It only takes seconds more for him to prove me right.
He pinches my nipples and starts thrusting into me harder. I cry out as he fills me, pushing me to the brink and then pulling me back just before I crash.
As he fucks me, his hand slides down my stomach and cups my pussy. He starts playing with my clit as he slams into me.
I can only stare up at the star-speckled sky as a delirious tear squeezes from the corner of my eye. I can’t even wipe it away because I’m holding the railing for dear life.
Pleasure builds in my center, a raging inferno I can’t control. I try to stave it off, try to swallow the scream that is rising in my throat. But I’m helpless against the force of it.
The orgasm roars through me, destroying everything in its path.
I’ve never had an orgasm so intense before. I’m so lost to the sensation that I don’t even notice Anton is coming with me.
My body is still shaking and clenching when he slips out of me. My dress falls back down over my hips, giving me some small amount of modesty. I turn around slowly, but I make sure to keep a tight grip on the railing so I don’t fall. My legs are pure jelly.
Anton gives me a knowing smile as he pulls his pants up, but I look down and catch sight of the massive cock between his legs.
“Jesus,” I exclaim, unable to hold it in.
He laughs. “Why do you think I took you from behind? Women tend to get nervous.”
Fresh tingles run up my spine, but I manage to hold off the blush. “Oh. Uh… thanks, I guess.”
Chuckling, he gestures to the reclining chairs off in the corner of the yacht. “You need to sit down.”
“I really should be getting back.”
“Why?” he asks with a smirk. “The boss won’t mind.”
I bite my lower lip, realizing that for the first time in my life, I’d rather stay here than head back to the kitchens. And since it is a first, I decide to live in the moment. To savor this new feeling.
I walk over to him, embarrassed about the fact that my legs are still wobbly, and take the chair on the right. He sits down next to me, all confidence and ease.
I glance around the deck, realizing that my chef’s whites are on the wooden deck, flapping around in the wind.
“Well, that’s embarrassing.”
“Why?” he asks, looking genuinely curious.
I frown. “I’ve never… um… lost control like that. I’ve never done anything so impulsive or reckless in my life.”
One corner of his mouth goes up in a sexy smile. “Sounds like you haven’t been living at all.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
I think about it for a moment. “I’ve been… responsible.”
“I rest my case.”
I snort with laughter and then instantly color with embarrassment at the less-than-ladylike sound. “I’m guessing you do that kind of thing often?”
“Fuck women on the bow of my yacht?”
I nod.
His answer doesn’t come as fast as I assumed it would. In fact, there’s a moment where his expression ripples. Is that anger I see? Or resentment?