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“See, now this is what I’m talking about.” She sighed. “This pool is bigger than the one at the community center my mom used to drop me off at when I was a kid. What single man needs so much just for him? And the rest of it”—she gestured at the room’s decor—“shows that your buddy has more money than taste.”
He winced. “Thomas is a bachelor. He’s also pretty good at getting what he wants.”
“Like most rich people. They do whatever it takes to get what they want, no matter who it hurts.”
“Want to go for a swim?” His tone soured, although he hadn’t meant it to. “Or is this room too ugly to hang out in?”
“Oh, I offended you.” She smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t realize you’d take it personally. I’d love to go for a swim, but . . . I didn’t bring a suit.” Her shrug was a thing of beauty, laced as it was with suggestive invitation.
“You’ll just have to skinny-dip, then.” His next words cost him a lot. “Unless you want to borrow a pair of my swim shorts and a T-shirt?” Please say no.
“Do you think I need to cover myself? Are you untrustworthy, Sir?”
“Why, yes, I’m extremely untrustworthy. But I can guarantee a swimsuit won’t deter me.”
She fiddled with the hem of her dress, as though she were shy and hadn’t begged for him to make her come several times now. “Is this all a ploy to get me naked?”
“Yes.”
There was a feigned gasp of shock. “Is this the room you keep your concubines in, oh Sultan?”
He laughed. “Banner and Konstantin joke about me keeping concubines here . . . when Thomas is away.” Fuck. He’d almost blown it. “Okay, concubine, show the Sultan what you have under that pretty dress.”
“The Sultan is a pervert, I see.” Amused, she lifted her dress over her head and stripped it off. Her matching bra-and-panty set was cobalt blue, and could well have worked as a bikini except for the fact that the bra was cupless. Her nipples, pink and stiff, made him regret he’d have to go upstairs if he wanted to get clamps for them.
Ambrose realized he’d been staring at her tits and her lovely curves too long, and he forced his gaze back up to her eyes.
“Lucky for you, I don’t have anything in this room to torture you with. Other than myself.”
She snorted. “If you were to excuse yourself momentarily, Master Sultan, I’m sure I could find some way to amuse myself until you come back.”
To the sound of her laughter, he was up the stairs and back in record time. She still stood almost where he’d left her.
“Come here, girl.”
“‘Girl’? Can’t you think of something better to call me?” She came to him anyway, the sway of her hips making his mouth water more than the steak had.
“Slave.” He opened his hand and showed her the slave bells he’d brought back.
“Slave?” She blinked at him. “I don’t make a good slave. Masters don’t like me.”
“I like you.”
“Are you a Master?”
“Yes, and I can be quite strict.”
A sigh escaped her, but it sounded more like longing than irritation.
Ambrose crouched and fastened the slave bells around her ankle.
“They’re so pretty!” She moved her foot and they chimed quietly.
He’d bought them on a whim when he’d picked up several other toys he had every intention of using on her.
“They are. They suit you.” From her ankle, he ran his palm up her smooth calf, and she inhaled sharply, as though she hadn’t expected it.
He rose and kissed her. She melted against him and a territorial growl tried to sneak out. When he’d seen her at the damned club, he’d wanted to punch that idiot Dom in the face. Actually, the guy had been decent about things when he’d realized she was taken, even though she technically wasn’t. But still, he’d been in bed when the text came from Konstantin and he’d found himself racing across town to reclaim her.
