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I checked my phone and found texts waiting from Nic.
CAN’T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU
WANT TO FUCK YOU AGAIN
I smiled. As a businessman, I understood the importance of supply and demand. As a designer, I knew aesthetics, appearance, how to make people desire something they really didn’t need. I shamelessly employed all of these skills to keep Nic desperate.
I pulled the bottoms of my suit up to give a peek of each ass cheek. Then I took a selfie, making sure he saw plenty of skin, and sent it to Nic. All I had to do was wait.
To kill time, I resumed my sketching. In less than two weeks I would be back in Paris, swamped with meetings to plan for the next collection. I had a few ideas, but nothing concrete. I needed inspiration soon.
During our holiday we had settled in a routine of working during the day and fucking late into the night. I usually sketched outside in the sun, taking calls, while Nic was holed up in his office.
This was why I was here, to distract him. To bring some of this glorious sun into his life. He even called me solnyshko, “little sunshine,” and luchik, which meant “sunbeam.” I found the nicknames terrifyingly endearing.
“You are in trouble,” a deep growl called out.
Nic. Every part of my skin sizzled as I watched this big, rough man appear on deck. His cream Zegna linen shirt and Brioni trousers fit him perfectly. The man had a closet full of designer clothing—all brands except for mine. I tried not to hold it against him.
He looked angry, which made him even hotter. The sun glinted off those frosty eyes and the silver strands at his temples. My lungs suddenly wouldn’t pull in enough air.
Now this was inspiration, though not for a clothing collection.
Trying to appear coy, I returned to my sketch, moving my pencil over the paper. “Did you need something, mon grand?” French for “big man”—a true statement in all the best ways.
“Hmm.” He kissed my shoulder. “I like that drawing. You are very talented.” Another kiss. “Creative.” Kiss. “Sexy.”
I grinned, then bit my lip. “What else do you like about me?”
He slapped my ass once, hard. “I will tell you what I do not like. You ignore my texts, then send photos to tempt me.”
“It was only one photo.”
“You know how much I love your ass.”
I decided to give him a show. Putting down my pencil and pad, I slowly rolled onto my front and stretched out. Allowed him to see everything God gave me.
His gaze swept my body, lingering on my crotch, and I shivered in response. He had the power to turn me inside out with one glance. “You look good enough to eat,” he murmured darkly, his accent thicker. “The most beautiful man I have ever seen. Get inside.”
“We should have lunch first.” I propped my sunglasses on my head and licked my lips to give them a shine.
“No.” Leaning down, he put a hand on either side of me. His chiseled features were all I could see as he said, “I only want to eat that sexy ass—right before I fuck it again.”
While I was in favor of this idea, I decided to tease him. “Don’t you have important meetings? I wouldn’t want to distract you.”
“I am always distracted by you, solnyshko. Even when we are apart.” Then his eyes softened. Dipping his head, he nuzzled my throat, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin almost reverently. Like he wanted to savor me. “Take pity on me. I am driving Ilya insane. He says I am weak for you.”
My toes curled. The giddy, bubbly feeling compounded inside my veins, expanding to warm every part of me. I didn’t know exactly what Ilya did, but I knew he was Nic’s right-hand man. I reached up to stroke Nic’s jaw. “I like you weak.”
“No, you don’t.” His mouth slid into a knowing smile as he straightened. “You like me strong. Like a bull.”
This was true. Nic was an absolute beast, and I loved it when he showed off his strength in bed. His endurance and stamina were unmatched.
Grabbing my phone, I unfolded from the lounger and stood. I was average height and on the thin side, while Nic was taller and wider than me, bulky from the weights I knew he lifted every morning. I bet all his clothes had to be custom fit. No designer planned for shoulders like these.
I dragged my fingers over his chest. I said in Italian, knowing he wouldn’t understand, “Sono pazzo di te. Ti voglio sempre al mio fianco.” I’m crazy about you. I want you always by my side.
His fingers latched onto my hips. “What does that mean?”
