She laughs as I tell some stupid joke. As we reach the end of the pier and are about to cross onto land, I grab her hand, holding it tight as there is a slight gap. I tell myself that I’m holding her hand just so she doesn’t fall, but that’s a lie. Neither of us moves to drop the other’s hand as we walk toward town, so I leave it alone, lacing my fingers with hers. We pass by La Cabana, where I see the crew eating. I don’t want to deal with them, so we continue down the cobbled street until we reach an Italian restaurant.
Inside, we are seated right away. The waitress brings over a decanter of house wine and pours us each a glass. Adella sips hers while looking over the menu. I can’t help staring at her mouth as it moves while she reads. She looks too innocent and too sweet. I almost don’t want to tell her what we do between charters, but she has to know what she’ll be a part of.
“We should talk,” I begin. It’s best to rip this off like a band-aid. Over the last three years I’ve come to realize that not everyone is good with sticking it to the man. I don’t get that vibe from her, but I may have my signals crossed because I am for sure not thinking about contraband right now. All I can think about is her.
In the dark.
Under me.
Moaning my name.
“Oh my God, are you married?” she asks, pausing with her wine glass midway between her lips and the table.
“No. Do you think I’d ask you out if I was married?” I ask, appalled.
“Well, honestly, I don’t know. I just met you and I’ve accidently gone out with married men before. They didn’t tell me they were married until I refused.. no, you know what… never mind. I apologize. You were saying?”
“There is something I need to tell you, but if you thought that I was married, you probably won’t like this either.”
“Just tell me,” she says, finally taking a sip of her wine. I watch as her throat muscles work and I can’t help but imagine my cock deep in her throat, cutting off her air supply as I fuck her face. Shit, I think, as I adjust my dick as discreetly as possible.
“The thing is, the crew and I have a side business,” I begin.
“What, like using the tender as water taxi?” she asks, mentioning the smaller boat we use while out on a charter. We use it for excursions with passengers or if we need something from the mainland while we are out.
“No… not like that. Have you ever heard of Caerleon?”
“The country?”
“Yes.”
“Aren’t they in like a five hundred year war with Raultshire or something?”
“Technically, yes, as a cease fire has never been called, but the current kings aren’t engaged in battle. That’s beside the point.”
“What is the point?”
“Caerleon has some import and export problems.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding.
“We help them, off the books and off the docks, so to speak with items they have a hard time getting.”
“Such as?”
“Alcohol and books mostly, but toilet paper and certain food items as well.”
“So you smuggle illegal items to people for money?” she asks. I can’t tell if she’s asking for her own edification or is she’s offended by this.
“Technically yes, but they just pay for the items. We don’t charge anything for bringing it to them.”
“Does someone from Caerleon meet you so many miles off the coast of the mainland and take possession of the ill-gotten gains?”
“They aren’t ill-gotten, Adella. We buy them and hand them over to a merchant from Caerleon. Officially, we aren’t doing anything wrong and we don’t go into Caerleon with contraband, but as we aren’t in international waters, what we are doing is a crime.”
“So you’re like the Robin Hood of the high seas, then?” she asks, sarcastically. Fuck, her sass makes me want to throw her down on the table and fuck her senseless.
“I’ve never thought of it that way, but should people really be denied books?” I question. I’m a firm believer in reading whatever strikes your fancy. Personally, I like Stephen King, but I’ll read anything.
“I guess not. What happens if we get caught?” she asks, for the first time including herself in the questions. I smile at her.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been caught yet.” This time she grins at me.
“Tell me more,” she demands and I tell her all about it, only stopping to order our food. I continue talking about it until it arrives.
After the meal, I take her hand again and lead her back outside onto the quaint, cobbled street. She turns to face me, our fingers still laced together. She looks up at me in anticipation. I lean down and place my lips on hers. With my tongue, I coax her mouth open and taste the sweetness of the after dinner mint on her breath.