Chapter 8
Pussy Whipped
Roman
I left Isla’s room, but I didn’t walk to mine—I floated. Sleepwalked. Hypnotized. The butterflies in my stomach set my entire body on fire. I greatly enjoyed our little chat and hearing her confirm that she had nowhere to go absolutely elated me. She would stay with me; I was sure of it now.
Once I slumped into bed, I ordered a moka pot, milk, and a bunch of other food to arrive tomorrow morning. If Isla wanted coffee from a moka pot with milk—she would get it.
Fuck me, I was complete mush. This girl was submitting me—me, without even trying.
Knowing she was feeling better and asleep, I finally rested.
Like usual, I was awake before dawn—work-out, shower—but while I was unpacking the delivered groceries, I heard the light click of her bedroom door opening.
Standing at the kitchen island, I listened intently as she slowly came down the hallway, her hand sliding on the wall for support.
God fucking damn it, she looked so blissful and adorable in the morning. She was so sleepy; her hair was all over the place, and she had not worn a bra once since I’d met her. I actively avoided looking at her perky tits.
"Good morning.” She cleared her throat. "Um, I forgot the toothbrush you gave me yesterday. In your bathroom."
"I'll get it for you. You want some breakfast first?" I stepped back and pointed to the moka pot on the stove.
Immediately, her eyes lit up, and pure joy and amazement appeared on her face. Fuck, her smile and happiness bloomed between us, and I wanted to replicate this feeling again and again.
"What?! Where did you—how do you have a moka pot?!" she blurted out, her smile wide.
"Well, I took offense that you think my coffee is awful, so I'm determined to prove that's not the case." Isla took an uneven step forward and leaned on the countertop, her silly, sleepy smile filling me up with happiness too. But then I remembered what happened to her. "How are your legs?"
Her wild and tangled hair framed her face, and I caught that beautiful sparkle in her eyes. "If possible, both better and worse. I really want to sit down on my butt, but I'm scared to bend my legs." She chuckled lightly. "Are you planning to make breakfast with all that?"
She looked over the carton of eggs on the counter and a bunch of other shit I had bought. I hated cooking and didn't actually know how to.
"Yeah," I replied confidently.
"Do...you know how? Because if you're planning to make an omelet—which is what the ingredients look like—you don't use a pot for that...you use a frying pan." Her cheeks quivered as she tried to hold back her laughter.
"Oh-kay, Chef Gordon Ramsay, show me how it's done then!" I challenged her, but her smile only widened, and she slowly hobbled over to stand in front of the stove beside me.
My heart was threatening to burst out of me at the proximity.
Holy hell, I had a fucking problem. Unable to look away from her, I noticed she stole a few glances at my naked chest. "You should probably put a shirt on.” She spoke quietly, and I completely ignited at that sentence, feeling my dick twitch just from her eyes on me.
"You're too distracted by my half-naked body?" The joke was there, but I was serious. Was she?
Wow, I had to slow down. I was completely not in control of my mouth. My mouth…kissing her pink lips...licking her delicious pussy, planting soft kisses on her back. My intrusive thoughts were overpowering me again.
A small blush crept onto her plump cheeks, but she didn't falter. Slowly, she turned to face me, letting her gaze slide down my body. Our height difference was suddenly screaming in my face when I realized I had to look down fully. She was maybe five-foot-seven and I was six-five.
"You do have a nice body.” Her gaze settled on my neck, sending violent goosebumps all over my skin. “Obviously. But no, I'm not distracted. If you're going to fry something, it's best to wear clothes. In case the oil or butter splatters."
The last word came out as a whisper just as her large gray eyes found mine, catching my stare.
Damn. She wasn’t a simple girl. She may have been young and innocent, but there was something…
something behind her eyes and in the tone of her voice that I couldn't quite pick up on. Provocation? Defiance? Disobedience?
