“It feels like I should…with you.” His hands tighten at my waist. “It’s like…I’ve known you a long time, but not really. And I’ve kissed you before, touched you before, but it feels like that was a different world. Like maybe we’re different people now.”
“The person I am now wants you to touch my ass.” I slide my hand down his stomach, over the taut muscles evident even through his shirt until I reach the dense curve of his butt. “As long as you don’t expect me to ask before I touch yours.”
His lids hang heavy over a hunter’s gaze. If I’m his prey, he may not realize it, but he’s caught me. Any reservation and every hesitation I had about coming and being with him, if only for two weeks, melts beneath the steam rising between us. He takes my ass in two big handfuls and squeezes, maintaining eye contact. The tight squeeze sends a jolt straight to my core, and I slide my hands up over mountainous shoulders, linking my hands behind his neck. I’ve never been a shy bitch. Neevah once joked that raunchy was my middle name and bold was my first. I may not be able to keep him, but I can have him for now—can temporarily block out the one huge reason this can’t go beyond two weeks on the high seas.
“I’ve thought about you, too,” I confess, the words so low I’m not sure at first I said them aloud.
“What did you think about?”
I trail my fingers back down his chest and place my hands over his where they still rest on my ass. “I was thinking about these hands. These fingers.”
“What about them?” His eyes darken, and the incongruously long lashes lower to half-mast.
I tip up on my toes and draw his ear down so I can reach. “How they’d feel inside me.”
I lower to my feet, pull back to watch his response. One corner of his wide, full mouth quirks up, but there’s no laughter in his eyes. Only lust and need.
“You came all this way,” he murmurs, gliding his hands over the curve of my ass to the hem of the loose, short dress I traveled in. “Shame for you not to find out.”
“I agree. It would be—”
My words die a quick death on a harsh breath when the blunt tips of his fingers skim the skin inside my thighs. He charts a steady path toward my panties and, without hesitation, pushes them aside and strokes one rough finger over my clit.
“Jesus,” I gasp, closing my eyes and dropping my head to his chest.
His breath mists the skin at my temple as he rubs slowly, adding pressure before urging my legs a little wider and inserting three fingers. My thoughts scatter. I’ve had dicks smaller than these three fingers. He pushes in and out, in and out, using the other hand to lift my chin and force the intimacy of our eyes connecting.
“Do they feel like you thought they would?” he asks.
I try to answer, but his thumb caresses my clit while his fingers are still occupied with burning me from the inside out.
“Y-yes,” I stutter. “Better.”
Words leave us, and the only sound is the sloppy wet mess he’s making between my legs as he works me over. I go limp against him and grip his forearm so I can keep standing. My hips pump in rhythm with his fingers, and short, sharp breaths saw over my lips the closer I get. I’m at the precipice, about to fall over and into the orgasm of a lifetime. I can feel it. Sensation zings down my spine. The muscles in my stomach contract, preparing for release.
And then he stops.
“No!” The word erupts from me before I consider decorum or patience or any other virtue. “I’m close. I’m—”
“Not coming yet.” His fingers leave me, and I want to sob. I want to punch him in the face for denying me. “You know what I’ve been thinking about, Kira?”
I glare up at him, ignoring the flutters winging in my belly from the way he shortens my name. “What?”
Extracting his fingers from between my legs, he holds my stare, bringing his hand up between us. “How you taste.”
He shoves the wet, shiny fingers into his mouth, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t as sexy as him fingering me. It affects me that profoundly, seeing him lick his fingers clean and close his eyes like he’s savoring a rare dish. He lifts his fingers to his nose, gathering my essence in on a ragged breath.
“I want your scent on me all night,” he says, reaching down between us, under my dress, to caress the edge of my panties. “And don’t you change these. I want you wearing them through dinner and thinking about how I didn’t let you come.”
“But you will tonight?” I ask, hating that I can’t bite the question back, but damn, I need it now. He knows I do.
“If you’re a good girl.” He chuckles, starting to pull away, but I reach between us and seize his erection, hard and long, into my hands through the expensive material of his pants. God, this man could bust me open. My thighs clench in anticipation.
“And you don’t touch this dick.” I lean into him, rasping out my own terms, never letting his eyes go. “Don’t you dare jerk off before dinner. Don’t adjust it. Don’t hide it. I want everyone to know what I do to you.”
He pulls my panties by the edge and releases them, letting them pop against my pussy. Even that tiny contact makes me clench. Makes that aching, needing hole clamp around air, seeking him. He could have me now before dinner. We could leave his friends on the upper deck waiting while he fucks me in the position of his choice. The knowledge simmers between us, and the muscle in his jaw flexes as his famous discipline kicks in. He doesn’t reply but rests one hand at my hip, taps my butt, and drops a kiss at my temple before he goes, closing the door with a controlled snick behind him.