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“Exactly.” He finishes braiding my hair and wraps the tie around the bottom. “All right, all done.”
I pull the braid over my shoulder so I can look at it. “Nice work. Am I allowed to get dressed now?”
“If you must.”
When I throw off the blanket and crawl over to climb off the bed, he leans forward and smacks my ass.
I shoot him a look, but judging by the smirk on his face, he’s not sorry at all.
I wash up at the sink, then I pull on the soft gray dress he wants me to wear. The material is thin, and I’m not wearing a bra underneath, so the outline of my breasts is clearly visible, and my nipples are inexplicably standing at attention.
I guess itisa little cool in here.
I can’t possibly have breakfast with his parents like this, so I pop my head back into the bedroom. “Is there a robe or something I can wear over this dress?”
“You don’t like it?”
“I do, it’s very comfortable, but…” It’s easier just to show him, so I step into the room, and his gaze drops right to my nipples, standing proudly erect against the soft fabric.
Silvan smirks. “Youdolike it.”
My cheeks warm, and I cross my arms over my chest. “Obviously, I need more coverage than this.”
“Maybe we should have breakfast in bed today,” he decides, his hungry gaze locked on my tits despite my attempt to cover them.
My eyes widen. “Is that an option?”
I’d much prefer breakfast alone with Silvan than downstairs with his scary dad.
His gaze lifts to my face. “Do you want it to be?”
“Yes,” I say, unable to entirely tamp down my enthusiasm.
“Then of course it’s an option. And what we’re doing.” Leaning back, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand and shoots off what I assume is a text. “Done.” He replaces the phone as soon as he’s finished and pats the mattress beside him. “Now, get your pretty little ass back in bed.”
“You’re so good to me,” I say lightly as I pull the bathroom door shut behind me and pad over to the bed. “Best kidnapper ever.”
“I appreciate the acknowledgment, but I won’t let my head get too big over it. That’s probably a pretty easy category to win.”
I slide beneath the blanket and settle it over my lap. “How does breakfast in bed work? I don’t think I’ve ever eaten in bed except for a couple of times when I was sick as a kid and my mom made me chicken noodle soup.”
“One of the servants will bring up a cart in a few minutes.”
“One of the servants, he says.” I shake my head at what a ridiculous notion it is.
He shrugs. “I’ve always had servants. It’s normal to me.”
“When you were a kid, did your mom bring you soup when you were sick, or did the servants?”
“A combination of both. My mom is a nurturer, so she always stepped in with the human component, but we had servants, so they helped make it easy for her. They made the soup; she sat at my bedside touching my forehead with the back of her hand and looking sad that she couldn’t fix my run-of-the-mill illness for me.”
I watch his face, picking up on a certain guardedness when he talks about his mom. “Are you guys close?” He looks over at me. “You and your mom?”
“Yeah, sure, we’re close,” he says, but even the way he says it is in a trailing off way that tells me there’s more to the story.
“Spill,” I command.
He cocks an eyebrow at my bossiness but gives me a little more anyway. “There’s nothing to spill. She’s a good mom.”
