There he and I agree. But if I remember rightly, the idiot’s words weren’t so euphemistic. He was so enraptured by the sight of Isla from a distance, he’d said he’d be willing to suck Alexander’s cock just to get a taste of his latest squeeze.
“After he was made aware of his error, and his apologies very quickly offered, the idiot asked how he might get to know his grace’s sister. Alexander’s answer? A firm offer of marriage and the naming of your firstborn son after him. This would be in exchange for not shooting him.”
“That sounds like something he’d say to someone he didn’t like. He likes you. I know he does.”
“Have you asked yourself why we’ve never met before?” Because I have.
“But he likes you.”
“Not enough to introduce me to his sister.” Because he knows me too well.
“It’s not the first time I’ve been rejected over my brother.” She lifts her glass in an ironic toast. “I was first out of the womb, yet he got the dukedom.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never imagined your brother in my bed.”
Her eyes sparkle, her laughter restrained. “That would sting.”
So would being in my bed, I don’t reply. It would sting and hurt, and she’d probably cry a little and beg for a little more. A little more, I’d deliver before kissing away the aches and licking away the stings. She’d look so fucking pretty tied, tears steaking her face, and my cock in her mouth. Fuck. I put my glass down, forcing my fingers to uncurl from the bowl, wondering how it’s still in one piece.
“Do you have a good dentist?”
“Sorry?” I look up, finding mischief dancing in her eyes.
“All that jaw clenching.” She gives in to her smile. “You should probably order a mouthguard before your molars crumble.”
“You think?” Or did you notice my jaw because you have a mouth kink? Do you like wearing a gag? Or is a mouthful of fingers your thing, Lady Isla? Maybe you like tender strokes to the cheek and murmured praise while your mouth is full? I remember how her breath had held as I’d bitten the tip of her finger.
“Anyway, I can’t take your brand-new Aston Martin.” Her voice brings me back from my musing and my stiffening cock.
“It’s already done. All that’s left is for you to get used to it.”
“And when Sandy asks me where it came from?” she inquires with a tiny, incredulous laugh.
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“As will he! Probably that I’ve got myself a very rich sugar daddy.”
“A less horrifying prospect than his deviant friend.”
“Deviant?”
That would be the one thing she picked up in that statement. “He’d certainly think I’m a deviant. My best friend’s sister.” I shrug, covering the slipup.
“Why do I think you’re hiding things?”
“Because you’re far too astute.” Hiding what would make you blush and cry. Moan and cry out. Hiding what would give you nightmares, as well.
“This is a really lovely place.” Isla’s eyes slip to the terrace and the view beyond the glass before her attention swings back. “What do you do, Niko?”
“Do?”
“I mean, do you work, or are you a trust fund baby?” Her shoulders hunch a little as she makes a triangle with her fingers over the base of her glass. “Sandy said your family is fabulously wealthy oligarchs.” It’s not quite a question, though the inflection is there.
“What would be your second guess?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Russians are only known for vodka, money, and dubious business dealings.”
“You forgot criminals.” She arches a brow and I swear it makes my cock twitch. If only she knew how close she is to the truth. “Some would say all rich people are criminals.”
“What is this, Isla?”
She swallows more wine, momentarily veiling her thoughts with a lowering of her lashes. “My friends call me Izzy,” she eventually answers.
“Is that what we are? Friends.”
“Without the benefits,” she answers, full of faux solemnity. “Sadly.” This is added in almost a whisper before she suddenly sits straight as though regretting the utterance. “Do you want to be my friend?”
What I want is to fuck her until she can’t remember her own name. There’s no way we can be friends. But as she sits in my kitchen, I can do nothing but enjoy her in the ways available to me.
“I won’t make you braid my hair or anything.”
“I was especially looking forward to that part of the friendship.” Braid her hair, tie it back before braiding her body with a crisscrossing of ropes.
She grins. “We’ll work up to it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Well, friend,” she says, hopping down from the stool. “I’m dying to have a snoop around your place. You don’t mind, do you?” she adds, grabbing her glass.
“Would it stop you if I said yes?” Would she let me do the same? Let me examine the contents of her nightstand drawer in return?