5

-North-

I CANfeel Mal's glare burning into the back of my head as we walk through the costume shop. I can't pretend I'm not damn giddy about this. He's coming out with us. And while we won't be out as a couple, it still feels pretty huge. Sure, I feel a little bad for pressuring him into it, but it'll be worth it when he relaxes and enjoys himself.

And the best part of all, I get to see him in a costume. It's taken everything in me not to do a little happy dance the last two days. I can't wait to see what he looks like in anything other than tasteful, black, tailored clothes.

I chew on my lip. The theme is "Wild West." Mal is going to be a cowboy. I can hardly contain my joy, but I try to, for his sake.

I pick up a hanger that has the full Woody costume and hold it up. "What about this?"

He glowers at it. I put it back. "Yeah, you're right. I think something a bit more colorful."

I wish I could bottle the expression on his face and get it out on rainy days. I haven't been this excited for a holiday event since I was like twelve on Christmas Day. Actually no, Christmas is great every year.

"If you're going to force me to humiliate myself in public, it at least has to be black," Mal grits out.

"This is my reward, remember? I get to pick."

Mal's mouth is set in a hard slash of disapproval. "I didn't realize you were a sadist."

"Hey, I can be both. I can be anything I want. You taught me that."

"Big fucking mistake," Mal grumbles. "Is it too late to take it back?"

"Yep! I believe in myself now, and it's all your fault. You should have considered the consequences when you first gave me that butt plug."

A woman in a raincoat overhears and turns to look at us, and I smile politely at her. Mal glares and she quickly gets back to browsing.

"How was I meant to know it would result in my torture and humiliation? It's meant to be the other way around."

I pick up a cowboy hat, black, and hold it out to him. He doesn't take it so I tuck it under my arm. I select a few other choice items from the shelves while Malcolm trails behind me like a storm cloud, and when I'm done I hold them up, grinning.

"Right, let's try these bad boys on."

"No," he says.

"Oh, I'll get you a gun belt too."

"No, you won't."

I add the gun belt to the pile and wave the golden card he gave me under his nose.

"You told me I had to use this more, didn't you? I'm just doing as I'm told."

"I hate you," he growls.

I grin back at him. "Nuh-uh."

***

Mal stands with his arms crossed over his broad chest and the black cowboy hat perched on his head, looking both furious and sulky. The hat is slightly too small for him, and dark strands of his hair poke out around it.

I purse my lips. I honestly don't know why I was ever afraid of him. It's the funniest, cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life. This moment must be dedicated to memory. I debate whether I'll get away with snapping a photo of him, or if it'll end up with my phone flying out of a window. Probably best not to risk it, although he'd probably just buy me a new phone anyway.

"It suits you," I say.

"Go to hell."

I pick up the bright red vest. "Try this on, I think it'll really complete the look."

"If you bring that fucking thing anywhere near me, I'm going to burn this entire shop to the ground with you inside it," he snaps.

I can't help laughing. This is just way too much fun. "You're such a Grinch."

"That's Christmas, not Halloween."

I narrow my eyes. "How do you know what the Grinch is? Have you watched the film?"

If his eyebrows scowl any lower they'll be on his cheeks.

"Everyone knows what the Grinch is. I might not go on bar crawls, but I don't live in a fucking cave."

No, he lives in a mansion, but it might as well be a cave. The image of Mal sitting snugly in a blanket watching Christmas films just doesn't compute. Does he even have a TV? I'm pretty sure he has one in there somewhere, but now that I'm thinking about it I can't remember seeing it. We've always been too busy. Maybe it descends from the ceiling from a hidden compartment.

Ok, this tactic isn't working. I might have to employ my wily manipulation skills to get the vest on him, because damn it, I want to see him in it. This is my new life's goal.

I lean against the side of the changing room, one hip dropped. "Did I ever tell you that I have a thing for cowboys?" I say casually.

Mal huffs, too grumpy to notice my flirting tone. "That's because you're juvenile."

"I don't know, they really do it for me. I think they're hot."

He doesn't move, but his eyes roll toward me. Suspicious.

"I've always thought it'd be fun to try some stuff out. Maybe play a little dress-up?"

His glare is fixed now, and he licks his bottom lip in one swift swipe. Like a grouchy little lizard . . . wearing a cowboy hat.

"Are you really going to make me say it?" I raise my eyebrows, but he's not taking the bait. "Wear the yeehaw cowboy vest and I'll suck your dick later."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, Still glaring, he holds his hand out for it, and when I pass it over he snatches it away.

"You'd suck my dick anyway," he says.

"True. But now I get to do it in a cowboy hat."

He shrugs the vest on over his fitted black top and it pulls tight across his shoulders. It's bright red, with golden stitching and tassels along the bottom. I have to plaster my hand over my mouth to hide my smile. If looks could kill, I'd be a smear on the wall.

"You look cute."

His nostrils flare. "I look like a fucking idiot."