She rendered me speechless; for some reason I couldn't find a retort to her last words. We just stood there, as if in a staring contest, and I was lost. Lost in her eyes and presence.
Finally, she broke the silence and asked with her now recognizable kindness. "Do you have a frying pan? And a bowl and fork?"
I gave her what she needed and promptly abandoned her in the kitchen, heading to grab a t-shirt and her toothbrush, doing my best to distract myself from that moment of closeness to her. I stood at the bathroom mirror and just breathed, trying to compose myself.
I was on edge. Having Isla live with me so casually was such a new and foreign concept to me. For all my sexual adventures, I'd never had a girl stay over longer than one night, and we sure as hell didn't make breakfast in the morning.
Miraculously, the omelets were already done when I came back into the kitchen to witness Isla setting two plates in front of her. Wow, that would have taken me a whole fucking hour.
Isla couldn’t sit, so she leaned on the dining table with her elbows, giggling as she struggled to cut her food.
The sweet sound of her small laughter somehow put me at ease.
It was like a signal that everything was okay in the world.
Not thinking too much about my actions, I cut her omelet for her, unable to stop myself from helping.
“Thank you.” Her genuine, pure, bright smile was directed at me again and lit up my face too.
Fuck. I was supposed to kick her out, wasn’t I? I just had to get rid of her. But no, instead, she served me the best omelet I’d ever tasted. Amazing. She was a great cook too; just fucking kill me already.
I helped clean up and made her coffee how she liked it: out of a moka pot, with milk. "Mmm...great coffee,” Isla mused as she stood at the window, and I tried not to stare at her standing in my dining room, in my t-shirt. “Thank you. A great cup of coffee can really turn things around, you know?"
"Okay, sit down or...stand, I guess.” I took out my laptop and wallet, grabbing a seat at the dining table once more. “Let's get you some new clothes. What do you need? I assume everything." I clicked mindlessly, waiting for her to come closer, but she didn’t move, still enjoying the view.
“Yes, I'd love to, but I'm pretty sure my bank cards all melted in the inferno." She sipped on her coffee, gazing out the window so wistfully.
"Use my card. Come here, pick what you want.
You're going to need everything." I hated to admit to myself how excited I was to shop for her and see what she liked to wear. I’d never seen her in actual clothes, only in my t-shirt and boxers and her silk nightie, the image of which was burned into my mind.
"No. I can't use your card." She suddenly twisted toward me, her face dead serious and her tone angry and defiant.
"Why not? You're okay wearing my boxers, but you can't spend my cash buying yourself some clothes?" I joked as I googled a very generic: women’s clothes.
"First of all, I never said I was okay with it.” Her tone was sharp and cold. “I just don't have a choice right now, and yeah! I won't spend your money on my clothes!" She said it like it was obvious, like I was crazy to even suggest that!
Oh, for fuck's sake. Don't tell me she was the kind of girl who couldn't spend someone else's money.
Had I ever actually met a woman like that?
They all liked to spend my money, at least every single one I'd been with.
Including fucking Lisa! Who was nothing more than a casual fuck, but even she had a history of taking advantage of my credit cards.
I didn't really care; I had more money than I could ever spend in a whole lifetime, but Isla was the one girl who didn't want to spend my money?
"Can you just stop? Listen, if you want to walk around half naked, be my guest. See where that takes you, but I thought you'd probably want something to wear.
" My efforts to convince her went nowhere, and she didn’t move, planted to the floor with the coffee cup in her hand.
Her eyebrows furrowed, she was absolutely uncooperative in the matter and maybe even offended.
"I'm not going to spend your money on clothes. In fact, I'm going to call my bank today and get my cards reinstated and everything else."
"Great idea, and when they ask you to come in to prove your identity, you're going to show up like this?" Boy, did I enjoy looking her up and down, freely and slowly, to prove my point.
As expected, she had no answer to that. I was going to end it now. Abandoning her for a few seconds, I rushed to the foyer console and took out a stack of hundreds, picking up my lighter.
