Page 76 of Mafia Obsession

Ares helps me aboard the Ananke, his hand steady at my waist. Once we’re both on board, he gives commands in Greek to the dockhands, and the thick white anchor lines are uncoiled from the cleats.

Before settling into the helm, Ares shows me around. “There’s a cabin below,” he says, gesturing to narrow stairs leading downward. “Galley, sleeping, storage.”

Storage… I picture dead bodies being brought out to the middle of the Mediterranean and dumped in the dead of the night.

From where we stand, I can see walls in warm wood paneling and cream leather benches. The galley has a marble countertop with a bar sink, a wine fridge, and a microwave.

“Looks like my first apartment,” I say to lighten the mood and keep it real.

I don’t want a man giving me a world I can’t manage, a bank account with so many zeroes that it’s pressure to think about how to spend it.

We make our way to the helm, and once seated in a white leather ribbed captain’s chair, Ares starts the engine. Thepowerful motor roars to life, and with his firm hand on the throttle, the boat begins to move. A rumbling sounds out from behind me. I turn to see three massive, glossy black outboard engines.

To an onlooker, such visible horsepower declares Ares’s dominance.

I settle into the seat beside him, the wind already lifting my hair as we coast out of the marina. Despite the boat’s capabilities, Ares glides from the dock and into the open water at a relaxed speed.

“Come here,” he says after a moment.

I look over. “Where?”

“In front of me.” He widens his legs and pats the seat between them. “I’ll show you how to drive the boat.”

My stomach flips, but I stand and situate myself between his arms and legs. His thighs close around mine, his chest pressed firmly against my back.

He positions my hands on the wheel. “Like this.”

“I have a driver’s license,” I remark over my shoulder. “I know how to steer.”

“A boat doesn’t steer like a car,” he says, his nose in my hair. “And when was the last time you drove? You don’t even have a car, little storm.”

I slip my eyes closed, knowing he can’t see me. My license is still Illinois-issued. “I don’t need one.”

“That might change.” His hands settle over mine, guiding me.

The salt in the air and his cologne is such a pleasant mix, I can cry.

“Feel the water,” Ares murmurs into my ear. “You got it.” His lips brush the back of my neck. “You smell like my soap. I like that.”

“Your jet’s shower had impressively good water pressure. For a plane. The one in your bedroom felt a lot better,” I reply.

“I hope you’ll let me wash you with it next time. Clean you everywhere. Touch you everywhere.”

Heat pools low in my belly, and a rush of warmth between my legs has me shaking. “Do you want us to crash?”

He reaches under my sundress, his hand resting on my outer thigh. “Crash into what? There’s nothing around.”

“There’s you.”

“Ah… Yes. Crash into me. Please.”

“I think I already have.”

His second hand joins the first, both wandering to my hips, as Ares kisses my neck. I try to concentrate on steering the boat. The sun, the wind, the salt, and this man’s lips don’t remove the danger and the awareness that we’re not alone, even if I can’t see his guards.

“You’re doing so well,” he says softly.

Just as his hands are about to slide into my bikini bottoms where he’ll find me wet, something beeps on the console, and he lifts his head. “We’re close to the shelf. Let me steer for a while.”