Sally: Autumn Storms (F&L Story #4)

Sally: Part 18

(Just because I love this next part so much and I'm going to be very busy tomorrow, I've decided to upload early.)

Part 18

Studying the costume in front of him and imagining Sally wearing the gold-sequined belly dancer's outfit, Wilson squirmed as he fought a relentless erection in his britches. He should be feeling bitter and empty at Sally’s determined attempt to talk about Linc, but he didn’t. He actually felt relieved, like a weight had dropped off his chest. Whenever he was around Sally, he usually experienced one of a few emotions – horny as hell, pissed as hell, or happy as hell.

Right now, he’d go with horny. The skimpy halter top of the costume would mold her breasts together, creating the perfect amount of cleavage to dip his finger into. The hip-riding skirt with the slit clear up to her thigh would shimmer with a mesmerizing seduction as she showed off all those tight stomach muscles and tanned skin. He swallowed hard.

All around him, a man's wet dream presented itself in plastic packaging and titillating displays. There were nurse’s costumes with red, thigh-high stockings, French maid costumes with hot-pink feather dusters that seemed more of a tease than an accessory, and there were costumes that exhibited the Mistress of the Dark persona. Wilson could picture Sally in every single one of them, and his groin throbbed with untold promises. He glanced up to see where she wondered off to and spied her holding a witch's costume that did nothing to help his rampant imagination or libido. He looked away to adjust the brim of his hat, hiding the fever in his eyes before he scared someone.

Instantly, his gaze went back to Sally. Something was wrong. She stood, stock-still, in the middle of the aisle, staring at a couple by the dressing rooms. Her cheeks were devoid of color, and she visibly trembled. Why?

He turned his attention to the couple, an older man and a girl half the man's age. They were the quintessential gold-digger and sugar-daddy pair. The girl pirouetted, showing off the same costume that Sally held, and the man licked his lips like only a starving person would do. Wilson had to admit that the girl was sexy and dominated the room in that outfit, and he thought that was why Sally looked pale. The girl-witch filled out the strapless top in a way Sally never would, yet Wilson still wanted to see her in it, if only for the off-chance he might be able to strip her out of it.

But then the young woman giggled and said, “Oh, Peter, you are such a tease,” and Wilson saw the recognition in Sally's eyes that he missed earlier.

So, that's Peter – the runaway groom. Hmm, kind of superficial, if you ask me.

As the couple laughed and flirted and pawed each other in view of every person in the store, Wilson looked back at Sally to judge her reaction. Slowly, but surely, her face regained some color, so much color, in fact, she began to look purple. He saw the fiery glint in her golden-brown eyes and cringed. He knew that look. He'd seen it a hundred times on the faces of murderers while in prison.

If he didn't do something quick, Sally was about to get herself in a sticky situation. Wilson held no remorse for Peter – the bastard deserved whatever she leashed on him – but he couldn't bear to see her arrested for maiming the man. Not thinking of the consequences, he snatched the belly dancer costume off the rack and approached her. She took one threatening step toward the oblivious couple, but he planted his feet in front of her.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he said loudly. “Did you find something?”

Sally's gaze slowly lifted to him, a miniscule amount of confusion entering her expression, but not enough to cool her blood.

“What are you doing?” she hissed softly at him.

“Saving your hide and your pride, so work with me here,” he muttered back, and then in his stage voice, he asked, “A witch? Hmm...if you try that on, will you try this one on, too?”