by Demi Alex
Oh, Lord. Pressure built in her core with the understanding of a possessive Ford putting his foot down. She liked it. Liked him. No other man . . . Only mine. His breath mingled with hers, yet he still didn’t touch her.
She raised and wrapped her arms around his neck, sidling up against his body and going up on her toes. “Sounds good to me.”
“Perfect.” Then he touched her. Gently lifting the blindfold, he looked into her eyes and gave her that handsome and tempting smile that she’d come to adore.
Her insides melted just a little. And as soon as she smiled back, his mouth was on hers in a searing kiss. Ford claimed her breath as his, making her dizzy with desire, and bringing every nerve in her body to attention. Every nerve.
When his face lifted and his fingers smoothed over her jaw and down her neck, she saw something new in his gaze . . . something she couldn’t label. Intense, sincere, and consuming, he communicated silently.
This was no longer about research and work. Her body was his.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlie’s phone chimed a new message. She turned from the computer screen and reached across the efficiently designed space for her cell.
You still awake?
Her gaze flitted to the bedside clock. Ten fifty-two.
Yes, she typed. My yacht isn’t due to turn into a pumpkin until midnight, lol
She waited for his reply, but no little dots appeared in a text bubble to indicate he was typing. The screen eventually went dark. Her heart ached because, crazy as it seemed, she really missed him. She was also disappointed and confused by his decision to cut the evening short.
The moment they’d stepped off the stage, hand in hand, he’d said good-night to the group and taken her away from the party. Initially, she’d thought he’d show her a public-private space they could make that only mine statement come true. But, no. Her physical need to be only his, if only for the few days they’d have, went unanswered. Instead, he’d walked her to her cabin, announced he had work to see to, told her to get some writing done, and promised to be in touch.
Frustrated, she’d speechlessly watched him pull the cabin door closed and had immediately stripped and stepped into a cold shower. A damn cold shower.
The water had done its job at tempering her body’s disappointment and the sting of rejection had faded. She’d concluded it was okay to combine work and play, and his calling it a night wasn’t a personal refusal. She’d played. She’d work. And he was entitled to the same. After all, he was officially working on the cruise . . . as a manager on the crew. There shouldn’t be a string attached.
Once she was comfortable in a pair of soft boxers and a favorite tie-dye t-shirt from her high school days, she’d settled before the computer and managed to write about how a romantic cruise setting was conducive to trying things one would never have the guts to do on land.
The quick knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. She unfolded her legs from beneath her, placed the laptop on the coffee table, and walked to the door. Looking through the peephole, she smiled at Ford. He was standing there, holding a gift bag, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and he appeared rather impatient for her to open the door. More smiles for her.
“You done?” Charlie asked, swinging the door ajar and stepping back for him to enter.
“I am,” he replied, pushing his hands into his jeans pockets. He’d taken time to change, and wore faded jeans, tight in all the right places, with a simple black t-shirt outlining every muscle of his chest and every ridge on his abs. A shiny black bag dangled on his wrist, and he looked like a poster boy for a Naughty Gifts Galore campaign. “Did you get any writing done?”
She shrugged, but nodded with accomplishment. “Wrote about Grace and Tyler’s inspiration. It’s a good twist.”
“Excellent. Join me for a nightcap,” he said, holding out the gift bag. “Please.”
“Okay,” she replied, still waiting for him to come inside.
He shook his head. “I’ll wait here. No cabin access, remember?”
She remembered. Her body remembered and resented.
He dropped the bag’s silver handle into her hand and it dangled from her fingers. “Put this on, chère. There’s a pajama party on deck eleven. Pajamas—of sorts.”
Charlie pulled out a black silk spaghetti strap nightie with lace over the triangles meant to cover her breasts and a delicate black chiffon frill angled at thigh level.
“You may wear the panties. I’ll wait right here,” he added, pulling the door shut.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Charlie rummaged through the tissue paper and pulled out the panties he’d referred to.
“Barely-there-panties,” she said. She wasn’t even sure if they qualified as underwear. Made of a pretty black lace, with a tiny rhinestone heart dangling strategically at the slit that cut down the crotch, they were a shadow of what she knew of as panties. She’d never worn crotchless panties. Never even owned a pair.
“What do you have in store for us now, Ford?” Charlie asked, whipping the t-shirt over her head and pushing her boxers to the floor. She tossed her comfort clothes on the couch and turned to her reflection in the mirror. “Sexy man is full of surprises. Nice.”
Slipping the lace up her legs and settling it on her hips, she twirled and examined her reflection. Excitement settled low in her belly and her muscles contracted. The little heart hung just above the opening at the crotch and it teased the sensitive bundle of nerves with each movement. She slid the sexy nightie over her head, taking extra care to position her breasts inside the tiny triangles and keep from exposing anything she didn’t want fellow passengers to see. And yes, it was a chore to get her nipples aligned and completely covered.
But the truth was that Ford had chosen well. She felt sexy, naughty, and on fire, but she wasn’t flashy or raunchy. The nightie came to mid-thigh, and the barely-there panties did shadow the juncture at her thighs. The outfit required the use of one’s imagination to see more.
She smoothed gloss on her lips and ran her fingers through her hair. Then, spraying perfume in the air, she walked through the mist and to the man who was waiting beyond her door. She stood behind it and cracked it open, leaning forward to look at him and check if anyone else was in the corridor.
