Chapter 8
EILISH
I shiver as my dress drops to the floor and Gavan’s eyes sweep viciously and hungrily over me.
“Better. Much better.”
My pulse races, my blood boiling.
He means my underwear.
It’s Monday morning, and I’ve been in Gavan’s office for less than sixty seconds before being ordered to strip down to my bra, panties, and heels.
I hate that I feel a flutter of pride and elation at the praise in his voice. I hate that I literally went out this weekend and bought new matching bra and panties, entirely because of his comment last week about wearing something nicer.
I hate what it says about me that I carefully shaved my legs, my bikini line—and more—and my armpits this morning. That I did my makeup with more than my usual attention. That I selected my outfit, did my hair, and all the rest of it—in preparation to disrobe for him again.
“Turn around,” Gavan growls. He twirls his finger in the air, as if I need a demonstration of what that means.
I glare at him, but keep silent as I slowly turn.
I can feel his eyes sliding over my skin.
And my face flames when I feel his gaze glued to my ass that is barely covered by the tiny black lace thong that matches my bra.
I’ve never really felt “sexy” before. I mean, I know I’m conventionally attractive enough.
I have good skin, and I really like my mouth and the rest of my face.
I keep in pretty okay shape, I guess. But I’m not, and never have been, one of those girls on social media posing in bikinis with the “ass-back, tits-forward, duck-lips” look.
Neve loves to say that while most girls are out there trying to be Marilyn, I’m content being Jackie O. Honestly, I take pride in that assessment.
All this is to say, my current situation, twirling around in a skimpy lace thong in front of one of the most—if not the most—dangerous and ridiculously good-looking men in New York is pretty much the definition of “outside my comfort zone”.
“Well?”
I shiver when I turn back around, facing him. My eyes instinctively drop to his lips, and I flush.
I flush because I know how those lips taste. I know the sinfully exiting punishment they can bring. I know the way they almost brought me to my knees.
I shake myself, pulling myself from my reverie and focusing on what he just said.
“Well…what?”
He cocks a brow, his jawline grinding.
“Do you really need a reminder?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes, which is not an easy thing to do right now.
“Cappuccino again?” I mutter.
Gavan’s eyes flash, cold and metallic. My face heats.
“Would you like a cappuccino, Sir ?” I mumble.
He smiles thinly.
“Good girl.”
I shiver.
Fuck you, body .
When I’m done fumbling my way through making his goddamn coffee, feeling his eyes on every inch of my backside while I’m doing it, he sips it slowly while I stand there like an idiot. When he drops his gaze back to the laptop in front of him, I frown.
“Is…there something else I should be doing?”
His eyes raise, his brow arching expectantly.
Goddammit .
“Is there something else I should be doing, Sir ?”
Gavan smiles savagely. “The shelves over there haven’t been dusted in far too long.”
I stare at him.
“There’s a duster in the closet of the private bathroom.” He turns and nods with his chin at the door next to the coffee station alcove. When I glance down uncertainly at my dress pooled on the ground, he smirks and shakes his head. “Current dress code applies.”
Asshole .
Gavan’s office ensuite is, of course, ridiculously gorgeous.
I mean, I’ve grown up with plenty of wealth and privilege.
And I’ve seen even more of it now that the Drakos family are my in-laws.
But holy fucking hell. There’s an air and a gleam to Gavan’s—well, everything —that makes me feel like I’m dealing with a monarch or something.
Back in the office holding what might actually be the fanciest feather duster ever created by humankind, I teeter over to the shelves on my heels.
“Don’t forget the middle section, right over there.”
I don’t even need to see where those lethal eyes are aimed to know he’s talking about the now-empty glass case.
He’s rubbing my face in my crime, and we both know it.
I work my way left to right across the first two levels of shelves before my brows knit, my eyes rising to the two shelves that are too high for me to reach.
“Use this.”
I gasp, jumping at the sound of his voice right behind me. When I whirl, he’s looming right there, effortlessly holding one of the two guest chairs usually situated in front of his desk in one hand. He sets it down and nods at it.
“Stand on that.”
In heels. Yeah, sure. No problem.
