Page 4 of Vivacity
‘Meaning that most people don’t enjoy being treated like shit. Unless they’re an actual sub, which is probably the route you should go down if you want a rewarding relationship with someone who’ll actually, willingly, submit to you with no issues.’
‘I’m not a dom.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Of course you aren’t. Look. Talia didn’t exactly paint a rosy picture of you. Not that it scared me off, but if you think you have tonnes of options among the seraphim right now, you’re wrong. I’m willing to sit down with you properly and interview if you want me to. I’m seriously good at what I do—allparts of it—and I know I can deliver.
‘But I don’t take any shit from my bosses, and I’m not prepared to suffer because you don’t understand or won’t accept what particular kind of power dynamic you need outside ofthe bedroom. I won’t play the stupid fucking power games you indulged in with Talia or any of the others to get—to feel in control. Do I make myself clear?’
I stumbled there at the end. I was going to sayto get your kicks, but I have enough knowledge of the crazy, miraculous universe that is the human nervous system to understand that control for him is likely to be less about his kicks—or kinks—and more about his need for safety. When he’s in control, he feels safe. When he’s not, he probably feels existentially endangered. However complex Talia tells me he is, it’s probably as simple as that.
Still, it’s not like I minced my words. He deserves thecaveat emptorspeech if he’s thinking of dipping his toe into the warm waters of the Sophia Petrakis ocean.
Maybe I’m mixing my metaphors. Maybe that speech was a shark warning.
He opens his mouth to reply. It’s a lovely mouth, plushly at odds with the austere, repressed vibe that the rest of him is rocking, and I can’t help but imagine how soft and supple it would feel between my legs. Mmm.
Except whatever retort he’s about to serve up is interrupted by a server approaching us with a tray of what looks like delicious chicken satay mini skewers. I grab one, but Ethan stiffens and fixes him with a glare whose icy blast could freeze hell over. ‘No used sticks on the tray,’ he snaps. ‘This is basic stuff.’
I observe this micro-interaction with the same fascination David Attenborough would glean from watching two ants shagging (if ants do, indeed, shag). One of the subtypes of all Enneagrams is the Social subtype, and I have a feeling our Ethan isnota Social Eight. His Type Eight may be known as The Protector, but this dude is not leading for connection or communal responsibility. Nope. I suspect he’s leading purelyfor control. Which means if one skewer-shaped cog in his predictable, seamless machine malfunctions, then Ethan, god bless him, believes that chaos will reign.
His form of management is probably fantastic if you’re a hotel guest. Not a single patron will suffer from misplaced skewers or missing mini-shampoos or a lack of hospital corners on his beds. Every detail in a Kingsley hotel will be just so.
It’s just probably less conducive to healthy functioning, you know, as a human being.
When the poor server has scurried away, tail between his legs, Ethan turns back to me. I’m wondering how he’s going to respond to the little preemptive bollocking I just gave him when he surprises me.
‘Come downstairs with me after my speech and we can make sure we’re compatibleinthe bedroom first. You can help me take one of our new suites for a test run.’
Sothat’swhat he took away. Oh boy. I smile sweetly at him. ‘It’s adorable that you think I’d give the goods away for free. Nobody likes a tight-arse, Ethan.’
His eyes drift to my cleavage, which is in fighting form tonight. I could probably have smuggled a full-size revolver or a household pet in here between my boobs and no one would have been the wiser.
‘On the contrary.’ He drags his gaze back up to my face with apparent difficulty. ‘I very much enjoy a tight arse.’
I reward his nerdy little anal pun with a genuine smile, and his face softens a little at the sight of it. He really is very fucking fine.
‘You’d have to pay for that, too.’ My voice has gone all husky, dammit. I know far too many women who’ve had the pleasure of being fucked by this man, which is to say I’m under no illusion that this part of the job would be anything other than a total fiesta. ‘Look, if you want to do this, we do it by the book, okay?Give Camille a call. I’m in Greece next week for my leaving bash, then I’m back in London and we can set something up. Thank you for a lovely party.’ I go to turn away and find Talia for a juicy post-mortem, but he takes a hurried step forward.
‘Wait.’ He grabs my wrist, his warm fingers encircling it in a grip that’s obnoxiously entitled, and I’m pretty sure my thong grows a little damp spot. ‘I want first dibs on you.’
My face heats—not, unfortunately, with anger. ‘I’m not an auction prize, Ethan.’
‘No. But you are a prize.’
I swallow. I don’t even know why he’s pursuing this, unless it’s to prove a point. It’s not like we’d be a good fit, personality-wise. ‘It’s not a case of first come, first served. I’ve been in the same role for four years. I’m going to take my time evaluating my options. You’ll have to sell the job to me.’
He stands perfectly still, perfectly firm. The man has gravitas seeping out of his pores. He radiates quiet authority, which is by far the sexiest kind.
‘Believe me,’ he murmurs, ‘I’ll sell the job to you. Just you wait.’
CHAPTER 3
Sophia
It feels great to be back in London, as long as I can ignore the intense sense of foreboding I feel at the prospect of being cold for an entire winter. It’s not like London is North Dakota, but it’s not Athens, either. Or Montenegro. Or Monte Carlo. And, given I’ve been based between those three spots for the past few years, a bleak British winter with no actual daylight isn’t something I relish.
I’m a creature of the sun, designed to frolic on balmy beaches and sprawl topless on the sun-drenched decks of superyachts in the Med.
I don’t like coats.
