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I want you to stop fighting and give in.
I won’t get you in trouble.
I won’t ask for much.
I just want to feel your body moving inside of mine.
Biting my lip until it stings, I force my gaze away, staring out the window at the darkness. In the reflection, I see him approach me a few minutes later, leaning down to place my drink, which is pleasingly pink, on a cocktail napkin before me.
I turn to face him, letting my eyes move slowly from his waist to his face. Holding his eyes as I raise the glass to my lips, I take a sip, let my eyes flutter closed, and sigh. When I open them again, he’s staring at me, drinking me in, angry and intense.
“Stop it,” he growls.
“I don’t want to.”
“You’re playing with fire.”
“Then burn me.”
His lips part in surprise at my boldness.
“You don’t know what you’re—”
“Yara! Hello! Can we join you?”
I jerk my gaze away from Rio to find the Markmans approaching with the Schlemmers on their heels.
“You’re at our favorite table! Can we share it with you?”
My cheeks flush hot, like I’ve been caught doing something naughty, and I stumble over my words. “Um...oh, y-yes, of course. Please. Join me.”
Rio straightens up, greeting the older couples with a polite, professional smile, though at eye level to me, I can’t miss the swell—the veritablebulge—in the crotch of his khaki shorts. It makes me smile. It makes me feel drunk when I’ve only had a sip of my drink.
“Something from the bar?” Rio asks.
“What’s Yara drinking?” asks Sara Markman.
“A Pink Caipirinha.”
“How festive! We’ll take four!” says Harvey, plunking down in the seat beside me.
My eyes track Rio back to the bar where he gets to work right away, a deep crease in his brow as he works. I know that look. I’ve upset him. His body’s battling his conscience, and he doesn’t like it.
If I was a good person, I would let him off the hook—tell him I’m just kidding around, and don’t want anything from him. But the truth isn’t always good, I guess. The truth is that I’m ravenous for him—slavering and soaked—and partially, it’s his fault. His looks were enough to tempt me, sure, but handsomeness alone wouldn’t have elicited this level of desire. It’s the way he saw me, and called me out on everything he saw, that makes him irresistible. No woman can resist a man who sees—really sees—her. It’s the mental equivalent to his tongue lapping at my pussy. I can barely think straight.
I lift my drink to my lips and finish the entire thing in one long gulp, hoping it’ll extinguish the burn inside.
It doesn’t help.
Standing up on shaking legs, I head for the deck, slipping out a side door and into the dark night. My hands reach for the railing and grip it tightly, the wood slick from humidity and splashback from the river. The boat moves slowly, but the motor is loud, so I don’t hear him behind me until he whispers in my ear.
“Pleasestop,” he begs me, his voice deep and ragged.
My eyes close slowly as I lean back against him,intohim, my ass rubbing against his engorged cock as my eyes close. His lips skim the soft skin of my throat, resting in the tiny valley between my neck and shoulder. I feel his tongue, hot and wet, taste the sensitive crevice, his breath searing as he exhales.
“I can’t,” I murmur.
“You’ll get me in trouble,” he groans, his lips brushing my skin on the “b” in “trouble.”