Gavan stands right where he is, making zero offers of help as I awkwardly step up onto the chair. I wobble, then catch myself.
“Don’t fall,” he mutters dryly.
My mouth thins as I start to dust. When I glance down, I flush when I realize he’s still standing there—like right there behind me, with my ass now at his eye level. My skin tingles as I start dusting again, feeling his heated gaze on me while my legs shake.
“Perhaps you should wear something more office-appropriate, Eilish. I’m not sure heels and lingerie is either suitable or helpful for something like this.”
My face burns.
You motherfucker .
I turn, glaring down at his smug face. “You—”
“ Careful .”
My mouth snaps shut. Gavan grins.
“Good girl.”
He boldly stares at my ass again, mere inches in front of him, before he turns and casually strolls back to his desk.
Fifteen long minutes later, I’m finishing up the final section of the built-in shelves when I hear him talking loudly. I whirl, confused, until I realize he’s on some video conference call on his laptop, listening through an earpiece.
“One moment,” he growls, tapping a button and taking the earpiece out as his eyes raise to mine. “This cappuccino got cold. I’ll have another.”
My jaw grinds, my nostrils flaring. Gavan just smiles at me, the corners of his lips curled up, daring me to say something.
“Of course, Sir ,” I hiss quietly.
I’m at the coffee machine when he gets back to his meeting.
“Apologies for the delay. My new assistant needs her hand held for even the simplest task.”
My fury goes through the roof. I turn, looking at him just sitting there at his desk, wearing another ridiculously expensive looking charcoal gray suit—three piece, again, with another French cuffed dress shirt underneath.
“You know the type,” he continues, smiling magnanimously into the camera. “The kind who gets by on her looks but has no brains. Wears revealing things to the office in an effort to get my attention.”
You . Mother. Fucking. Asshole.
I turn back to the milk, steaming almost as much as it is.
My lips purse tightly, my jaw grinding as I keep the steamer going.
And going. And going , until the milk is bubbling like lava.
I spoon it into the cup and dust it with his goddamn cinnamon.
I almost spit in it, too, except that won’t matter with what I’m about to do.
I turn, smiling benignly as I slowly walk over to Gavan’s desk. I’m halfway there when he hits a button and turns to me.
“After this, do the windows. Then the bathroom. Silently. This is an important call.”
He hits the button again and returns to his meeting. I keep smiling as I walk the rest of the way, pause just out of sight of the camera…
And promptly dump the scalding contents of the cappuccino mug directly into his lap.
Gavan’s eyes flame. His jaw clenches so tightly that veins pop out on his neck.
He does nothing . He doesn’t even turn to look at me, or swivel his gaze. He just clears his throat, smiles into the camera, and keeps talking.
Shit.
That didn’t go as planned.
I pale, turning as if to leave. But Gavan raises one finger, still not looking at me, waving it back and forth in a “no-no” motion.
Seconds tick by. Then minutes. Every time I go to move in the slightest from where I’m standing, he holds his finger up in admonishment and shakes it again. And that one motion keeps me stuck right here, unable to move, unable to run away.
For some reason, it’s even more terrifying than him yelling at me, or blowing up. It’s like part of my punishment is to wait and see what my fate is.
“That’ll be all, then,” he growls into the camera. “Korol, I want you leading the team on Drazen. If you find anything, call me immediately.”
Suddenly, the long wait is over as he slowly closes the laptop. His gunmetal eyes raise to mine, narrowing dangerously.
“That was incredibly stupid.”
“Well, if you’re going to be an insulting asshole—”
“Come here.”
I swallow, rooted in place, unable to move. Gavan’s eyes blaze.
“ Come. Here .”
Fear explodes through my system. Not just fear. Excitement comes along with it. And a tingling shiver follows. Slowly, I walk over and around his desk until I’m standing right next to where he’s sitting.
“That stung ,” he growls.
I arch a brow at him. “Oh, really? Which did I hurt more? Your fragile ego, or your poor balls—”
“Are you familiar with the term free use .”
My pulse skips. Something wicked explodes in my core as my face turns a shade of crimson that I’m pretty sure gives my answer away.
I am.
