Chapter Ten

My eyes flutter open; I have one leg curved over Isaac and I'm bent backward from the waist, clutching onto the pillow beneath my head. I move my hips to stretch my back, but the soft movement from my leg wakes Isaac. He stirs a bit and yawns loudly. He breathes in deeply and runs his hand from the back of my knee to the ankle. I hear him gulp as he turns his head to the left to see me. I look at him with half open eyes and say, "I need to go back to school shopping, if you want to go with me."

He runs his tongue over his dry lips and replies in a low, soft voice, "I don't have the money for that."

I retract my leg and eventually get out of bed so that I may shower. "All I have is money."

He smiles at me with his eyes softening and his brows dipping. "Thank you."

I nod at him and then yawn into my hands. "I'm going to take a shower. Then we can go."

"Okay," he breathes and closes his eyes.

I take my time in the shower, so I'm not surprised when I walk out and he's quietly snoring. I tip toe to my closet, dry off and discard my towel. I quickly slip into my underwear, but I fumble a bit with sliding into a thin, purple turtleneck and as black bandage skirt. I walk out of my closet with my towel in one hand and a pair of purple heels in the other. Isaac lies still, watching me walk around the room in search of my keys. I look at him in my peripheral and quickly roll my lips at the sight of his near-naked body. His arms are folded behind his head, propping his head up a bit, which ever so slightly strains his square jaw and the thick neck that leads into perfect shoulders and cut arms. I look away and bite my bottom lip; wolves can smell out even the slightest bit of arousal. I'm usually pretty good in keeping myself calm, but his wide, muscular torso and powerful, chiseled legs prove to be too much for me to handle. I squeeze my thighs together and roll my hips a bit to calm myself before asking him, "Ready to go?"

Isaac doesn't reply. He sits up and stretches a bit before getting up. I don't even try to resist rolling my eyes over his body as he puts on his pants. The muscles in his back bulge with his every movement, especially when he slides his shirt on. I suppress a sigh as he slips back into his shoes and walks toward me. I put my shoes on, too, and then head out to my car with Isaac walking silently next to me.

"Do you want to listen to anything in particular?" I ask him as I close my door and strap myself.

"No," he shakes his head, "I'm fine with whatever."

I grin at him while turning the car on, "Then welcome to the Ghetto University."

Isaac laughs and buckles his seat belt.

I pull out of the driveway and hand him my phone. "Can you please press shuffle on the first playlist?"

"Sure," he mumbles and swallows the excess spit in his mouth.

Andre Nickatina immediately blasts within the crowd, making me smile but taking Isaac by surprise. I laugh at his face and say, "You look like you just jumped out of the way of a blow torch."

Isaac laughs and rolls his head a bit.

I park in paid parking for Union Square and basically drag Isaac into Saks Fifth Avenue Men's. He protests, but I put my right index finger on his lips – I take a moment to enjoy the contrast of my dark skin against his pale skin – and say, "Every month, I save half a million dollars for myself. Even if or… when my dad drops me, I'll be fine for the rest of my life. This is his credit card licensed to me. And only to me. There is no spending cut. He wants me to buy expensive things. He wants the world to know he is the top ten of wealthy. So don't feel guilty."

Isaac smiles and says, "Okay."

I don't have to drag him into the store anymore, but I hold onto his hand anyway. The store is filled with old white women, middle-aged white women with their daughters, and wealthy men who let their younger wives dress them. Instead of looking at each other, wondering why so many women are in a men's store, buying clothes that do not fit their bodies, they all, almost in sync, stare at me. These women and their daughters are probably buying clothing for their husbands, their boyfriends, their brothers, their friends. But why would I be in here? Accompanied by a man – accompanied by a white man. He can't by me things. He doesn't need my opinions on his clothing.

I use my free fingertips to push my 'fro up from all around my face. I squeeze Isaac's hand so hard that he flexes his fingers and his palms while looking down at me. He whispers, "Are you okay?"

I breathe in deeply and exhale quietly. I stand a bit closer to him and say, "I just hate being stared at."

Isaac looks around and sees all the eyes on me, following me, tracking me. He lets go of my hand and wraps his arm around me. He smiles at me and says, "Fuck'em."

A single, loud laugh rips from my lips, but I quickly quiet myself to avoid further judgment. We troll around all the clothes for a while before I look up at him and watch him look at a rack of coats. I walk up to him and ask, "I don't mean to be rude or anything…"

He looks at me with a slight furrow in his brow.

I roll my lips in and out of my mouth before continuing, "You wear some of the same things a lot… Do you want a, a bigger wardrobe?"

