Aprons For Gayle Ch. 06

On one side there was a wall with several colors and shapes of panties and bras, and in the center were racks and racks of lingerie.

"Sir? I'll need regular cotton briefs," she whispered.

"I know. That's why we're going this way."

She followed him to the left side of the store, where on the wall hung every size and variety of dildo and vibrator imaginable. She stopped in her tracks when she realized he'd brought her to an adult toy store. Her cheeks burned with the blush exploding on her face; it was so intense that even her neck and chest broke out in a rash.

"Sir? Why are we here?"

"I'm looking for a new car," he replied sarcastically.

"But ..."

"I need toys for you. Have you not been to a toy store before?" he asked, continuing to walk toward the wall.

She shook her head. "No! I have no reason to." She lied, not wanting to tell him she was just as embarrassed going with a co-worker when she was getting married.

"Well, we do now."

Oh, right, she huffed to herself. Shut up. Don't ask questions, Gayle Marice Boyce!

Standing beside him as he perused the multitude of female torture play devices, he pulled out three different size toys: one metal, one with a curved tip and the other a plastic one with beads on the shaft.

Her attention was drawn to a heavy-set woman with hair colored purple in a short crop approach them. "Hi, I'm Rose. Ur ye tois lookin' fur anythin' specific?"

Hamish replied, "I'm looking for ..."

Gayle blocked him out and clammed up, avoiding eye contact with the woman. Just when she thought the worse of her humiliation was over, it only got worse. As her thoughts wandered again, she heard Hamish call her name. He and the woman were standing in an aisle.

Tentatively stepping next to him, the saleswoman was showing him two different sized butt plugs. "Thes one is popular coz ay th' size. If ye want one wi' mair oomph, ay'd suggest thes because a th' vibration."

All she heard was the word vibration and she hugged herself. If this is the kind of store he has the mind to shop in today, she thought, then I'm in for a boat load of trouble and some ... fun?

"Let's go for this one," Hamish replied, pointing to the medium sized one; Gayle had no idea if it was the vibrating one or not. "Where might the vibrating eggs be?"

While Gayle liked eggs, preferably sunny side up, she sure as shit didn't want one that vibrated.

Following the lady, Hamish went straight for one in particular and picked it up. This went on a few more times as they travelled the displays, before he had a handful of a variety of vibrators and went to the cash register. Her mouth almost dropped to the floor when it came to almost two hundred pounds. He didn't blink at all, paid cash and walked out into the street.

Humiliation number three was when she had to get in the back of the car knowing David and Phil knew exactly where they were and exactly what they were getting. She didn't say a word as they drove to the next destination.

This time David had to let them out on the end of the street because of traffic, which Gayle didn't mind. She appreciated walking for a change, and thankfully he wasn't in a rush. The problem was that she was nervous as hell as to what store he was taking her into this time.

When they passed a woman carrying a Starbucks cup, she looked around frantically looking for the café. Seeing it coming up on their side of the street, she practically begged him to let her get a Mocha.

"What would you like?" he asked kindly.

"OH! Thank you, Sir! Venti Mocha with two pumps peppermint."

He narrowed his eyes on her, amused. "Picky, are we?"

"No Sir. I just know what I like."

Approaching the door, she put her hand on the handle, but he didn't stop. She looked at him confused then followed him, greatly disappointed; she didn't bother to hide it.

He picked up on it. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, Ms. Boyce. You've no money, remember?" he reminded her.

But you do, you cheap shit! she thought. Why did I even think you'd be a man and offer to spend five pounds on a damned cup of coffee? She seethed inside as they continued to walk.

A few doors further down, Hamish opened the door of Effie's Cashmere Corner and Gayle walked through without looking at him or thanking him. Not knowing exactly what type of clothing he had in mind, she kept a few steps behind him in silence admiring all of the soft, beautiful sweaters of various colors of cashmere.

"Good morning!" a cheery woman said as she came up to them. "What are you looking for today?"

Gayle remained quiet as Hamish answered, "A pair of jeans and a blouse. Nothing fancy, quite simple."

"Easy enough," she said as she led them to a rack of neatly folded jeans. "You're a size ten, I would think."

"No ma'am. I'm an eight."

