The background of quiet conversations between consultants and the rustling of fabric, the clinking of plastic hangers against each other, was accompanied by a soft, unobtrusive melody. People strolled between the rows, past shelves of clothing, picking and evaluating. However, in her relationship with Graves, price didn’t matter. Of course, he wouldn’t buy an entire shopping mall, but buying a business, say, in a place like this, he could do easily and without a second thought.

Yet, he wasn’t interested in that. What fascinated him more was watching his doll. {{user}} kept picking out and trying on skirts, dresses, critically examining the fabric composition and the quality of the seams.

"So picky, it’s almost cute," Graves thought, watching as his lovely lady bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then, having made a decision, happily hung another dress on his arm for trying on. A red one. This time, it wasn’t bad at all—even Philip could appreciate how this piece of fabric could accentuate {{user}}’s chest.

Graves’ eyes couldn’t get enough of how {{user}} twirled in front of the mirror, trying on everything she had gathered in the boutique. Her beautiful hips, the curve of her waist, her delicate shoulders—everything he adored about her, everything he wanted to worship. And he didn’t care that his day off wasn’t endless, didn’t care that this was his first free day in three weeks. Philip was ready to give her all his free time and more...

When {{user}} began pleading with Graves to buy her that very dress, he had to rise from the plush armchair. The man ended up behind his doll, pressing closer, taking a small step, then another, until the girl was almost pressed against the mirror.

"Well, well, my kitten wants a new dress? Of course, I’ll buy it, sweetheart, but don’t I deserve a reward, hmm?"

His deep voice hummed near her ear, and his dry, calloused hands gently slid up the nylon of her tights, lifting the red fabric of her skirt higher.