of surprise. I thought she was going to scold me for manhandling her, but she’s silent as I remove hershort heels one by one, my fingers brushing against the warm skin of her ankles. “Better?” I ask, before returning my focus to her neckline.
Music from the reception thumps through the wall—some overplayed dance track with too much bass. A couple of drunk voices laugh as they pass by the bathroom door. I freeze. The door is still locked, but for the love of God,please don’t knock…please don’t interrupt whatever this is.I breathe out in relief when a different door opens and slams shut, making the voices disappear.
Now, back to my mission. This would’ve been much easier if she took the dress off, but I didn’t suggest it because it seemed predatory. In hindsight, this circumstance is worse. Stitching up her V-neck with her perfect tits an inch from the tip of my nose is sending very aggressive thoughts to my crotch. I shift my stance, hoping she doesn’t notice.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome,” I mutter distractedly, trying to reposition the needle. It’s easier now that she’s sitting on the vanity and more level with my height. The thread catches on my callused fingers as I try to line up the torn edges of the fabric. The aftermath of last weekend’s overly competitive game of paintball is showing on my hands.
Sora shuffles again, causing the needle to slip.
“Hold still.I was serious about stitching your breasts together.”
“There it is again. You’re really calling them mybreasts?” she asks.
“Yes. Why?” My eyes shoot up to read her expression, then back down to my task at hand. I steady the needle against the satin fabric. I’m going to butcher this, but my main goal is to ensure she can walk out of here without flashing anyone. She’llneed to take this to a professional seamstress to salvage the gown.
“It’s so anatomical. Sounds a little funny coming from a guy like you.”
“A guy like me? What was our second term, Sora? Because you’re starting to sound judgy.” I jab the needle through the fabric with more force than necessary, my jaw tightening.
She chuckles nervously, the sound echoing slightly in the tiled bathroom. “I didn’t mean an escort. I meant an attractive guy…who probably has a lot of sex.”
Pushing the needle through, I bark out a sharp laugh. “It’s not as much as you’re thinking. And anyway, what’s a guy who has a lot of sex supposed to say when he’s referring to your chest area?” The tip of the needle catches the light as I pull it through the satin.
“Tits, I’d assume,” she answers matter-of-factly.
I swear I’m ninety percent gentleman, but ten percent of me likes to test the waters every now and then. I’d be a blatant liar if I said I wasn’t intrigued with Sora. I still have no clue what kind of girl she is, though. She’s giving off preacher’s-daughter vibes. But then again, she’s awfully investigative about tits, so I decide to figure this outmy way.
“I use ‘tits’ during dirty talk when I have a woman completely naked, face in the pillow, ass in the air. ‘Breasts’ is for when I’m trying to do a favor for a friend, like stitching up the dress I massacred… Again, I’m sorry about that.” I keep my voice low, watching her reaction from the corner of my eye. Her perfume—something sweet and floral—pleasantly drifts between us.
“You’re already forgiven,” she answers, her voice cracking slightly. “You can stop apologizing.”
I poke the fabric a few more times, securing the thin thread around the two-inch tear. The needle pricks my finger and I swallow a curse, tasting copper as I quickly suck away theblood. After I assure Sora I’m fine, I tell her to sit up straight. The bathroom lights cast a shadow across her collarbone, highlighting the triangle of skin still visible above repaired fabric.
“All right, then. Take a deep breath. Let’s make sure the stitches don’t pop free when your rib cage expands.”
She draws in a long breath, her hand pressed flat against her stomach. The material stays firmly woven together. She chuckles to herself, the sound warming the small space.
“What?” I ask, matching her smile.
“I thought you were bluffing, but you are indeed handy with a needle.”
“Told ya.” After tucking the needle back into the plastic case, I toss the sewing kit onto the vanity alongside Sora’s other belongings. The clatter reverberates off the marble. “Keep that just in case.”
We lock eyes as I take a moment to appreciate the color of her deep brown eyes, but I must linger too long because she bashfully glances away, faint red coloring her cheeks. The overhead light catches the slight sheen of sweat on her forehead. I resist the urge to wipe it away. Way too intimate too fast, especially after what I’ve already confessed to her.But I want to.
Instead, I pull my phone from my pants pocket and hold it up. “Do you have Zelle?”
“Yeah. Why?”
