She snorted and shook her head before shoving the Mark Antony toga against his chest. “Go try this on,” she said.
“Also, I believe Cleo kissed an asp, not a cobra,” he said.
“I’m not kissing your asp or charming your snake before the wedding.”
“But after…” He lifted his brows and wiggled them at her.
She grinned. “Count on it.”
Eric glanced over at the proprietor sitting behind the front counter. The elderly man—who was apparently mostly deaf, even though his ears were uncommonly large—was still sound asleep with head resting against the wall. Eric grinned and sidled over to the front door, locking it with a barely audible click. Old Malachi emitted a soft snore, but didn’t open his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Rebekah whispered loudly.
“Ensuring us a little privacy.”
“For what?”
Glassy-eyed and grinning, Eric led her to the enlarged wheelchair-accessible dressing room near the back of the store. He already looked like his cobra was ready to spit on her. The man’s sexual appetite knew no end. Not that Rebekah had any complaints. Hers happened to match his. At least it had since she’d met Eric Sticks, Mr. Libido himself.
When they were inside the large stall, he locked the door and immediately stripped her T-shirt off over her head.
“Don’t they have cameras in these things?” she asked, covering her bra with crossed arms.
Eric glanced around the stall and located a suspicious-looking black lens. He tossed her T-shirt over it and after checking carefully for additional points of observation, said, “Feel better?”
“What if Malachi wakes up?”
“I don’t think a nuclear explosion would rouse the man from his afternoon nap.”
She shrugged and stripped off her jeans and flip-flops. She slipped into the skirt and top of the costume and studied herself in the mirror while Eric tried to figure out how to fasten a leather sword belt over his toga.
Rebekah tugged at the hem of her short white skirt as she examined the outfit.
The bodice and skirt were trimmed in gold and faux jewels. It was cute and a little reveling—several inches of her belly showed—but it wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned wearing when she said I do. Of course she’d never imagined she’d be marrying someone like Eric, so quirky and fun and enthusiastic and spontaneous. Someone who completed her and made her feel alive and radiant with joy. She figured she’d settle for someone a bit more even-kilter. In other words, boring. Thank God she’d come to her senses.
“I’m not sure this is proper wedding attire,” she said.
“You look sexy, baby,” a deep voice whispered in her ear. She shivered at the sound, her body recognizing the tone as some surrender-to-his-passion cue.
A pair of strong, masculine hands slid around her bare midriff and splayed over her belly, which began to quiver in anticipation. The man’s hands always enflamed her into a raging inferno of lust.
She watched Eric touch her and smiled at the pair they made in the mirror, him all tall and dark and rugged and her all short and light and… she hated to admit it… adorable. Ugh! She couldn’t help but quirk a brow at the sight of Eric’s long bare legs peeking from beneath his own skirt. Well, technically his toga.
“I remember reading somewhere that Cleopatra sailed down the Nile topless.” Eric’s breath teased her ear, lifting gooseflesh along her spine. “Don’t you think you should stay in character?”
“I think you’re making that up,” she said.
“I’m not. Some famous historian discovered Ms. Patra had a bit of exhibitionist in her. They’ve recently started calling her the Lady Godiva of the Nile.”
“Oh really? What was this famous historian’s name?”
He shook his head. “I’m sure you’ve never heard of him.”
“I’m sure you’re right, because he doesn’t exist.”
Eric unfastened the gold clasp between her breasts and slipped the small top from her shoulders. The garment dropped to the floor. Eric traced the cup of her bra with one finger.
“Well, this will never do. I know Cleo never wore a bra,” he said.
She lifted an eyebrow and met his gaze in the mirror. “Are you going to try to convince me that she was the first feminist?”
“No, nothing like that,” he said, grinning as he watched his finger glide over the soft swell of her breast in her reflection. “Bras hadn’t been invented yet.”
Rebekah snorted with laughter.
Eric fumbled at her back, and the hook of her bra popped loose. The white lace landed at her feet on the strangely patterned red and green plush carpet. The décor of the costume shop probably hadn’t been upgraded in at least thirty years, but the ambiance of the place didn’t matter. Rebekah was having fun.
She always had fun when she was with Eric.
His hands slid up her ribs to cup her breasts and pinch her nipples. Her body jerked as her pussy throbbed with appreciation of his attention.
She also always had sex when she was with Eric.
Eric rubbed both her nipples with his thumbs until the pink tips grew hard and achy beneath his persistent touch. Rebekah sighed and lifted her arms over her head to bury her fingers in his thick black hair. It felt like warm silk against her fingertips. Some people thought his unusual haircut was weird, but she found it delightful. If she felt like stroking soft short hair or burying her fingers in medium-length hair or wrapping long strands around her hand or playing with stiff spikes, she could. All on the same head. Fingers delighting in the medium-length strands at his nape, she urged Eric’s head down so he’d use that delicious mouth of his on her flesh. Eager to please, Eric trailed kisses along her shoulder as she watched him in the mirror.