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Ariel - Mall Mermaid in Cashmere (583 photos) (Patreon)
Content
The luxury mall in downtown Atlantica City closed at 9 PM sharp.
Ariel had the keycard.
She’d traded her mermaid crown for a platinum card months ago, but tonight she wasn’t shopping for pearls. She was shopping for him.
She glided through the marble concourse in a cream ribbed turtleneck mini-dress (the kind that clung like liquid silk, hem skimming mid-thigh, sleeves long enough to hide the faint shimmer of scales on her wrists). Red hair loose and wild, cascading like a flame down her back. No shoes—just bare feet padding silently across the polished floor, the cool stone kissing her soles with every step.
He was the night manager who’d been leaving anonymous notes in her dressing room for weeks: “Try the VIP lounge. I left something in your size.”
She found him in the private showroom, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened.
He froze when she stepped into the light, dress riding higher with every sway of her hips, red hair catching the chandelier glow like spilled merlot.
“Inventory?” he asked, voice rough.
Ariel smiled, slow and dangerous.
“Hands-on.”
She pushed him onto the velvet chaise, dress stretching tight as she straddled his lap. The security cameras blinked off (she’d disabled them with a flick of her wrist). His hands found her waist, thumbs brushing the hem, then higher, until the dress bunched at her ribs.
They didn’t make it to the fitting room.
The chaise became their runway: her back against the velvet, his mouth on her neck, the dress pushed up just enough. When she came, it was with her fingers tangled in his hair and her laugh echoing off the mirrored walls.
Later, curled against him on the chaise, dress askew, bare feet tucked under his legs, Ariel traced a heart in the condensation on the glass.
“Same time tomorrow?” she whispered.
He kissed the freckles on her shoulder.
“Every after-hours, Princess.”
Some treasures aren’t in the sea.
Some are found in the VIP lounge, after closing.
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