Todd X worked his fashion designer image with flamboyance and colorful accessories, entering the apartment wearing chartreuse and white pinstriped pants paired with a paisley shirt exploding in various shades of purple. His skin radiated a sparkly, spray-tan brown, and his dark hair stood over his forehead in a stiff boy-band peak. He arrived pulling a rolling trunk on a leather leash, introducing his assistant, Claude, who trailed behind him in with a dress rack. Claude's appearance mimicked Todd's in every way, except his hair had been bleached white to the roots, making him look like a psychedelic Q-tip.

The lighting in Vincent's apartment was atrocious, according to Todd, but apparently he had been subjected to worse, and a floor lamp served our purposes as I posed in front of Vincent and the paisley twins in nothing but boy shorts and a bra. The prom queen's court had nothing on this.

"I appreciate you catering to my whims, Reese," Todd said as he circled me. "Before we can match you with the perfect dress, I need to know how you carry yourself. Will you walk to the door and back, please?" He flicked his wrist toward the foyer and I had no choice but to obey, straightening my shoulders to correct my slouch. On my return trip, Todd crossed his arms and turned to Vincent on the couch, glancing over his sixties-style Pierre Cardin glasses. "You did tell me size eight, right?"

"You told them eight?" I shouted at Vincent. "Didn't you check the clothes in my closet?"

"Yes, and there were a lot of eights in there."

"Have you seen me wear half the clothes in my closet? No. That's because most of them are too small for my ass. I desperately need to go shopping for new stuff."

"No one is stopping you from shopping."

Todd tsked at our argument. "Vincent also mentioned tens, and after I perused the media photos of you, I had enough to work with."

"How many photos of me did you find?" I asked. "I've been trying to keep my face on the other side of the camera."

Todd laughed in a high-pitched lilt that sounded like a cat crying for dinner. "You can forget about that now. You're dating Vincent Valentino. You are the news of the day, and I won't let you embarrass yourself, darling. At least, in the clothing department."

Todd perused the rack of dresses, which all appeared to be black, and he chose the first one on the end. While he stripped off the plastic cover, Claude hurried to the trunk and selected a pair of black pumps. They handed over my bounty in unison, and Todd waved me away.

"Off you go," he said.

I gave the dress a fifty percent chance of making the cut when I looked at it in the bathroom light. I based this off the number eight on the tag and the stretchy fabric. Spandex had always been my friend, but it also hugged everything, and I realized right away, as I poured into the dress like molasses, that I would need to ditch my underwear so the seams wouldn't show.

After tugging the hem over my butt, I surveyed the results in the mirror, checking angles and the surface area of exposed skin. Far too much for a lowkey public appearance I decided, and I gave the dress a twenty percent chance with Vincent. I slipped on the fuck-me pumps Claude had chosen to complete my 'mamacita' look, and I walked into the living room to a slack-jawed audience.

"You're not leaving the apartment in that," Vincent said firmly. "But I want to buy it for you."

Todd and Claude clicked their tongues simultaneously but neither argued with him. Todd merely plucked another dress from the rack and handed it to me. "Here you go, love. See if this fits your assets better."

I smiled politely, winked at Vincent, and scuttled back to the dressing room, half expecting Vincent to follow me in. His impulsive side always got my engine revved, and I imagined him watching me as I slowly peeled the dress off in front of the mirror.

The next contestant had a size ten tag, and the fabric didn't cling like plastic wrap when I cinched it over my hips. The hem hung longer in the back, just past my knees, which was good for me and my fanny pack, and the bodice had been crotched into a loose-knit design, wrapping around my chest like an embroidered turtle neck. Form-fitting sleeves came to the shoulders, leaving the rest bare, with enough exposed skin to say I own this, but conservative enough to appease a jealous mate. I didn't have to give it nearly as much scrutiny as the mamacita special. The damn thing fit perfect.

I counted three eyebrow raises and no scowls when I modeled the dress. In fact, Todd and Claude exchanged a hip bump to celebrate their excellent taste.

"As far as entrances go, that dress works for you," Todd said as I followed the gesture of his twirling finger. "The neckline draws attention to your stunning face, and the embroidery adds camo to those monstrous breasts."

Who are you calling monstrous, buddy?

