Page 9 of Dirty Grovel

Scowling, I pull myself up to my full height. I probably still look like one of Snow White’s dwarves in his eyes, but it’s the best I’ve got.

“What the hell am I supposed to wear then?”

“Here.” He throws something onto the bed.

I wince at the flimsy choice he’s offering me. “That’s a bikini.”

“And a cover-up,” he agrees with a nod. “It was the only thing on board.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

He shrugs. “Then you can enter Nassau in that towel. It’s entirely up to you.”

I stare at him, weighing my options. The white bikini mocks me from the bed, barely enough fabric to be considered clothing. It’s probably illegal in some countries.

The transparent cover-up beside it might as well not exist, either.

Part of me wants to refuse on principle—to deny Oleg the satisfaction of controlling even this minuscule, meaningless aspect of my situation.

Why?

Because fuck him, that’s why.

But another part of me recognizes a rare opportunity.

Power. I’ve had so little of it lately.

My fingers tighten on the edge of the towel, knuckles whitening. Our gazes lock.

Who’s gonna cry chicken first? His golden eyes dare me to back down, to cower, to submit.

Not me. I've spent too long playing it safe. Too long covering up. Hiding. Disappearing.

Fuck it.

The decision crystallizes in an instant. If he wants to play games, I'll show him I can play, too.

One swift movement and the towel is gone, dropped carelessly to the floor at my feet. The cool air kisses my bare skin, raising goosebumps across my exposed flesh.

I’m shivering and red-faced—but Oleg’s reaction is worth every second of discomfort.

His lips are parted in what passes for a jaw drop from a man whose face is usually carved from marble. His pupils dilate rapidly, huge black holes of surprise.

His breath hitches.

Hitches.

Hitches again.

I may be battered and bruised—but I can still turn him on.

It’s painful comfort, but it helps to know that noteverythingbetween us the last several months was a lie.

I make a show of putting on the bikini. One, because he can’t seem to look away.

And two, because if he’s going to make life difficult for me, I can certainly return the favor.

Once the white string bikini is on, I glance at the transparent knit cover-up that barely covers up anything.

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