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So, to quote the great Taylor Crown from four seconds ago: “hell fucking no.”
I’m not wearing this to breakfast.
Instead, I walk out onto the veranda, coffee in one hand and a piece of toast in the other, in cute, comfortable linen shorts and a white collared top with the sleeves rolled up. Drazen’s glaring pure malice at his phone. When he slams it down and looks up to see me, his eyes get even angrier.
“What the fuck are you wearing?”
I shrug as I sit across from him at the little metal table. “Clothes?”
“Not the ones I had laid out for you.”
I snort. “Very observant.” I turn to look out over the ocean, sighing thoughtfully as I bring the coffee mug to my lips. “I’ve been wondering. Who is it that leaves the outfits for me in the morning? I mean I would assume Yaelle, because I can’t imagine you letting Milos or any of your men into my room while I’m sleeping, considering you won’t even let them look at me when I’m awake. But is it you? I mean, I have a hard time seeing you as a secret expert on women’s clothing, but?—”
“Would you care to explain why you seem to be under the impression that it’s acceptable for you to break the rules of our arrangement?”
“Is dressing me a rule?” I snap.
“Yes,” he grunts back. “As is your obedience.”
Something twists and tugs in my core.
“What you laid out was hardly appropriate.”
“For?” he growls.
I shift in my seat, my bottom lip catching between my teeth. “For breakfast.”
I look away, but I can feel his eyes boring into me. Sure enough, when I look back, he’s looking at me with such ferocity that I shiver.
“What makes you think I wanted you to wear that because I thought it was appropriate breakfast attire?”
I clear my throat and sip my coffee. “I can’t read you at all, actually,” I mutter. “So I guess I assumed it was open to interpretation.” I take another sip. “All right, why did you want me to dress like that?”
“Because I’ve had a rough couple of days with work,” he growls. “Because I wanted you in what I picked for you, in here, on your fucking knees, with your lips wrapped around my cock.”
I almost spit out my coffee, my eyes ripping back to his, staring at him with heat on my cheeks. Drazen’s face stays completely neutral as he pushes his chair back from the table. My eyes go wide as his veined, tattooed hands drop to his pants, undoing the button and fly. My mouth falls open in shock as the man pulls his huge, thick cock out of the tight confines of his linen pants, his hand wrapped around the thick base and the fat head swollen and glistening with precum.
Shamefully, horribly, and instantly, I’m wet.
“Outfit aside,” he growls, smirking. “Now is when you can get on your knees, come here, and open up that pretty mouth so that I can fuck it.”
My breath becomes ragged and choked. My face burns hotly as my eyes fixate on his dick before I manage to pull my gaze up to his face.
I’ll admit, for a hot second, I almost slide right off the chair at the thrilling mix of emotions that he seems to bring out in me: the potent cocktail of fear and excitement. The thrill of the commanding, demanding, dominant tone. The way him saying something like that, and doing something like that, makes me want to throw my coffee in his face and call him a pig.
But also how it makes me want to drop to my knees and do exactly as he commands.
Plus, after what happened the other night and then a full of week of nothing, I’ll admit it: I’m horny. And I mean, the man is a freaking god with a devil’s cock.
Still, something inside of me balks.
What the fuck, self. I mean, have a little self-respect?
So I shove the filthy impulse and the aching desire away. I swallow the lump in my throat and fill my lungs with air as I force myself to look away.
“Mm, I don’t think so.”
The veranda is utterly silent except for the soft cry of a seagull somewhere and the rhythmic crash of the waves at the bottom of the cliffs below.
