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Clutching the sheets to my chest, I twist around, watching his inked back as he saunters toward the bathroom.
He slows to a stop and palms the back of his neck, before turning to pin me with a dark expression. “Condom,” is all he says.
My blood runs cold; a stark contrast to the hot juice running down my inner thigh.How could I be so stupid?Embarrassingly enough, the thought of using protection didn’t even cross my mind. Not when Raphael declared he was going to fuck me, nor when he followed through with venom.
I let out a shaky breath. “I’m on the pill.”
His eyes narrow, annoyance pulling his jaw taut. The wordwhydances somewhere between the door and the bed. Of course, I don’t tell him I’ve been on it since I was thirteen to regulate my periods.
He runs a busted hand down his throat, settling his gaze on the headboard behind me. “You clean?” he asks tightly.
I stare at him in disbelief. “Are you?” I snap back.
His eyes fall down to me in bitter amusement. “Yes, Penelope. I’m not usually stupid enough to fuck a broad without a condom.”
And then the bathroom door slams shut behind him.
Thesoundofwatersplashing on tiles brings my attention to the bathroom door. The longer I stare at it, the harder unease presses down on my chest.
Raphael called me abroadand now he’s washing me off his body. But now that I’ve let him inside me, I have this awful feeling I won’t be able to do the same.
I sit up straighter, trying to ignore the fresh trickle of cum pooling between my thighs. I didn’t realize Raphael was living on the yacht, but jeez, why wouldn’t you? I study the bedroom—cabin—for the first time. Black curtains, cream walls. Soft fabrics on hard furnishings. It’s definitively him, and everything that isn’t belongs to me. The panties swinging off the lamp. The shorts crumpled on the window seat. My stuff looks as out of place in this room as I feel.
The air is so awkward it stiffens my limbs. I lie back and succumb to it, staring at the ceiling. After what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes, I realize the shower is stillrunning. That awkwardness heats into embarrassment.
Is he waiting for me to leave?Jesus. Aside from not taking me on a date and fucking me without a condom, he’s treated me like every other woman. He fucked me from behind, and he fucked me rough.Maybe he expects me to be gone before he gets out?
Sick at the idea of him coming out of the shower and being annoyed I’m still lazing in his bed, I jump out of it. I scramble around for my bra and shorts, put them on, then yank my vest top over my breasts.
Now what?
I wish I knew what the regular one-night-stand etiquette was. It might give me some insight into what to do after a one-morning-stand. I could have probably figured it out with a bit of common sense, if, you know, I wasn’t stranded on a mega yacht in the middle of the Pacific.
Oh—one I also happen to work on.
If my head wasn’t already spinning, I’d smack it against the wall for my sins. I’m such an idiot. The second I leave this room, I run the risk of bumping into a coworker.
Taking a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and mentally place two scenarios side-by-side. The first, is Anna’s shocked face when she sees me in my pajama shorts creeping out of Raphael’s room. The second, is Raphael stepping out the bathroom in a low-slung towel. He’s looking at his phone and slows in surprise when he realizes I’m still in his bed.Oh,he says, running a hand over his neck.I thought you’d have left by now.
Absolutely not.
I rip open the door and scurry down the hall. I find one slipper at the end of it; the other in the crew mess. I ignore the Chief Officer and First Engineer having breakfast and dart up the stairs, where the blanket is slung over the railing. Other members of the ghost crew step aside to let me pass, biting their lips and glancing at their watches, but I keep my chin tilted high and my mind on the swim platform.
Next mission: hitch a ride back to the Coast.
Shivering by an open door, I press my nose against the window and squint out to the Pacific. It’s bright and blue and not a single vessel bobs over its turbulent waves.
Come on.I touch the pendant around my neck, as if to remind it thatluckygirls would suddenly chance upon a shuttle leaving for the port any second.
Nothing.
My sigh mists up the glass. I need to find someone and beg them to take me over. The bosun and his deckhands are usually hovering around the platform, cleaning jet skis in the garage or washing down the decks.
Wrapping the blanket tighter around myself and bracing my bones for the cold, I step outside to see if I can spot any signs of life. I’ll probably die of hypothermia, but it’s favorable to dying of embarrassment.
“You gonna swim home?”
The harsh wind carries a cashmere-coated question to my back. My shoulders snap into a tight line. I turn to see Raphael leaning against the frame of the French doors, humor dancing in his eyes.
