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“You’re not supposed to lie to me, Noemi. I’m disappointed.” And pissed off that she would boldly try to deny herself what she very clearly wanted.
“You don’t understand,” she panted as I continued to lightly stroke her, slowly moving from one delicious end of her pussy to the other. Fuck, I wanted to taste her again. If she’d just say the word, I’d go down on her right there on the railing of the aft deck.
“I don’t want you to fuck me,” she moaned as I increased pressure and speed. “Oh... God, Dante...” She struggled to speak, and I was too much of a bastard to let her relax. Her hips pushed forward against my hand.
“I want... I want you to make love to me. That’s what I dream of. That’s what my fantasies are about.”
My hand stilled as I listened to words that wrapped around my gut and squeezed, forcing the agony to surface.
She heaved a deep breath. “I want romance, gestures, the atmosphere.” She waved her hand in the air. “This is all so perfect, but my ideal fantasy is to have you make love to me. I... didn’t know the difference between fucking and making love until...” Her voice trailed off.
I couldn’t control it. My body stiffened. I set myself up for this. I should have known what she’d say. If I had an empathic bone in my body, I would have known.
“I know you’re angry because that’s not what you want, and I’m okay with that,” she added hastily. “But you asked, and you wanted your answer. So now, you have it.”
Letting her dress fall, I took a step away from her. Her eyes immediately fell to the planks of the deck flooring.
My jaw tensed.What the fuck had I done?I told her I’d give her anything she wanted if she’d just tell me what it was. If she had groaned anything else, I would have scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the nearest cabin.
But this? What the fuck was I supposed to do with this?
I put even more distance between us as I took another step away from her. I needed a drink. Badly.
Noemi stood in the moonlight, her body hunched and frightened. Why could I read her when she was scared and nervous, but I couldn’t tell when she needed more? If I had any fucking clue what she was going to say, I wouldn’t have asked her. She knew what she told me wouldn’t make me happy, not that I was ever happy.
I had two choices: comply with what she wanted as I told her I would or walk the hell away from her. Now.
That’s what she thought I’d do. She thought I’d leave. She knew she’d angered me again and that I would leave her alone as I had on the plane. Noemi shifted nervously on her feet but kept her eyes downcast.
A demure fucking goddess.Mygoddess. Waiting for me to disappoint her.
Again.
Fuck, my dick was already hard but now it was engorged.What the hell? All she had to do was show signs of submission, let me control her, and he was at attention.
Five minutes and he could have what he wanted, but I needed five minutes to figure out how I was going to meet her demands. She wanted romance and ambience, and I didn’t know how to do that shit.
“Stay here,” I bit out.
Her shoulders sagged, and she nodded. Noemi gave up. She told me what she wanted and now, the power was all mine again.
I just didn’t know what the fuck to do with it.
I ran a hand through my hair as I stalked to the wheelhouse where Captain Burrowes sat studying his instruments. He straightened up when I walked in unannounced.
“It will cost you, but they’ll be here first thing to fix the windows. We’ll have to dock for the morning,” he said as I barged in.
“Aren’t you married?” I blurted out.
His eyebrows rose at my uncharacteristic outburst. Captain Burrowes had been with me for five years, for the duration of time that I owned theMary Theresa. He came with the yacht. We forged a strong relationship over the years. He was discreet and trustworthy. Like everyone else, he didn’t have details about my life, but considering the man he’d worked for before me, his new assignment was a walk in the park. I kept him on after I killed his boss. The man who hired me was the yacht owner’s brother. When he inherited his brother’s wealth, he found out the man didn’t have half the amount of money he’d bragged about. My client paid me with his brother’s yacht, complete with captain and crew. They’d seen a hell of a lot worse than me over the years and didn’t blink at any of it.
But at my unexpected personal question, Burrowes crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you asking?”
Why did talking to people have to be so fucking difficult? “Just answer the damn question.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
He was protecting his wife. I got it. I also knew he was married, and he knew I knew that, so what was the big fucking deal? I wasn’t going to just come right out and ask for his help.
