Rough Exile

“He can be a man and still be submissive to you. You’ve spent years training him to obey you.”

Bron’s gaze rested on Ilya, who had gone from paying attention to our conversation to trying to make it look like he was watching the foot traffic outside the window we sat next to.

“Or maybe he’s weak.” He pulled out his phone and fiddled with it.

“Maybe your idea of strength is outdated.”

Bron glared at me.

“It’s true. Do you think someone weak could take what you do to him and not break? Where I’m from, most submissives are given aftercare, at least.”

“If he doesn’t like what I do, he shouldn’t allow it.” Bron looked down at his phone and held it like the glare from the window was making it hard to read, but I knew the look of a man taking a sneaky picture. I glanced casually in the direction he’d been aiming it, but there were no women or interesting buildings in sight—but there was Ilya looking handsome in the sunshine, watching the busy street.

Poor Bron. He was a bully, but he had a weakness he wouldn’t even admit to himself.

“If he likes what you do, it doesn’t make him weak.”

Bron chomped down on another bite of pastry like it had done him wrong.

Ilya took that opening to lean forward and touch my hand where it rested on the handle of my teacup. “Are you wearing underwear?” he asked quietly.

Bron coughed like he’d inhaled a crumb.

My cheeks were burning. From any other man I’d slept with, it wouldn’t seem like such a scandalous question, but from Ilya it was astonishing.

“No,” I admitted. If I was expecting a sly grin from him, I didn’t get one. “The two of you ruined my last pair yesterday. It’s a good thing you only want me in dresses—I couldn’t have tried on pants today.”

“How did you know she wasn’t wearing panties?” Bron demanded, brows suddenly lowered. Jealous much?

“I’ve spoken to her about what clothing she needed,” Ilya said, his dark eyes guileless. “You can hardly blame her for not wanting to borrow Yana’s old ones. We need to find a store that sells them.”

Leave it to Ilya to ask a woman if she was wearing panties out of thoughtful concern.

When we got to the lingerie store, Ilya hesitated outside. For an awkward moment, he tried to hand me his wallet.

“Go on,” Bron teased. “The panties won’t eat you.”

“This is a place for women,” Ilya objected. “It would be best if we went to that bookshop there and waited for her to be done. The women won’t want us in there.” A fierce blush had crept up his neck.

“In.”

Bron turned him toward the door and chivied him inside. The women who were working didn’t appear shocked to see men in their store, but Ilya couldn’t seem to find a safe place to rest his eyes, so he looked at the floor.

There was a wide selection of pretty things, and I felt almost as lost as Ilya seemed to be. Bron, however, browsed through the store with the level of comfort I would have had at a library.

The women working at the store struck up a conversation with Bron, and soon they were chatting with him and grinning, their demeanor teasing.

“Everywhere we go, it is like this,” Ilya murmured. “They always love him.”

“He can turn on the charm when he wants to. He just never bothers using it with us.”

“I think they smell the danger on him.”

“It could be the same for you. I’ve watched the two of you spar.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have the same…air of command.”

“You’re supposed to be practicing that with me.”

“Every time we speak, I feel him frown. Am I so bad at conversing with women?”

“Not at all.” I touched his hand, and he smiled at me. “He’s possessive.”

“Yes, maybe. He is very attracted to you. I could tell even before we took you from the Island. Both of us agreed you were the loveliest woman we’d ever seen.”

“I’m not the one he’s jealous about.”