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When he lifted his head, she said, “More.”
It was a bad idea, but he hated denying her as much as he’d ever hated anything. Gripping her wrists in one hand, he lifted her arms over her head and pressed them to the bed to prevent her from touching him. This way, he’d maintain a measure of self-control.
“More,” she begged again, so he gave her more.
He kissed the upper curves of her breasts, not daring to let his lips wander toward the peaks that would be his undoing. Instead he imagined sucking the hard tips into his mouth and dragging his tongue around each nipple before biting down softly. He could make her come like that. He’d done that with women before, but none of them had mattered. Clelia was different. They shared enough that mattered to ignore his need for setting her on fire before dousing it with his cock.
“You’re still angry with me,” she whispered when he tore himself away from her body.
Yes, he was angry, but not with her. “The blame’s all mine.”
He’d seduced her into giving away her virginity in a field of thorns, in the fucking dirt, to a man who couldn’t even remember it. They’d both been denied because of his blind, uncontrollable lust.
Of course he wanted to be her first. He was only a man. More than that, he wanted to be her last. A black hole in his memory or not, he’d claimed her. She was his. By her own design, she’d always been his, seeing she’d chosen him when they were only kids. A lot of shit between then and now had driven him away from his hometown, but after seeing her again, he wanted to keep her. He wanted to kill any man who looked at her. Yes, he was burning, but he’d rather burn in hell than take advantage of her again. She deserved better than a single bed in a cramped cabin on a rocking boat. She deserved better than the first time he’d given her. He wanted another chance. He wanted a remake. Come hell or high water, he’d rewrite that chapter. Their story wasn’t going to begin like this, not on his damn shift.
Giving her a last, gentle kiss, he arranged her arms at her sides and stepped away.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Stopping us from doing something I’ll regret.”
Her eyes flashed. “You use regret a lot when you talk about us.”
“You know what I mean.”
She pushed up onto her elbows. “I want this.”
“You don’t.”
A frown marred her pretty face. “Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want.”
Did she, though? Did she know what she wanted? She was only getting a taste of the real him. He was no angel or good husband material. “There’s a theory about captives developing a sexual fixation on their captors.”
“Is that the excuse you’re choosing? Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“Just making sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Anyway, it was too late now. They’d just have to deal. He backtracked to the door. “Good night, little witch.”
Lying back down, she covered her face with her arm. With her face concealed, the bruises on her neck drew his attention, damage he’d done in the name of love and war where everything was supposed to be fair. Only, life didn’t work like that. Nothing was fair.
“If you need anything—” he started.
“I won’t.”
With a sigh he felt to his bones, he left quietly, making sure he closed the door behind him. Never had he regretted a drunken spell more in his life. If only he could turn back time. Damn. He needed a chiromancist.
On the upper deck, he inhaled the scent of salt and sea, trying to gather himself with deep breaths of the familiar smell. The night sky was already a deep purple. On his way to the lounge, he ran into Bono, who was smoking a cigar next to the jacuzzi.
The pilot blew a ring of smoke into the air and asked with a taunting smile, “Not staying the night?”
“Shut up, Bono,” Joss said, shouldering him as he passed.
Bono only chuckled.
The lounge was empty when he entered. Everyone had to have gone to bed. He stayed up late, finishing a report. When he finally went to his cabin, he stopped at Clelia’s door and listened, but all was quiet. Only the sound of the sea lapping at the yacht kept the silence at bay.Chapter 17Despite the fact that the yacht was anchored, Clelia sat in the jacuzzi on the deck with Maya. After breakfast, Maya had invited her, or rather instructed her, to put on her bathing suit so Maya could babysit her in the jacuzzi. Joss hadn’t packed a swimsuit, so Clelia had to wear one of Maya’s bikinis. She wasn’t keen on wearing the meagre scraps of red fabric, let alone spend time with Maya. Joss was nowhere to be seen.
