Page 22 of Daddy Down Under

“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.”

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