"Oh! You're American. That is a ten here, dear." It wasn't said condescendingly at all. "Take a look at the selection, and you'll want a size ... twelve for a blouse. They run a little smaller here. When you're done, the fitting rooms are in the corner."

Before Gayle could thank her, Hamish beat her to it and the saleswoman walked away. She was about to start looking through the jeans but he again beat her to it, so she stood still. He didn't look at the style or the color of the denim. He'd pull out the price tag and look at it, either scoff or shake his head.

Handing her three pairs, she whispered, "Sir? I'm not wearing any underwear."

"Then you should select the ones that will fit your perfectly. Which one do you like?" He made it clear with the tone of his voice that she should chose only one.

She so wanted to cuss him out. Instead, she flipped them open one by one and put them up to her waist. Quickly, she said, "This pair."

Without being told, she folded the looser jeans, debating whether she should say anything about the blouses. She decided against it. Getting a new outfit was much better than a cup of coffee. She didn't dare push her luck.

Following him around, he carefully chose four different tops -- one blouse, one sweater and two tunics -- all shades of red and low-cut, handing her each one to hold. He never gave her the opportunity to decide whether she liked them or not. While she was relieved they were V-neck, mainly because it lessened her broad shoulders, it was too low for her taste.

Not saying a word, he put her hand in the small of her back and led her to the single fitting room the size of a closet; the doors were all the way to the carpet. Stepping through, she tried to close the door but Hamish stood in the way -- he didn't just stand in the doorway, he walked in and closed the door behind him.

Looking at him in shock, she said, "Sir! You can't be in here!"

He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "I don't see the saleswoman dragging me out while screaming hysterically."

She wanted to blast him, saying, 'Don't I get any damned privacy?!' But she just sighed, hung the tops up and slipped her thumbs under the skirt.

"Nu uh," he grunted as he sat on the bench. "Stand easy, arms at your side."

Oh! For God's sake! she sputtered in her mind. Standing before him, she spread her legs, fisted her hands and looked above his head; her lips were pursed tight.

"Tsk, tsk," he said, clearly upset. "How are you standing that I didn't instruct you?"

She knew exactly what he was talking about. Her nails had been digging painfully into her palms, so she flexed them a few times, leaving them loose.

He shook his head. "You're partly right."

Hamish reached his hands up to her cheeks and pulled her head down gently until their lips were two inches apart. Gayle's eyes flew open and looked into his soft eyes, her heart beat picking up its pace. Wanting desperately to clasp his wrists and pull away from him, she couldn't because her body was frozen. She closed her eyes in anticipation of the wanted kiss that Bessie had inconveniently interrupted. His eyes flirted over her taut lips before he brought their lips together.

Holding her breath until she felt his warm, full lips against hers, she opened them slightly to give her lips to him. He brushed his lips once against hers, nibbled on her bottom lip then pulled back, not letting go of her face. When she finally opened her eyes, neither broke the intense stare. As the seconds ticked by, the more her face flushed and her entire body erupted in desire.

"Much, much better. Gayle, are you afraid of me?" Skirting his hands down her shoulders to her arms then hands, he took them and held them lightly.

Scared of you, Hamish? she thought. A little. Scared of what you will do to me? A lot. Scared of what I'm feeling right now? Hell, yes.

"No Sir," she finally said, hoping he'd believe her.

"Then why have you been so quiet? And why are you shaking?" His eyes conveyed nothing but genuine concern and empathy.

Only when he brought it to her attention did she realize she was indeed shaking a little. "Sir? Do you want the truth, or do you want me to lie?"

That gave him his answer. He momentarily closed his eyes and shook his head. Letting go of one of her hands, he patted the seat beside him, and when she sat down, he put their clasped hands on his thigh, as he had done before.

"Gayle, I do not wish to make you nervous or scared. If I have, then I apologize." He took a deep breath. "I'm going through something right now, and I'm not ready to discuss it. I didn't realize I wasn't handling it as well as I thought I was, or should be. I never have."

His voice shook, and it took all he had to control his tears. He had never spoken of his mother, even to Jack or other close, life-long friends, and he wasn't about to start then.

Her heart melted for him. She might not know what the truth was, and she didn't have the right to know. Regardless, this moment of connection touched her deeply. She couldn't think of a damned thing to say, so she simply squeezed his hand.

