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I could bench-press two hundred and fifty pounds for reps, but I couldn’t fuckin’ figure out how to plug an HDMI cord into a computer.
Therefore, to save us both the trouble, I stayed out of Aodhan’s way and hoped that he could figure it out.
He was working diligently on whatever he’d been working on. Meanwhile, the Dramamine I’d found in Aodhan’s medicine cabinet had given me just enough of an edge over the nausea that plagued me.
Greer had tried to go to bed and had done nothing but manage to stay on the bed—but barely.
“This is nice,” she sighed in my arms.
It was nice.
I’d missed holding her.
Even more, I missed doing other things with her. Things that weren’t going to be happening.
At least, that’d been my intention.
Her pushing her sweatpants down hadn’t been on my list of plans for the night. Surviving. Staying in the bed. Not throwing up.
Those had been the things I’d been focusing on.
But…if there was ever a way to die, this would be it.
“I have an idea,” she said as she pushed her butt back against me. “We let the motion of the ocean do the work.”
Then she was twisting and pulling my cock—only half-hard—out of my pants.
She pushed me onto my back, and then she was descending, bringing her mouth to my cock and her hands to my balls and shaft.
Her mouth instantly opened, covering the tip and sucking lightly.
I closed my eyes and barely contained the groan that wanted to leave my lips.
A low growl did escape, though, and it took everything I had not to lift my hips up and thrust myself as deep down her throat as I could get.
“Fuck, baby. Fuck,” I whispered, my fingers moving to her disheveled hair.
I couldn’t see her, but I could feel her.
Her breasts were pressed against my thighs. Her knees snuggled between my own.
I imagined that her ass was sticking up high in the air and that she was pressing her thighs together to get the throbbing between her legs to stop.
Almost unable to stand her mouth moving on my cock anymore, I tightened my hold.
“How are we doing this?” I rasped.
She quickly popped off, leaving me high and dry—or wet and stiff—before she lay on her side and scooted backward.
My hand went to her hip and I yanked her back into me just in time to thrust up and catch myself with a hand on the bunk above me as a wave hit the side of our ship so hard that I heard shit fall out of the cabinets in the galley kitchen.
“Oops,” she whispered, giggling slightly.
There was an edge to that giggle that let me know that she was scared.
Likely, she was doing this as a distraction. As a way to forget what kind of mess I’d gotten us both in.
I started to pull back, unable to help myself and keep still, but she pressed back against me.
“No, slow,” she ordered. “We’re doing this the slow way. The motion of the ocean, remember?”
So that was what we did.
I lay with her in my arms, my cock buried deep inside of her and allowed the motion of the ocean to guide us.
It was slow and steady, but it was maddening enough that we were both panting after about twenty minutes.
It was slow, exquisite torture that I would say was quite possibly the best sex I’d ever had in my life. Not moving, not giving in to the urge to fuck my way to orgasm, had given me ample time to caress. To feel. To slowly and tenderly torture her.
To press kisses to her neck. To pluck her nipples. To tease her clit with delicate touches.
Her fingernails dug into the outside of my thigh, and with it the only thing within reach except for my arm that was extended underneath her head, she could do nothing but take what I was giving to her.
“Jesus, this was the worst idea.” Her voice quivered.
I chuckled low against the back of her neck, my mouth pressing lightly to the skin there.
“I kind of like it,” I teased. “It lets me feel a whole lot more. And I can keep you quiet this way.”
She clenched her pussy muscles and my eyes nearly crossed.
“Jesus Christ.” I groaned, my teeth biting down gently. Reverently.
“Did you mean it?” she panted, her chest quickly rising and falling beneath my hands.
It was hard to think past anything but what she was doing to me, but I tried anyway.
“Mean what?” I responded.
“That thing that you said with Sara,” she expounded. “Those words.”
The “I love you.”
I thought about lying. I thought about telling her that I wasn’t ready.
But truth be told, I was ready.
For years, I’d been acting like I hated her when in reality she meant something to me.
Something way more than I was willing to admit before just a few weeks ago when this all started between us.
