Fitting Room Lust With Her Quiet Friend

Chloe laughed as she hooked her arm through Grant’s and pulled him past the frosted glass doors of the boutique, the air inside cool and scented with something expensive and floral. At twenty-eight she moved like she owned every room she entered, dark hair swinging, wedding band flashing under the soft lights. Grant, twenty-nine and usually content to fade into the background, let himself be steered between racks of silk and lace without protest. He had been her quiet best friend for years; refusing her was never really an option.

“Come on, don’t look so terrified,” she said, already fingering a hanger of black mesh. “I need a second opinion. Something that might actually make Omar look up from his phone for five seconds.” She held a sheer teddy against her body, the cups barely more than two triangles of lace. “What do you think? Too much?”

Grant’s throat worked. He had wanted her for years—wanted the curve of her ass in jeans, the way her mouth went soft when she was teasing him—and now she was asking him to help pick out lingerie for the husband who never seemed to notice. “It’s… revealing,” he managed.

“That’s the point.” She gathered an armful—crimson corset, pale blue garter set, black crotchless panties that made his pulse slam—and disappeared into the large fitting room at the back. The door stayed cracked. “Stay right there. I need the mirror and I need you.”