Boutiqué

The boutique was brighter than expected — mirrors everywhere, soft lighting that made everything feel more intimate than it should.

Nia was already halfway into the racks.

Claire turned to her. “You pick one for me, I’ll pick one for you.”

“Done.”

They disappeared into the fitting rooms.

John and Marcus waited just outside the curtain area. A long bench gave them a front-row view of whatever the girls decided to show.

Nia was first.

She stepped out in a flirty pink sundress — playful, tight around the waist, with a short hemline.

Marcus smiled. “That’s dangerous.”

Nia twirled. “Wait for round two.”

Then came Claire.

She wore something simple — white cotton, soft and summery, clean lines. No cleavage. Modest.

But it hugged her figure too perfectly.

John’s jaw slackened.

Marcus didn’t say anything, but his eyes said enough.

Claire turned to John, smiling. “Cute?”

He nodded. “Very.”

She twirled once — the fabric floated just enough to tease.

Nia snapped a quick photo. “You’re both in trouble.”

⸻

The next round hit harder.

Bikinis.

Nia emerged first — deep red, low-cut, confident. She posed without shame. Marcus gave her a subtle nod. Approval.

Then Claire stepped out.

A black bikini. Thin straps. Deep V. Cut high at the hip. Her body gleamed under the boutique lighting — skin glowing, curves perfectly framed.

John blinked. “Wow.”

Claire locked eyes with him.

Then she looked at Marcus.

She didn’t smile.

Just stood there, letting them both look.

Then, casually, she adjusted the top strap — slow and deliberate — and turned around. “Too much?”

John coughed. “No. Not enough.”

Claire chuckled and walked back inside.

⸻

They waited longer this time.

Then Nia stepped out — again. This time in a body-hugging red dress with sheer sides and a deep neckline. Her lipstick matched the fabric. She owned the floor.

Marcus looked at her like she was already naked.

Then Claire stepped out.

Silence.

Her dress was midnight blue, almost black, with a slit up one thigh and an open back. No bra. The neckline plunged deep. Her nipples teased the fabric. Her legs looked endless.

John couldn’t speak.

Even Marcus looked surprised.

Claire walked straight to John.

She stood close. Too close.

She leaned down, resting one hand on his thigh, her face inches from his.

“You like it?” she whispered.

John nodded, dazed.

Claire smiled.

Then she leaned in further, close to his ear.

“I kissed Marcus at the escalator,” she whispered.

John froze.

Claire continued, “He cupped my ass.”

Her breath was warm on his neck.

“I let him,” she said. “I didn’t plan it. It just… happened.”

John said nothing.

She pulled back a little — just enough to meet his eyes.

“I want more.”

His mouth went dry.

“I want to touch him,” Claire said. “Just once. Feel him. Over the clothes. Nothing more.”

John stared at her.

“You said I could kiss,” she reminded him. “You’re right here. I’m telling you.”

He didn’t answer.

She leaned closer.

“Can I?”

He looked at her. He should’ve said no.

But he didn’t.

Claire kissed his cheek.

“Good boy,” she whispered.

Then she stood, turned, and walked slowly back to the fitting room.

John stayed seated.

Marcus never said a word.

But he saw everything.