His mouth twitches into a small smile.

I take a step back, "I mean, not to like diss your style or anything. But we're here now and I don't mine buying a bunch of things."

Isaac's smile grows. "That'd be really nice." He looks around quickly and then whispers, "I've changed a lot since turning, so a lot of my clothes just don't fit anymore."

"I know," I nod and grin, "I've noticed."

He blushes and shakes his head before going back to the coats. I walk away and wander for a while, collecting cute things on my walk back to him. He holds all of the clothing and I follow him to a dressing room. I'm probably not supposed to actually follow him into the actual dressing room, but no one stops me, including Isaac, so I go with him. I sit down in the provided lounge chair and hold onto the clothing that doesn't come with hooks. Isaac slides off his shoes and strips back down to his boxer briefs. He looks at me over his shoulder, blushes, and quickly gets into a pair of navy blue twill pants that have a couple of cargo pockets. The pants are a little snug, but my goodness they're wonderful.

I cross my right leg over my left knee and squeeze my thighs together. I keep my breathing at a normal rate while I watch him slip on an undershirt I grabbed, and then a put on a white button up. He turns to me and asks, "Well, how does I look?"

Fucking fantastic. Too fucking good. Like you need to claw it all off and get on me. "Good." I smile.

He smiles at me and then turns back around. He inspects the outfit in the mirror and then takes the clothes off to replace them with a pair of grey, Alexander McQueen jeans. He slips on a peace colored, long sleeve, cashmere shirt I grabbed him, and then twirls for himself in the mirror. He stands sideways, looking at his front and back, and then says, "You have good taste."

I taste good, too. "Thanks," I say, swallowing all of the spit in my mouth and squeezing my legs together as much as I can manage. Isaac goes through the giant stack we came in and has decided on a decently sized "yes" pile. I go to get up, but I realize that the second that my legs open, he's going to smell all of my self-restraint, so I hand him all the clothes and tell him I'm going to put up all the clothing in the discard pile. At first, he agrees, but then turns around at the dressing room door and says,

"I'd rather have these people know that you're buying these clothes rather than think you work here, putting things away."

I sit, in shock, and just look at him. His arms full of clothes, his stance a little awkward and unstable, and his face stretched with care, waiting for my response. I sit up and hesitate a bit to get up, but I figure he's too focused on these clothes to sniff me out, so I stand up. He hands me all the clothes, shuffling them unevenly into my arms. I smile and walk away, but I pause at the door and look at him over my shoulder. "Thank you."

He looks at me while gathering the clothing he doesn't want, "For what?"

I open the dressing room door, "For understanding."

He smiles at me and watches as I walk away. I wait in line to be rung up and I ignore all the eyes on me. Isaac walks up to me and then takes the clothes from my arms. I smile and fish around my purse for my wallet. Once I find my wallet, I hold it securely to my stomach until it is our turn to pay. A super tall, super thin, blonde girl starts ringing us up. She greets me and then focuses completely on Isaac. I roll my eyes and take out my credit card. She stares at Isaac once she's done ringing everything up, so I slowly step in front of him and hand her my card. She clears her throat and smiles at me while quickly yanking the card from my fingers. She looks up at me while running my card and then giggles, "It's hard to see past your nappy hair."

"That's funny," I grind my teeth a bit and then tilt my head to the left. I force a giggle, "I can see everything through your spaghetti strings."

She gasps and slams my card down. "Miss! Saks Fifth does not tolerate such rude behavior."

I laugh out loud and then ask for her manager – which she only retrieves once Isaac insists upon it. I find my teeth, cross my arms over my chest, and beginning tapping my right foot. An older white lady approaches the counter with the blonde girl and says, "I'm sorry for this inconvenience, but what seems to be the problem?"

I sign off the receipt and put my card back into my wallet. "Despite being at the counter together, I had to physically put myself in front of this gentleman to receive any service. And then the little bit of contact I was granted, I was told my nappy hair is too large to view anything else."

The older lady tenses and looks at the blonde. She beckons a different employee from the floor to properly fold and put away the clothes I just bought for Isaac. Then she looks at me and says, "I'm very, very sorry about this. If you would like to let me run your card, I can discount your purchase, and I can provide you with the proper number for this complaint."

I breathe in deeply and hand her my card, but I ask her, "Why can you not take this complaint?"

She swipes my card and then looks at me, "I take these sort of complaints very seriously. All customers are welcome in this shop, and I firmly believe that such negative experiences should be reported to HR – which I will be doing, but if you would like to personally complain, you have every right to do so."