Looking away, he said, "I'm sorry." His voice cracked further, and she could then see his eyes filling with moisture.

"Hamish, Sir," she started, praying he wouldn't chastise her. "Yes, you've been a little ... harsher than I was expecting, but you have also shown me kindness ... except for teasing me with the Starbucks coffee." She hoped he would at least smile. It was difficult for her to express her true feelings and would make a joke out of anything of an emotional matter.

He did smile, though. "Snap." She frowned, not really understanding what it meant. "I agree with you." Then she smiled. "I didn't realize I was ... becoming so intense.

Stepping in front of him between his knees, she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a hug, brushing her warm cheek against his. "Thank you, Sir. I will try my best to make things easier for you, I really will."

He pulled his head back, smiled and promptly smacked her ass hard. "OW! What was that for?!"

"You used my given name."

"Darn, I thought you'd let it slide."

"You were mistaken, then." He smiled. "And thank you. Now, you have some tops to show me.

----------------------

Gayle and Hamish had split up so she could get her undies, socks and 'monthly necessities while he went to the bank only a block away. When she was done, she waited impatiently in the car with David and Phil, no longer in the mood to talk to either of them, not that she didn't want to, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Thinking about what Hamish had said in the fitting room, as well as the way he touched her while she changed into each top, kept roaming around in her head. Only when the car shook and the door closed did she turn to see Hamish sitting next to her, a sealed paper bag sitting between his feet.

"A peace offering," he said, handing her a large Starbucks cup.

She smiled widely and took it from him. "Thank you, Sir, but you didn't have to."

"No, I didn't," he replied sternly, but the curve of his lips made her smile.

After taking a sip, David announced, "And off we go! You aren't feeding your employees very well, Master." There was a bit of sarcasm when he said 'Master.'

"Bollocks, Hodges!" Hamish replied. "I give you free pickings of your garden labors."

"That's not quite true. Jessie provides plenty of fruits and vegetables from her garden, and I sell your produce at the market, which only provides enough wonga for half a chicken!"

"Drive, will you?!" Then he laughed. Turning to her, he said, "We're going to the Black Horse pub close to home. They do a wonderful ploughmans."

"What's a ploughmans, Sir? It isn't anything like that skulking sink soup, is it?"

He laughed at the wrong name. "It's Cullen skink, you daft Herbert. And no, it's cheese and pickle served with a chunk of bread and some salad."

"That doesn't sound very filling, and I am starving."

He shook his head. "Having no breakfast was your fault, might I remind you."

"It was Bessie's fault, Sir, not mine." Shut up, Gayle! Shut UP!

He narrowed his eyes at her. "I must have trained my canine better than I thought if she can open doors. Agreed?"

"Um, no?" she answered playfully.

"Ms. Boyce, I've bought you something special, and I'm beginning to consider returning it."

Gayle opened her mouth to continue the playful banter but decided not to. Whatever he had gotten must have been a big deal if he bribed her with it, and it piqued her curiosity.

"I shall forever keep my mouth shut, Sir," she said in a horrible British accent.

"That is an impossibility, Ms. Boyce," Hamish snickered. "And lose that horrid accent."

"You're no fun," she smiled.

"That's because your idea of fun and mine are two different things."

Picturing the dungeon, she couldn't argue. "That's very true. You win."

"Of course I win. I always win."

"I let you win." Damn, girl! Knock it off!

He gave her one death glare, which was enough to kill her smile and shut her up. She sipped her coffee, looked out the window and thought of the way he touched her in the dressing room as she changed from one top to another. His hands were incredibly soft on her skin as they ran over her waist and stomach to her breasts. Inhaling sharply when he'd tweaked her nipples, she'd closed her eyes. But she wasn't prepared for when he'd clinched his teeth around them and lightly suckled.

Throwing her head back and closing her eyes, trying not to feel what she was feeling, her body had responded by sending a trembling wave directly to her pussy. For the first time she'd wanted more of his touch. She'd also wondered what he would feel like the first time they ...

"Are you going to get out or sit there whilst we eat, Ms. Boyce?"

"Huh?" she mumbled and looked up to find Hamish holding the door open and peering down on her curiously. "Oh, sorry, Sir."

