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He sets me down, breaking away, those gorgeous eyes searching mine. “Can I show you my boat?”
I snort. Something about that sentence paired with this moment is hilarious. “I’d love to see your boat.”
And more. I’d love to see so much more than his boat.
He eagerly leads me inside. The sailboat is large and pristine, all scrubbed white surfaces and polished whiskey-colored cedar. This vessel isn’t a yacht, it’s meant to be smaller and move faster. The cabin itself is modest, holding a couch, a single bed, a kitchenette, and a small door that probably leads to a bathroom. I’m particularly interested in the narrow bed.
I turn back to him. “Is this really happening?”
“Only if you want it to.”
I nod and then his lips are back on mine, no longer questioning. He loves me and I love him. What else is there? At the back of my mind, I know that’s a ridiculous question. There’s our families. There’s a history of hurt and pain and lies. Those things alone are practically an ocean separating us but I don’t care about that right now. All I care about are his mouth and his hands and that he uses both to take my clothes off.
He prods my mouth open with his own, deepening our kiss. I press myself more firmly against him. When I feel his hardness against my softness, my pulse skitters and I’m so overcome with emotion that I could cry. I need this. I need him inside of me, need to feel him taking me, need it in the most desperate way.
Between kisses I peel off my shirt and he tugs his over the top of his head, flinging it into the kitchenette. Watching the way his chest is revealed to me, the tanned skin, the even broader shoulders than I remember, the tapered waist and the flex of his muscles—it makes me want to weep. He’s so beautiful. So perfect. And it’s not just that he’s conventionally attractive, it’s that he’s proven himself to me. It’s that he’s mine and I’m his in a way I’ve never belonged to anybody before.
His voice is ragged. Desperate. A man wholly undone by love. “Come here, Juliet. Let me look at you.”
Forty-Eight
He tugs me forward again and with one deft move, unhooks my bra. My breasts are full, my nipples tight, and he takes one into his hand and the other into his warm mouth, grating his tongue around the tip. After giving it sufficient care, he moves to the next one, this time nipping at it with his teeth. I gasp and he chuckles, sucking in more of my breast and reaching his other hand down to my shorts. He slips it right under the hem without hesitating.
“You’re soaked,” he rasps. He sounds pretty fucking proud of himself. He should be. None of the other men I was with were ever able to get me this wet this quickly. Only Ethan. Only ever him.
It’s been too long without him.
He slips his fingers through the slick flesh and rubs at the nub, then pushes in even further inside. “Fuck, that’s good.”
“So good,” I mirror.
If I thought I was putty in this man’s hands before then I had no idea what that word really meant because this––this is it. This is what it means to give yourself to someone. He can do whatever he wants with me now, mold me into any shape, and I’ll gladly let him.
But I’m not powerless either so I slide my hand into his shorts too and cup his erection, first a light squeeze and then more firm. He groans, eyes fluttering, entire body going still. He’s a large man who’s filled out even more in the last two years but with a single touch I’ve taken control.
It’s like someone has set a timer because suddenly we’re off.
“I need you,” I say, stroking with one hand and wrapping my other arm up around his neck. Our eyes lock as I tell him what I need. “Don’t hold back.”
“Okay, baby. I won’t.”
“Good, now stop talking and fuck me.”
His eyes flash, pure masculinity radiating through his body. He tears down my shorts and underwear in one go, then drops to his knees and thrusts his face into my core. It happens so fast I barely have a chance to see it coming, let alone to gain balance. But I don’t need it because he’s holding me up with his face and my hands are gripping his shoulders. His tongue is a sinfully delicious thing, sliding up and down my swollen center. His greedy hands knead into my backside.
The orgasm rips through me fast and furious. I scream his name and heaven only knows what else as my legs shake and he savors every last drop of my orgasm.
Then he stands, wiping his face, and slipping from his shorts. His erection is just as big as I remember. The satisfaction of the orgasm he just tore from me is nothing compared to the one I want to ride out on his cock. So I step back to lay down on the bed, trying to pull him down with me, but he shakes his head, tugging me until I’m flush against his naked body. “We’ll use the bed for the next one. For this one, I need you to hold on. Just let me get a condom.”
“No,” I say without thinking, but I’ve never had sex without a condom and I’m desperate to feel him inside me bare. I can’t stand the thought of anything separating us ever again.
He stares at me. “Are you sure that’s safe?”
“Are you clean?” I ask.
“Yes, I promise.”
“Thank God, because I’m clean and I’m on the pill,” I say.
