When I wake the second time, Isaac is no longer in bed. The smell of coffee is lingering in the air along with his manly scent. My eyes flutter open to discover him standing in the corner of the room, talking on his cell phone. He's dressed in his regular attire—a well-tailored three-piece suit. His hair is wet, and the stubble on his jaw has been trimmed into a neat, well-kept beard. I’ve been meaning to ask him about his new facial hair. Ever since we left the cabin, his freshly-shaven look has become null and void.
When I notice a giant Styrofoam coffee cup in his spare hand, I’m torn on which appetizing product to sample first.
Who am I kidding? I’d choose Isaac over caffeine any day of the week.
When I sit up to rub the sleep from my eyes, Isaac pivots around to face me. My pussy clenches when his eyes rake my body. Once he finalizes his call, he places his phone into his pocket before strolling my way. The smell of luxurious body wash and shampoo overpowers coffee the closer he gets.
“Good morning, Isabelle.”
“M-morning,” I stammer as heat imposes my cheeks.
He said his greeting in the manner he did when we were on his yacht, and he woke me in the most glorious way. From the sparkle in his eyes and the curve of his scrumptious mouth, I'd say he's well aware of that fact.
“Do you have one of those for me?” I ask after regaining some of the shrewdness that always disappears whenever he’s in my vicinity.
He jingles the Styrofoam cup in his hand. “One of these?”
“Uh-huh.”
After locking my gaze on the epitome of an alpha male, I’ll need something strong to suppress my urge to feast on him for breakfast.
“This is yours,” he says, holding out the coffee.
Just as I'm about to reach for it, he pulls it out of my grasp. My bottom lip drops into a pout as my inner vixen stomps her feet.
“What are you going to give me for it?” The sexy deepness of his voice has my womb coiling tight.
Happy to return his tease, I raise myself to a kneeling position before dragging my tongue along my hungry lips. His pupils widen when he watches my tongue’s travels. As my teeth skim my lower lips, I drink in the very essence of the man, only pausing when I reach the impressive bulge his trousers are failing to conceal. Now, a caffeinated brew is the last thing on my mind.
Growling, Isaac hands me the cup of coffee. “You play dirty.”
I smile. “Says the guy who wakes up every morning looking like sex-on-a-stick.” I take a sip of the coffee, burning my tongue with its scorching heat. The twinge of pain subdues the roaring chant of my inner vixen who’s loving our flirty banter.
“Sex-on-a-stick?” Isaac asks, muffling a chuckle.
“Uh-huh.” I place the boiling coffee on a wheeled table to cool before adjusting my position so we come face to face. “Regina called you sex-on-a-stick a few weeks ago. The nickname stuck,” I say with a shrug. “Even she couldn’t deny your sex appeal, and her idea of a perfect man is a tall, balding Russian with a heart bigger than his ginormous head.”
My Uncle Tobias was the very essence of a giant Russian teddy bear. His shoulders were nearly as wide as he was tall. He was thick, tall, and as bald as a badger, but he had the largest grin I’d ever seen and the softest pair of eyes. It was his nurturing eyes that secured my trust. Even though most men feared him, I craved his attention because under his rough appearance, he had the eyes of a gentle man. Just like Isaac.
“But there was no otherdruzhokfor her.”
“Druzhok?” Isaac questions, puzzled
“It means boyfriend in Russian.”
I press my lips to his before licking the seam of his mouth, requesting him to accept my kiss. His lips taste minty with a slight hint of the chocolate powder they sprinkle on freshly brewed coffee, but they fail to open. He’d rather talk—dammit!
“You speak Russian?”
I scrunch up my nose. “Not really. My Uncle Tobias and hisDedushkaspoke fluent Russian, so I learned a handful of phrases, but nothing overly useful. My unclealwayssaid I wasn’t allowed to have adruzhokuntil I was thirty, so that word is easy for me to remember.”
Isaac smirks a delicious smile that has my pussy throbbing. “Does that mean I have to wait another five years before I can become yourdruzhok?” His tone is serious even though his eyes are glistening with lust.
I smile over his hideous pronunciation of the word before nodding. “Well, four years and eight months, give or take a few days, but who’s counting?”
My playful banter immediately dissipates when he asks, “What’s the word for husband in Russian?”
I swallow, eradicating the large lump suddenly lodged in my throat. “Muzh.”