Her eyes wide, she watched my actions with bated breath as I came closer. So close, I could see the dilated pupils in her pure, angel eyes. The lighter clicked, and her bottom lip fell open when she saw me bring the stack of hundreds to the flame, a millimeter away from setting it all ablaze.
"Isla? I have a shit ton of money, if you haven't guessed yet. You decide. This is ten thousand dollars. You want it to burn right here, or do you want to spend it?"
Oh, I loved watching her bewildered expression. Her jaw dropped when she clued in that I wasn't kidding—a few bills singed at the corners. She breathed fast, furiously trying to figure out what to do.
Finally, she put a stop to it. "Okay, okay, stop! Jesus! You fucking psycho, who does that?!" She accused me, and I fucking loved to see anger make it out of her. "I'll use your money, but I'm not spending ten thousand dollars!"
"Alright, twenty thousand it is. Let's go lie down on your bed, and you can pick what you want, my little hobbler.” She didn’t like my joke, still holding her cup of coffee in discomfort.
Look at me, online shopping with a girl like I was pussy-whipped. By a pussy I hadn’t even seen, might I add. Talking about pussy, I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to help pick her lingerie.
"Are you going to look at everything I buy, or do you think I can pick out my own thongs?" She questioned without any hesitation, and I was taken aback by how straight-forward she was again.
"You always know what to say, don't you?" I retorted, absolutely lost for words myself. I sat beside her in bed, wildly distracted.
"Are all Russian men so possessive and controlling, or are you just one of a kind?
" She held my laptop, focused on the screen but…
a small, satisfied smile slid over her face at those words.
Did she like both possessive and controlling men?
Sweetheart, you're in for a treat, especially the possessive part.
"I'm one of a kind, of course. Give me this." I plucked the laptop from her and began typing.
"Really? Agent Provocateur? You know women don't actually wear this shit on the daily, right? I want just plain white cotton panties, please. And a comfortable bra that's not going to eat away at my nipples."
I listened to her intently and twisted my head to look down at her. Her body was so close to me, I could feel the heat of her skin.
"Yeah, I can get you those too,” I responded quietly, my dick literally waking up just at the thought of buying her panties. Ugh. I hated myself.
"Are you just a secret shopper, and you never get to experience it because you're always doing...whatever you're doing? What do you actually do?" And fuck, there was that dreaded question.
"I own a construction company." I brushed her off quickly.
"What's your bra size?" I had no idea what on earth got into me and why I was so unashamed of my actions.
Red burst onto her cheeks, and I fucking loved making her feel that way.
"You going to tell me, or you want me to guess?
" I glued my eyes to her chest and knew I was completely crossing all lines.
"Thirty-four, C. I hate pink and blue colors, so please don't buy any of that, and also, I will need some strapless bras.
One must be black, and the other nude. I also do need just plain cotton panties.
I like to wear white, black, and fun colorful ones with silly pictures, like cats or lemons or something.
I'm going to go brush my teeth. Knock yourself out. "
Isla rolled off the bed while I sat there completely blinded from finding out all her lingerie preferences. She was definitely feeling better today or was just so embarrassed at having to reveal such personal details that she made her way to the bathroom way faster than I'd seen her walk yet.
My smile was uncontrollable. I just sat there beaming like an idiot. God-damn, I was enjoying this too fucking much.
I browsed the website and picked out what I thought she would like and also what I knew I definitely liked, not like I was actually going to see it on her. Was I planning to fuck her? No. I had no plans, only wishes. A guy could dream.
Once I purchased all the bras and thongs I thought she would like, I looked for a few purses since I noticed she didn’t pick any of those. Then, a couple of evening dresses.
There was an event coming up in a few weeks, and I saw her beside me, wearing a strapless dress, or one with straps; it didn’t matter, I just wanted her there. I needed to show up with a woman, and there was no fucking way I would have anyone else on my arm now. Only her.