I calm down and swallow the excess spit in my mouth. I gently take my card back from her, sign the new receipt as she rips up the old one, and say, "May I get your name?"

I read the blonde girl's tag and write down "Brittney" on the back of my customer copy receipt. The older lady looks at my writing hand and says, "Rebecca."

I smile at her and say, "Well, thank you, Rebecca. I'll be sure to mention your level head and seriousness."

She smiles at me and writes the store number on the receipt for me. Isaac then grabs his bags and quietly walks out of the store with me; I hold his hand tightly and keep my head high all the way out. The second we step out of the store, he looks at me, so I say, "I'm sorry if that looked like it was blown out of portion –"

He cuts me off, "No one should feel the right to make deliberately degrading commentary, masked in a giggle."

I smile and sigh a sigh of relief.

He squeezes my hand and smiles at me. Comfortable in our silence, we make our way to Bloomingdales for my own shopping. I smile at the posters of black models on the wall and wander around, grabbing handfuls of clothing. Isaac gives me his opinions as I ask for them, occasionally pointing out potentially flattering clothing. He's so quiet that the dressing room attendant doesn't notice him walk into the dressing room with me. He plops down on the lounge chair and places his bags on either side. I laugh and playfully shake my head; I put the clothes with hangers up, and I put all the folded items on Isaac's lap. He sits, silently, as I undress and try on all the different combinations of clothing that I picked up. Once I get to a deep, shimmering, copper dress, I turn sideways and run my hands down my sides, smoothing the fabric. It's pretty tight, so I test out it's comfortably by bopping around a bit to the store radio. I sway a bit and bop my head to Justin Timberlake's smooth, "Strawberry buuuubleguuuumm—"

Isaac clears his throat and says, "That uh, that looks nice."

I turn my head to the right and smile, "Thanks. I just don't know to where I'd wear this." I look back at the mirror and lightly pull at the peplum. One, full-length sleeve rests smoothly on my skin. The sleeve cuts sharply and diagonally to just beneath my pit; the glossy fabric hugs my breasts and the peplum sets a transition to my wide hips. I tug a bit at the end of the skirt, bringing it closer to my mid thigh. It's supposed to go down to my knees, but my ass hogs a lot of the fabric; I turn my back to the mirror and see the shimmering fabric fight to not rip down my backside. I sigh and then look at Isaac's face.

His eyes and brows are relaxed, almost like he's in a groggy haze; his mouth is slightly open and his body has sunken into the chair. I laugh at him, which brings him back to reality. He scrambles up and back into a regular seated position. I shake my head and go to say something sassy, but I see a bulge in his jeans. I focus on his eyes and try to tune out the clearly sexual song while I think to myself, don't look at it don't look at it don't look at it don't look at it don't look at it don't look at it don't look at it don't look at it, but then I dip my eyes for the slightest of seconds and look back at his eyes. I gulp and say, "I don't think I'll get this one."

"It looks nice either way," he shakes his head a bunch.

I turn around and wiggle and fight my way out of the tight fabric. I can see my ass shake in the mirror, and I can see Isaac's mouth hang open and his wide eyes glued to me. I suppress a laugh at both him and the timing of the song: "Cause she's just like nothing that I've ever seen before…"

I bite my bottom lip and try to sneak a glance at his growing bulge without being too obvious, though he's so stuck in being obvious he does not notice me noticing him.

"You're delicious on your own. After I break you down my fingers, it's so sweet—that's what you told me when I touched on your lips."

I fidget a bit, feeling myself, once again, grow warm with desire.

"…towel under the door, girl, before they pick up your scent ah…"

My cheeks burn at the lyric, so I quickly get back into my turtleneck and skirt, thinking to myself, Oh mother bear I'm going to ride you across the fucking ocean you gorgeous motherfucker.

"Be my strawberry bubbleguuum, gonna be your blueberry lolliiipooooooopppp, and then I'll love you 'til I make it pop…"

Isaac pops up out of the chair and tries to cover himself with all the bags. We awkwardly walk out of the dressing room, I desperately hoping he can't smell me, and I'm sure he's desperately hoping that I can't see him. I buy the clothes with minimal dilly dallying. We rush back to the car to be seated once more; I play Tetris with our bags in the trunk and then hop in. I quietly sigh and brace myself for his realization. Walking around has brought him back down to normal, but I'm going to have to part my legs to properly drive.

So I put on my seat belt.

I turn the car on.

I part my right leg from my left so that I may reach the pedals.

I turn my head to safely pull out, and I can see Isaac grin and blush, doing his best to not stare at my lap.

A/N: The smut will be soon, muhaahhaha