Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
In which I refuse to wear thongs and Ocean doesn’t want to leave. Thank fuck .
I’d fallen asleep again, which surprised me. Sleeping well was not a habit of mine, and for the first time in months, maybe even longer, I felt rested. The grogginess from earlier had made place for an alert energy, the kind I hadn’t felt in a long time. Strange. Maybe blowjobs had restorative quantities I should look into. You’d think I would’ve discovered those by now though.
Whatever. I was grateful to feel good, and I’d take it. Ocean was in the shower, and I had to resist the urge to peek. Stupid because I’d already seen him naked and had been fed the man’s perfect cock until I gagged, but somehow, this felt more intimate. Instead, I stood in front of the closet, where Ocean had neatly hung all my clothes, trying to pick an outfit.
He’d been right. I had done a half-assed job of packing, only grabbing business attire and no casual clothes whatsoever. Oops. That should teach me not to pack while I was upset. Or not to pack for myself in the first place. Oliver always did that for me, and I’d never lacked anything. He was so goddamn good at his job. Hell, he’d even managed to book me this suite on such short notice. Either he had connections, or he’d thrown money at it. Spoiled as it sounded, there were very few problems money couldn’t solve.
A knock on the door startled me. “Who’s there?”
“The concierge, Mr. Sullivan. I have your purchases.”
My purchases? Had Ocean already ordered something during my first nap? “One moment.”
I quickly put on pants and a white T-shirt, then hurried to the door.
“Good evening, Mr. Sullivan.” Mike flashed me a genuine smile. “I have all your purchases for you.”
He had a whole cart of packages and bags from different stores and brands, ranging from shoe boxes sporting the familiar swoosh logo to Calvin Klein—that had to be my new underwear—and Jesus, had Ocean gotten me flip-flops? I stepped aside and held the door open. “Thank you. You can put them right here.”
As Mike wheeled them in and started unloading, I hunted down my wallet. Fuck, I didn’t have Australian dollars yet, just US currency. I’d never been so unprepared for a trip in my life. When he was done, I cleared my throat. “Can you exchange US dollars? If not, I’ll have to find an ATM and tip you as soon as I have cash.”
He shook his head. “You already tipped me, Mr. Sullivan. Or your assistant did when he stopped by.”
My assistant? How did Oliver…? Oh wait. Ocean. He must’ve told the concierge he was my assistant, which made sense. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have executed his requests. But did that mean Ocean had left the room while I’d been asleep? I’d never even noticed. “Oh, okay. Good. I wasn’t aware.”
“No problem at all.”
He took the cart with him, leaving me with the Mount Everest of packages and bags. What the hell had Ocean bought for me? Since I was currently going commando in my slacks, I started with the Calvin Klein bags. Yup, he’d gotten me tight black boxer briefs that looked like they’d fit me perfectly. Awesome. What else? I didn’t even recognize half the labels.
“Oh good. Your stuff arrived.”
I hadn’t even noticed the shower turning off. Ocean had a towel wrapped around his waist, looking like a sun-kissed Greek god. A few droplets meandered down his chest, and I had a hard time looking away. He was so fucking hot. “Did you buy from every store in Melbourne?” I asked when I finally had control over my voice again.
“Nah, not even close. But you can’t walk around in suits and ties for four weeks.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “And why not, pray tell? I rarely wear anything else, even at home.”
“Yeah, well, suits are perfectly acceptable in New York, but this is Australia. Fashion is less stuffy and formal here and more edgy and daring than on conservative Wall Street. I got you everything from beach chic to sustainable casual and the most gorgeous boots you’ll ever own from an Australian brand called R.M. Williams.”
Beach chic? What the hell did that even mean? “I’ll take your word for it, but that doesn’t explain the flip-flops.”
“Thongs.”
My eyes widened. “You got me thongs? I’m not wearing thongs. I highly doubt I can pull them off, but even more importantly, they’re incredibly uncomfortable. The two times I wore one, my asshole was rubbed raw from the friction.”
He snorted, slapping his hand in front of his mouth. “Oh, I would’ve loved to see that.”
“Not happening, so if you bought any, I suggest you return them.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why did you?—”
“Thongs are what the Australians call flip-flops. I got you thongs of that kind. Really nice leather ones, in fact.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Feel better now?”
I shrugged. “Yeah, but I still have no clue why you’d buy me flip-flops or thongs or whatever other name you call them. Do I look like the kind of man who wears those?”
“They’re the appropriate footwear for the beach.”
“The beach? Who said anything about going to the beach?”
He slowly shook his head, clicking his tongue. “The man wants to stay here for four weeks and not set foot on the beach. You should be kicked out of the country for that.”
“I’ll alert the Australian Immigration Services, though I highly doubt they’ll agree with you.”
“Mark my words, four weeks from now, I’ll have you standing on a surfboard.”
“A surfboard?” I chuckled. “I’d like to see you try.”
“I have my ways.”