"A cute fucking idiot. And it's a perfect fit."

"They're both way too small."

"Like I said, a perfect fit."

He grumbles and starts to pull it off.

"Wait, let me try mine on first. I want to see how we look together."

"Why?"

"Because it's fun." I take my costume off the hook. I've gone for the full getup: checked shirt, hat, bandanna, vest, chaps, and a gun belt. When I costume, I costume hard.

I pull my top off over my head. Mal's eyes rake over my bare chest and I'm suddenly aware of how small the changing room is. There's only a couple of feet between us, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. Was it this hot in here before? I get one arm into the shirt but the other gets away from me and I end up turning in circles like a dog chasing its tail.

"Oh for fuck sake, hold still."

Mal grabs the shirt and holds it open for me, and I slip my arm through the hole.

"Thanks, Mal," I say.

His fingers brush my shoulder and collarbone as I shrug it on, sending tingles of electricity through my skin.

I pause with the shirt hanging open, and the absurdity of the situation really hits me. I'm trying on cowboy costumes with the guy I was convinced absolutely hated my guts for almost a year.

He looks so silly in that outfit, the hat and vest are comically too small for him, and he's so grumpy I wouldn't be surprised if the furnishings started to char.

But he's still here wearing it, because I want him to. Hell, he's coming out with the guys, which is a miracle in itself, because I want him to. He could have refused. Sure, he pouted and moaned. But when he's serious about it, there's no way anyone can get Mal to do anything he doesn't want to. Which means he wants to do it because I want him to.

He's always putting himself way out of his comfort zone for me, even if he doesn't say it outright. And I'm so damn grateful.

His expression softens and a crease forms between his dark eyebrows. "What's up?"

Fuck I think I might really be falling for him. Like, hard.

Do I . . . love him?

The thought catches me completely off guard and I'm overwhelmed with the sudden urge to kiss him. My head spins as I lean in, and his startled expression melts into something else before he closes the gap, coming forward to meet me. We kiss, softly at first but then harder. I work his mouth open and push my tongue inside. Our teeth clash as the kiss turns frantic, two horny teenagers alone for the first time.

Then Mal sets his hands on my chest and pushes me up against the wall. The clothes rail digs into my back. He breaks the kiss and works down my throat, biting at the fading marks already there and bringing them back to full-blooming life. I want him to bite down harder, scar me, because I'm all his. Then his hand tangles in my hair and he pushes me down onto my knees. I shove his shirt up and mouth along the hard muscles of his belly, tasting his warm skin, pressing my lips to the dark hairs that trail from his navel to the top of his pants, and he groans. The noise makes everything fall away and I forget where we are. My heart pounds. I'm beyond frantic to taste him.

I unzip his fly with my teeth, the cold tang of metal on the tip of my tongue, then peel down his pants and boxers, freeing his already hard cock. Fuck me it's the best dick I've ever seen, huge and hard and veined with a slight upward curve. I want to worship it like a Pagan God of Sex. I want to be sacrificed on its altar. I want it to tear me apart.

I lick it from root to tip with a flat tongue, humming under my breath. Mal grips the hanger rail as he falls against the wall, with the other hand tangled in my hair, not pushing, but holding on for dear life. His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth tightened into a grim line. You'd think he was in pain if it wasn't for the deep-red blush staining his cheeks and the upward tilt of his eyebrows. The small cowboy hat is knocked askew, sitting at a jaunty angle on one side of his head, and the red vest is stretched right across his shoulders. The golden tassels along its edge tickle my forehead.

Well, I did say I'd suck his dick if he wore it. I'm gonna make him feel so fucking good.

I open my jaw wide and swallow him down, taking his wide cock almost to the root in one gulp. He gasps and slams his head back against the wall with a crack. His other arm flies out, searching for more grip, and he catches the hangers on the rail holding the rest of my costume. They go flying and hit the floor with a clatter.

I gulp around him again, working my tongue along his shaft, and the noise he makes is like a drug—

"Excuse me?" says a voice through the door.

I choke and pull off Mal's cock. Shit, what the fuck am I doing? We're still in the costume shop changing room, which apparently has paper thin walls. Mal's eyes snap open and he freezes like a deer in headlights as I turn my head toward the door.

"Is everything ok in there?" the voice says in a way that hints that they know everything is not ok in here.

I hold still, on my knees, gripping onto Mal's naked thighs, his wet cock an inch from my face. I cough and try to sound normal.

"Y-yeah. Everything's fine. Just having an issue with the costume." My voice is rough and far too high-pitched. We look at each other. Mal looks so aghast in his cowboy hat and vest that it's almost too much. The urge to laugh bubbles up inside me and I have to press my lips tight. There's a heavy pause from outside and then . . .

"This is a family shop."

My face burns and I bury it into Mal's thick thigh. "Yeah. Sorry."

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Fair enough.

"Right. Ok. sorry."

Mal flops his head back against the wall and pinches the bridge of his nose.