Bastard.
“Maybe I should just go. I mean, why would I possibly want to spend another night here with you, watching you jack off and give me the blow off when I can waste my time at home with my vibrator?”
Whoa, that was just unnecessary, Sis. Get a grip.
“Dove—”
“And what’s with the clothes, huh? Do I look like a goddamned Barbie doll to you? If you want to play dress up with a woman you should—”
“That’s enough!” he roars, slamming me into his chest.
I look up to see his eyes have changed color to a deep moss green that glows with anger.
“Not one more fucking word.”
“But—”
“I sent you the dresses because I didn’t want you spending money on something you can’t afford right now. I specifically chose them to suit you, to be something you yourself would have chosen. Believe me, Cecelia, if it had been my choice you’d be wearing enough fabric that no other man gets to see an inch of your delectable skin.”
Oh crap. He’s right, and I know it. Those dresses had been far sexier and more colorful than Vincent would go for.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, leaning my forehead into his chest. His scent hits me, that blend of citrus and man, and I feel myself melt into his heat. “I’ve been iffy all night after Bee’s boyfriend went all dictator on her. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
He relaxes and rubs soothingly at my back, kneading the tension from my shoulders I hadn’t even noticed till now.
“What has this Eric done to upset you so?”
“He’s been buying all of Bee’s clothes lately, and…he’s just been really controlling, I think. I think he’s even been telling her what to eat, because tonight, when she ordered food, he went nuts about what she was eating. And she’s lost weight.”
“Dove, I would never try to change you or force you to be something you’re not. I actually like that you don’t look like a carbon copy of what society wants, and you can bloody well believe I would never try to starve you.”
I snort at that and duck my head in shame. In fact, the man feeds me way too much when we’re together, and has a hernia if I so much as make a crack about needing to drop a pound or two.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. Now come along, woman: you have a painting to start.”
My worries and the anger melt away, replaced by the familiar tingle of anticipation and the sexual heat I am now more than familiar with. As I follow him upstairs and into his bedroom, I release it all and allow myself this time with Vincent.
I have every intention of seducing my guy tonight.
“I’ll go grab a shower while you get ready, dove.”
Same as every other night before this. He strides away, leaving me alone, and I waste no time whipping the dress up and over my head. The shoes stay on, along with the lingerie, and I smile to myself as I hear the shower turn off.
Bending at the waist, I lean down to swipe the dress up, fully aware of the view he’ll see when he come back out.
My ass is pointed up and on full display, the creamy globes bare but for the thin string nestled between the cheeks. I hear Vincent curse and smile smugly as I straighten slowly and turn back, taking my time with fluffing and folding the dress.
I know exactly how great I look with my hairless mound visible through the lace and my breasts spilling over the snug cups of the bustier.
“Dove.”
“Get a move on, Vincent.”
By the time he’s dropped the towel and reclined on the bed I’ve decided to at least try and play this game. I reach for the front hooks of the bustier and stifle a grin when he shakes his head.
“No, dove, leave it on.”
I shrug as casually as I can and boost myself onto the stool, taking note of his fascination with my jiggling breasts and the slight peek of aureole he’s getting with my every move.
I’m aroused and giddy with triumph to the point that when I pick up my brush and start mixing oils, I’m as steady as a rock for the first time in days.
Funny what a little change in power can do for a girl.
“Are you done then, dove?” I hear an hour later, just when I’ve started to get into it.
Vincent has been shifting around restlessly and throwing irritable sighs around the entire time. And he hasn’t touched his dick once, I note, biting my lips to keep from laughing.
“Not yet, but—”
He’s up and tossing my brush and palette in the next instant, and I yelp when he picks me up and tosses me at the bed.
“Christ, you’ve been teasing me into a frenzy, woman,” he snarls, stalking to the foot of the bed with a lazy glide that belies the tension I see gripping his large frame.