When she first saw the building on the side of the road, she thought it was a house. It was a two story, white stucco building and rather charming. The windows were framed with dark-stained wood; the first floor had window boxes filled with multi-colored flowers.

The entrance was on the side, where David and Phil were waiting, and as soon as they walked through the door Hamish was standing so close to her it was as if he had super-glued himself to her. She fought with herself to accept his protectiveness, and it was easier than she thought.

While she watched David and Phil walk to a table, she noticed the pub was packed with people and very loud, being that it was the lunchtime rush. Everything was dark wood, including the tables and chairs in the center of the room and booths lined the walls on three sides. It was definitely a warm and inviting room.

Gayle had just turned to Hamish to ask if they should seat themselves, but he led her to the bar. She was aware of several diners looking at them closely as they walked past, but from their smiles they weren't critical stares.

Only when she saw their reflections in the mirror behind the bar did she notice how well they complimented each other. With his dark features and ginger hair and her dark hair and light complexion, they provided a lovely contrasting couple.

"Mr. Hamish!" the bartender said excitedly. "Fancy seeing you in here!"

"Carl, I'm here at least once a month," Hamish replied. "I'll have my usual." Turning to Gayle, he asked, "What would you like?"

She felt like celebrating now that they had a semi-breakthrough, but she wanted her wits about her. "Cranberry juice and vodka, I guess."

As they waited for their drinks, Hamish didn't take his eyes off of her. She felt the heat of his eyes burrow into her face, and she shuffled her feet nervously, noticing for the first time that her feet were getting sore.

Hamish gave the barman, who happened to be named Charlie, their order for four ploughmans and took their drinks and led her to a booth.

"Was there any change from your shopping?" Hamish asked as they sat down.

"Oh, yes Sir," she replied. "I left it in the car. I felt like an idiot looking at the coins when she gave me the change back. Thank you for the clothes. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome."

That was it for the conversation between the two for several minutes. Gayle glanced around the room, and her eyes settled on four military men sitting at the bar high-fiving each other, drinks in hand. It appeared they had made some accomplishment, but considering they spoke loudly, she couldn't hear what they were saying.

The olive green, long-sleeved uniform was one piece, with white patches just above the knees, though she couldn't see if they had any writing on them or if they were pockets. It was clinched at the waist and zipped from the crotch to the neat collar. On each shoulder was a patch of cloth, and again she couldn't tell what the individual patches on it were.

Their full name was stitched on a black and yellow patch just below the left collar bone on the breast. Underneath the suit was a dark grey t-shirt.

While she had an infinity for the U.S. formal naval uniform, there was something raw and sexy about those four men. It might have been their muted accents or how hot they looked, or it might have been ...

Suddenly, Hamish's voice drowned out her thoughts as she had been observing the men. "...right here and now, take you over my knee, lift your skirt and give you twenty hard smacks on each cheek until you are screaming at me to stop."

Her eyes bolted to his and gave him a sharp look, wondering why he would say such a thing. She hadn't done anything, not really. She just ... OH! My god! He's jealous!

Before she could explain herself, Charlie called out, "Hamish! Got your order here."

He lifted his hand to him to let him know he'd heard him. "Now, I want you to go to the bar, shoulders back, head held high and bring back our plates. Hodges and Phil are sitting right there, so take theirs as well."

It was a challenge he was giving her, she realized, and she was up for the challenge. "Where are they sitting?" Hamish nodded, and she turned to see them sitting close to the bar. "Yes Sir. I can do that. I am a waitress, after all." Walking away, she berated herself for sounding like Sookie on True Blood, not that he would know anything about vampires.

Walking toward the bar, she saw the four plates besides the military men and took a deep breath. Stepping to the bar, she tried to pretend they weren't there, but she got a whiff of their cologne, or manly smell, whatever the hell it was, and it made her hands tremble.

Smiling nervously, she grabbed two plates to take to David and Phil and turned to walk away when her heel caught in the narrow floor rug. She stumbled but didn't fall. One of the men took her elbow and steadied her, thankfully saving the food.

"Are you alright, miss?" the man asked in the sexiest Scottish accent she had ever heard -- besides the only other Scottish man she knew, Hamish.