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“I don’t want your fucking dress.”
Her ass was pressed up against the glass, and I pulled her forward just enough to give her a stinging slap straight to her cheeks. “Say you want the dress.”
“No,” she raged.
I took her mouth in mine and pushed her back against the window, plunging my tongue into her and preventing her from saying anything else. She writhed against my body. “Say it,” I said, coming up for air.
“You’re a dick.”
“So, you’ve said before.” I pulled her thong to the side, running my fingers along her slit. She was wet. Oh, so wet. And my cock sprung to attention. My palm massaged her clit as I slowly inserted two fingers into her. “Tell me you want the dress.”
“Mmmm,” she moaned.
“What was that, darling?”
“I said – I - don’t – mmmm.”
“That’s what I thought.” I increased the pressure as one of her legs wrapped around me.
“Please,” she begged.
“Now that’s more like it.” I continued to thrust my fingers into her, curling the tips forward. She lurched against me, and her body tensed. “Please, what?” I asked, continuing my ministrations.
“Please.”
She was on the cusp of coming, and I was dragging out the torture on purpose. And yes, I was enjoying it. “Please, you want a new dress?”
“Yes.”
“Good girl.” I circled my thumb on her clit, and she cried out one final time as her orgasm wracked her body. I let go of her hands, and she grasped my shoulders, unable to stand on her own. “That’s my girl. I’ll call down to concierge and have them send my personal shopper up with her selection of dresses, and you will behave and say thank you.”
I pulled her pants up and refastened them. “You looked utterly ruined,” I said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “It suits you.”
“That’s not fair. You took advantage of me.”
“Oh, it’s fair, darling. It’s definitely fair.”
* * *
We crossedthe Thames and headed to the West End of London and the Dorchester Hotel. Undeniably British and impeccably stylish, it was the quintessential mark of wealth, and nestled inside was one of my favorite restaurants.
Alain Ducasse.
I rarely flaunted my wealth except when it came to two things.
Good food.
And single malt whiskey.
And when it came to food, I didn’t care if it came from a food truck in Los Angeles, a market in Thailand, or a three-star Michelin restaurant like Alain Ducasse. The simple details of craft and the love of the art were all the same. Good food was good food, and the dragon liked to eat.
Thank goodness the farther he was away from his lair, the less I felt him. The strength of his dominion was dampened. I wanted time alone with Navy without the bloody demon getting in the way.
She looked beautiful, and as much as she protested and complained about the dress, I think even she felt slightly pleased with the outcome.
Claudia, my personal shopper, had chosen several gowns, given my specific requirements. It must be black, and it can’t be too fussy. Together, they agreed upon a dress with a tight black corset, thin lace straps, and a long, soft, tiered lace skirt. Claudia paled when Navy wanted to wear it with her combat boots, stating no one would see them anyway under the skirt. But in the end, Claudia convinced her a simple pair of black pumps with thick straps and silver buckles would pair better.
The end result was simple.