I didn't bother complaining to superstar Todd about his poor word choices. Instead, I turned my attention to Vincent, who watched from his reclined position on the couch. His legs were crossed, not his norm, so I had to guess a hard-on hid behind his knee.

"Do you like the dress, Vincent?" The question was practically rhetorical. Of course, he liked it. His pheromones were hitting me like a blast furnace.

"I do. Do you like it?"

"Very much. Now for the big question, do you want me to wear it to Beth's Christmas party?"

Todd and Claude both sucked in a dramatic breath, while Vincent stared me down like a cobra lining up his target.

"I think it's perfect for the party, but I would like to see the other dresses on you. We'll be attending more events like this, and you don't want to repeat your performance."

"Truer words, darling," Todd gushed as he whipped another dress off the rack and waved it in my face. "Keep 'em coming."

Sixty minutes and nine dresses later, I finally removed the stilettos and slipped into my softest shorts and a faded Will Work For Coffee tee. We saw Todd and Claude to the door, and after I received a business card for a guy named Fritz who would take care of my regular waxings and facials, Vincent and I collapsed on the couch.

"I'm exhausted," I said as I tucked under Vincent's arm.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?

"You try on nine dresses, seven pairs of shoes, and two skirt suits, and tell me you're not tired."

"I can't take that challenge. I guarantee nothing on that rack would have fit me, but I have to say, it was the most fun I've had with clothes on." Vincent imprisoned me inside his arms, pressing his warm lips to my forehead. "Why don't we see how much fun we can have without them."

"What if I said I was too tired to play?" I tried to wiggle free in a mock protest, but the more I resisted the tighter he held me.

"I have no problem doing all the work. We can start by removing this flimsy bit of clothing you're wearing. What are those shorts made of? I bet I could rip them off with my teeth."

I crossed my legs tightly. "Don't even think about it, mister. These are my favorite Soffe's."

Vincent slid his hand under the fabric of my shorts and his palm came to rest on my ass. "I'll buy you five more like them."

"Why don't you make me come without taking my clothes off." I said this knowing damn well what his reaction would be.

"Challenge accepted."

Vincent swiftly straddled my body and pinned me to the couch, sealing my mouth with his lips. If I didn't trust him completely, the position would have triggered my internal siren. Instead, I wanted to be swallowed up by him and bathe in his scent. The need bordered on the addictive, something I knew a lot about. I heard the lowering of a zipper, and a moment later, I felt his plush head as he navigated through the leg of my shorts and under the seam of my panties.

Vincent directed himself across my sex; teasing, circling, extracting my orgasm like a thoughtful gardener, all while kissing and tasting every inch of my face. Only when I started panting did he sink into me with unapologetic urgency, grunting through his thrusts until my muscles clenched. The speed at which he made me come almost had me laughing. Vincent knew my body like a dragon knows his plunder, and he continued his pursuit of my pleasure before spilling inside me.

He stayed buried there, letting the sticky residue of his love saturate our clothes. It felt wicked and hedonistic, and we didn't let go of each other for a while after that. But life had a way of interfering, and Vincent's phone eventually interrupted us.

"It's Petula," he said as he lifted his head to glance at the screen.

"You talk to Petula. I'll get a towel."

Vincent talked while I cleaned up our mess, although he tucked himself in before I could clean his junk. This probably had something to do with keeping it in his pants while he spoke to a nun. Based on my one-sided interpretation, Petula had not heard from Willem, and she was beginning to worry. Vincent tried to put her mind at ease, promising to mount a search party if Willem didn't show up by Sunday.

Finally.

"Will you search for Willem in gollum form?" I asked when he set his phone back down.

"Yes. It's the most effective way to track."

"I want to be part of the search party. Do you think I'm ready?"

I watched Vincent's reaction carefully, waiting for his true feelings to show up. I hadn't done much flying outside the rec room, and I certainly hadn't flown high enough to trigger my fear of heights, but I couldn't hide from my gollum nature forever. Vincent didn't make me wait long.

"There's no better way to find out. We will accommodate you any way we need to."

"Thanks, Vincent," I said on an exhale. "I'll try not to slow us down. Who else will you ask?"

"I'll ask Amelia first. She's been itching to get out of the city."

I'll bet she has.