“Sure,” Naz agrees instantly, mocking me with a toast of his Genoa.
When we get up to the deck, I’m glad we came. The whole group is up here, and the lights strung along the ship glow, casting a romantic spell over everyone. With the breeze whipping dresses and hair and cooling heated cheeks, we all line up at the rail and lean into the sea spray. Under moonlight, we sip our drinks, weaving in and out of conversations with each other and with our partners. It’s a perfect evening, but like Jada suggested, jet lag starts kicking in, and after an hour, I slump my back against Naz’s wide chest, barely able to stand.
“You’re tired,” he whispers, his lips brushing the sensitive skin at my throat.
“Maybe a little bit,” I sleep-slur, clutching the powerful forearms wrapped around my waist.
“Hey, guys,” he calls to his friends—some still at the rail, some lying on the lounge chairs together by now. "This one’s exhausted and jet lagged. I’mma take her to her room.”
“See you tomorrow,” Iris says, standing and crossing over to us. “We’re so glad you’re here.”
“Yeah.” Lo walks up beside us, tugging Kenan behind her. “Next time, you come and leave Naz at home.”
“Whatever,” Naz says, shaking his head. “We out.”
We board the elevator to take us to the lower deck where our cabins are located. I lean against one wall, and he leans against the other, watching me, unsmiling. My heart picks up speed at the intensity of his stare. When the elevator dings, signaling we’ve reached our floor, he pulls my panties out of his pocket and holds them up. “You have to answer for these.”
“What?”
“You think you can keep me hard all night without some form of retribution?”
“I don’t—”
The elevator doors open, and he gently pushes me through them and into the small waiting area.
“Run,” he says, that predator’s glaze over his eyes.
It takes half a second for my flight instinct to kick in. I take off down the corridor, glad I’ve been wearing heels my whole life, and I run in them as easily as I do barefoot.
“Naz!” I screech, laughing, adrenaline pumping as his heavy footsteps gain on me. I know it’s a game, but the heat I just saw in his eyes, the erection tenting his pants—they send danger signals to my nervous system. Even if the only danger I’m in is of getting fucked all night.
I round the corner, my room in view, when one stone-hard arm encircles my waist and snatches me up. I’m five nine and thick with it. It’s not often I’m “snatched up” like I weigh nothing, but he literally carries me under his arm, and my legs dangle in the air.
“Got you,” he murmurs, slowly lowering me to the floor and pressing my front to the door. “Open it.”
His heat at my back, his dick pressing into me, his breath in my hair. It’s so much, I mis-enter the code for the door three times before it swings open. The bedside lamp casts a faint glow over the room. The bed has been turned down, and it invites me to lower my weary body onto the cool sheets.
Still behind me, Naz splays his hand over my stomach and drifts lower, pressing into the juncture of my thighs through my dress.
“Are you really not wearing underwear?” he asks, his voice gruff and maybe a little hopeful.
I turn to face him, walking backward until my knees hit the bed, and I lie down, allowing the dress’s feathery hem to spray around the tops of my thighs, barely hiding the truth between my legs. I spread just the tiniest bit for him but not enough for him to know for sure. With an impatient sound, he walks over, drags me to the edge of the bed so my legs hang over the side, and goes down on his knees. He eases the dress up the last few inches until the cool air hits my bare, wet pussy.
“Shit, Kira.” A frown wrinkles the thick line of his brows. “Is that a—”
“Clit clamp,” I say, widening even more so the Swarovski crystal winks at him from the shadows between my thighs. “Yeah.”
He swallows audibly, his hand hovering over my naked flesh from the waist down. “You wore it for me?”
“I think I’m probably gonna get a lot more out of it than you are.” I laugh. “I’ve been wearing it all night, so when you take it off, all the blood will rush to my clit, and it’ll hurt like a motherfucker, but it will also feel incredible. So…it’s for both of us really.”
I’ve worn this before, and when men see it, they usually dive in right away, eager for something they see as illicit and novel. Not Naz. His stare locks on to the space between my legs for long moments before he runs his palms behind my knees and then up my thighs. He repeats this motion over and over again, kneading the muscles of my legs, skimming my calves, dragging his short nails over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, all the while getting maddeningly closer, but never close enough to where I want to feel him most. My body starts to move compulsively, in synch with the pressure, with the motion of his hands, rolling under his palms. One of his fingers skims the lips of my pussy, and I jerk. My nerves are drawn tight with anticipation now, and I’d take any touch right there.
He lowers his face between my legs, and I stretch open for him shamelessly, as wide as my legs will go.
“Naz, please.” I hate the begging in my voice, but I’m so wet and needy.
“Tell me,” he says, not looking away from my pussy. “What do you want?”