“Free use” is a kink wherein one partner is “free to use” the other however, and almost more importantly whenever, they choose to. I know this because there’s a small chance that it’s become my biggest secret fantasy over the last couple of years.
I don’t need a shrink to know that it’s probably at least partially due in part to what happened to me my senior year of high school. I probably do need a shrink to unpack the why of that whole trauma-kink connection, but I digress.
Suffice to say, it’s my darkest, most visited yet also most resisted fantasy. I don’t exactly watch a lot of porn online or anything. But when I do?
It’s free use. Like, exclusively.
Dominant men coming up to their partners while they’re on the phone, or washing dishes, and just…
doing whatever they want to that partner.
Lifting her skirt and just going right into fucking her.
Or using her mouth while he’s watching a movie.
Or coming all over her face while she’s talking to a friend on the phone.
Yeah, it’s fucked up. It’s probably indicative of trauma running way deeper than I’m prepared to consider.
It’s also outrageously hot, at least to me.
Gavan’s eyes glint as the corners of his lips curve dangerously.
“ Bad girl ,” he growls quietly, which makes my core throb. “You do know, don’t you?”
I swallow, nodding my pulsing hot face so subtly it almost doesn’t move.
“That’s going to be our arrangement.”
My eyes bulge.
“ What ?”
“You, Eilish,” he murmurs darkly, “will be my free use little plaything. I’ll do whatever I wish to you, whenever I wish, and you’ll allow it without question.”
My jaw drops.
“ No— ”
“Alternatively, you can find me another one-of-a-kind, historically significant, one-hundred-and-twenty-four-million-dollar Fabergé egg commissioned by Tsarina Alexandra. Your pick.”
My entire body shivers. My pulse throbs heavily as my face heats.
“If…”
I can’t believe I’m even asking this .
I take a shaky breath and start again. “If I were to say yes, how long—”
“Six months.”
My core clenches.
“You’ll be my willing little fuck-toy for six months.”
My thighs squeeze the second he says it.
Fuck-toy .
It’s crude. It’s demeaning.
It’s also ridiculously hot, in a very confusing and fucked up way.
“For six months, I do whatever I want to you, whenever I want. And you don’t say no.”
A tingle traces down my spine.
“I—I have a…”
“A what ,” he smirks. “A boyfriend?”
“A fiancé,” I lie, thinking about Brooks, as revolting as that is.
Gavan rolls his eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“I—”
“And even if you did ,” he hisses. “I wouldn’t fucking give a shit, nor would it change a thing about this arrangement.”
My face throbs.
“Tick-tock, Eilish,” he rasps darkly. “Do we or do we not have a deal? Six months, and when we’re done, I forget all about it. You have my word on that.”
“And what good is your—”
“ Very ,” he growls. “My word is very good. And I know that you know that.”
I hate that I do. But—yeah. Everyone who’s ever heard of him knows three things about Gavan: that he’s ruthless; that you do not cross him; and that he is an absolute man of his word, for better or worse, come Hell or high water.
“And if I don’t agree?” I choke in a very small voice.
He shrugs. “War, hardship, lots of money being owed to me, your family finding out that you’re a killer. For a start.”
“You’re a bastard—”
I choke, gasping as he raises a hand and traces one fingertip up my thigh, which instantly has the effect of making my skin tingle and my core turn into a molten puddle.
“Correct on a technicality. I am a bastard,” he growls. “And you’re wet .”
My mouth falls open, my eyes widening at his words.
“Do we,” he murmurs, “or do we not have a deal. Five. Four. Three—”
“ Okay .”
The word whispers from my lips like a secret as my eyes close.
“Louder. Properly. And I want you to fucking look at me when you say it.”
I force my eyes open, my face pulsing as his gaze rips into mine.
“Well?”
My heart skips.
“ Yes, Sir .”
His lips curl triumphantly, raw power surging in his eyes.
“ Good girl. ”
I flush bright red.
“When…when do we—”
We start? Immediately.” He raises a hand, crooking two fingers and then pointing to his lap. “Lie down right here.”
My jaw drops. Gavan smiles dangerously.
“You did, in fact, hurt me, Eilish,” he growls. “Now you will be punished for it.”