He did, but no matter how sensitive I was to his not-so-subtle commands, there was no way in hell I would ever try surfing. “I hope you bought swimming trunks because I don’t even think I packed those.”
“You didn’t, and I bought two. Plus a wet suit.”
“A wet suit?”
He shrugged. “Figured it was better to be prepared in case you wanted to try surfing. If not, I’ll keep it after.”
He wasn’t even questioning if I would let him, and strangely enough, I liked that. Most guys fell into one of two categories: they wanted me to spend as much of my money on them as possible, or they refused even the cheapest gifts as if they needed to prove my money didn’t matter.
Of course it mattered. Money changed everything. But Ocean had freely spent a couple thousand dollars on clothes for me without blinking an eye, and he’d assumed he could keep the wet suit. My money was a tool for him, and he knew exactly what it meant to me. Nothing. “Thank you for shopping for me.”
“You’re very welcome. I’ve always liked spending someone else’s money. Now, take off your clothes.”
“Excuse me?”
He put his hands on his hips, which should look ridiculous considering his towel outfit, but it only made him look hotter, which I hadn’t thought possible. “You heard me.”
“Why the hell would I?—”
“Are you going to fight me every step of the way?”
“You could try asking instead of commanding. See where that gets you. It’s the whole honey and vinegar thing.”
He pushed off the doorframe and walked until he was practically in my face. For some reason, I had to fight the urge to step back. What was it about him? I had stared down CEOs of the most powerful companies in the world, but this twenty-four-year-old surfer intimidated me, and I had no idea why.
“We both know that if I told you to get on your knees right now and suck me off again, you wouldn’t even hesitate.”
Fuck. I swallowed. “Well, I do love a good throat fucking.”
It was a weak attempt at protecting my ego, and we both knew it.
He tilted my chin up with one finger. “Things will be a hell of a lot easier if you stop fighting me, Cash.”
“Or you could stop trying to boss me around.”
His finger trailed to my lips, tracing them. “Is that what you want, Cash? Want me to be like every other man in your bed and let you call the shots? Just look pretty, offer you my ass, and shut the fuck up?”
“I don’t know what you want from me.” A strange panic clawed at my throat like it was bubbling up from inside me.
His expression softened, and his touch became a caress of my cheek, setting my skin ablaze. “I’m going too fast, aren’t I? I’m sorry.”
“Too fast for what? I don’t understand.”
He opened his arms, and without even thinking about it, I stepped into his embrace. He held me tight in the best way, one of those close, firm hugs that made me feel seen, heard, and cared for. Almost like my mom used to do when I was a kid and had hurt myself. At first, I stood stiff, as if relaxing would mean surrendering, but then I gave up. Why would I fight a hug?
With a gentle nudge, he encouraged me to put my head on his shoulder. “I know you don’t understand what’s happening,” he said softly. “But can you try to trust me?”
“I barely know you.”
He hummed, slipping under my shirt with his left hand and making circles on my back. “Yet I’m asking you to trust me.”
“Thanks to your father, I don’t give my trust that easily anymore.”
“I’m not Preston.”
No, he wasn’t, and I felt like an asshole for even bringing Preston into this. “Nowhere even close. But trust doesn’t come easy to me, and it doesn’t help when you seem to have an agenda I can’t figure out.”
He took his time answering. “Would you believe me if I told you my agenda is to take care of you?”
“How is telling me to take off my clothes taking care of me?”
“Maybe I wanted to blow you. Maybe I wanted to help you try on your new clothes. Maybe I wanted to look at you naked and tell you how hot you are. Do any of those sound like a possible reason?”
They did, actually. Had I overreacted? Maybe I was still more tired than I had realized and had misinterpreted his actions. “I don’t like being told what to do.”
“So I’m discovering.”
“And you’re quite bossy.”
“I am.”
“So maybe you could…tone it down? And I could try to be more understanding?”
“You don’t want me to leave?”
My heart skipped a beat, and I pushed against his chest, freeing myself from his hold. “Do you want to leave?”
“No, Cash. I want to stay. I very, very much want to stay.”
“Then please stay. Don’t…” I had to swallow again. “Don’t leave me.”
“I promise.”
If I didn’t create some distance between us now, I would say or do something I’d regret later. He had me way too emotional—in itself a rare occurrence as I usually had an iron-clad control over myself—and if I wasn’t careful, I’d reveal much more than he should know. This was an affair, if even that. Four weeks of casual, relaxed fun with a hot guy who was, by his own admission, my boy toy. The last thing I should do was attach more meaning to it.
I stepped farther back, then turned my back toward him as I whipped my T-shirt over my head. “So, which of the possible reasons you offered for wanting me to strip was the correct one?”
He put his hands on my shoulders, startling me. “How about all three? We’ll start with me having a good look at you, and then you can model your new clothes for me and let me gawk at you some more. And who knows, by then, we both may be in the mood for another blowjob.”