“Am I supposed to walk out like this?”
“You are.” He peeled her fingers off the cool metal, and while pulling her to the side, pushed open the door and smiled. “Beautiful, baby. Just beautiful.”
Treasured. That’s what he made her feel. She wasn’t fat. Wasn’t average. She was riding on clouds he’d summoned for her. Ford looked at her with true male appreciation. And she knew she wasn’t imagining it. That sort of attention from a man like Ford empowered her. It gave her hope that what she wanted wasn’t a fantasy.
“Let me get my shoes,” she said, noting that his smile had turned into a cocky grin. He bent and positioned a pair of kitten-heeled slippers at the cabin’s threshold. “You thought of everything.”
“I hope,” he replied. He leaned down and lightly kissed the sensitive flesh below her ear. Tingles danced through her in anticipation of the night ahead, and she instinctively nuzzled against him. “Grab your keycard and we’re good to go.”
“Okay,” she breathed, and retrieving the card from the counter, she handed it to him. He slid it into his back pocket, then held her hand and helped her step into the slippers. Even with her in heels and him in flip-flops, she didn’t reach his shoulder. But strolling beside him, she felt wonderfully strong and beautiful. Not small and meek. “It’s like we’re going to a lingerie ball, not a pajama party.”
“It’s definitely a pajama party. Sensual and casual, it’s held in the lounge that we usually reserve for younger cruisers. There’ll be beanbags, popcorn, and a movie. But this time, alcoholic beverages will be served and some of the activities will be a little more risqué. It’s a PDA party, rated VbC.”
PDA stood for public displays of affection. She
knew that much, and realizing they’d have an opportunity to be together in such a way set her sexual awareness to ultra-high. Heavy anticipation built between her legs as she wondered if, and how much, they’d actually participate.
* * *
Wanting to gauge how much he’d need to push her, Ford had chosen the specific event because of its nature. He already knew she got off on watching. Of course, he wasn’t about to put his Charlie—Fuck! The sentiment felt more than temporary.
He shook his head, not only to shake the thoughts of her as his from his mind, but in realizing that no matter what, he wasn’t going to put her on display. No. But a hint of public exhibition could be good if it primed her for his touch and made their coming together hotter than he knew it would be.
Seriously. Why was he thinking so hard on it? He’d never waited to have sex. Never anticipated being with a specific woman. He’d always seen what he wanted, went after it, and satisfied his need to get laid.
As he smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand, they stepped into the elevator. Ford settled her against his body, with her back to his chest. So damn beautiful. That’s how she looked pressed against him. He’d had to force himself to leave her earlier, force himself to go away and let her work. If it had been up to him, he would have thrown all his plans out to sea and joined her in the cabin. He’d have stepped through that threshold, his job be damned, if only he hadn’t believed that she needed to know she could have it all. A healthy balance of work and play. Something she craved, but didn’t think she could have.
“Much more than beautiful,” he whispered against her ear, meeting her gaze in the mirrored door. Dropping his shoulders and curling his body around her back, his fingers trailed down her arms, and he linked his hands beneath her breast and drew her closer. “How does the little heart feel, baby?”
“Sinful,” she said. Pink colored her chest and she looked down to her feet. Perfect white teeth skimmed her lower lip and her body went stiff.
“No fucking way,” he growled, immediately cupping her chin and lifting her face so she could see her reflection. “Don’t look away. Look at us. Look at yourself.” He waited for those big blue eyes to reappear in the mirror. “You don’t have the option of looking away, Charlie. You need to see the gorgeous woman I see. You need to know she can have everything she’s ever wanted, and you need to know she deserves it.”
“Maybe.” A slow curve shaped her lips and she gave a tiny nod. “Maybe while we’re on this cruise it’s doable. But in real life, what I want isn’t compatible with what I can have.” She turned in his hold and smiled up at him as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. “Let’s stay in the present and enjoy our night.”
“Plan on it,” he said, taking her small hand in his and leading her toward the lounge. Everything she’d ever wanted was compatible with what she needed. In the present moment and in real life. He’d show her.
An event staffer stopped them at the entrance. “Sorry, sir. Proper attire is required for entrance.”
Of course it was. Ford kicked off his flip-flops, and flicked the button on his fly. Careful not to lose the contents of his pockets, he took off his jeans and folded them into a tight bundle at his left hand. Reaching for Charlie with his right, he strutted past the staffer in his boxer briefs and T-shirt.
Charlie’s sweet chuckle pleased him. “You sleep in your underpants?”
“I sleep nude,” he replied. “But seeing that my employees are tending bar, I figured a bit of coverage might be better for now.”
“I think so,” she agreed, still giggling. “It looks like Patrick, the bartender from our special place, has been assigned to this event.”
Fuck, she was cute. The way she made him feel, he was glad he’d made sure Patrick was stationed here. It warmed his chest how she’d casually mentioned they had a special place, not to mention how other body parts reacted.
The woman’s influence was morphing into so much more than a casual interest or temporary entertainment. Suddenly, what she meant was different from mind blowing sex and satiating his libido before his life went into high gear. Ford should have realized as much the moment he acknowledged he wasn’t going to allow her to sail without him around to “look after” her.
He led them to a small table, draped with a floor-length black tablecloth, and invited her to scoot in across the crescent-shaped booth, which was also covered in a black fabric. If she noticed the additional outfitting of the lounge, she didn’t comment on it. She simply slid in and made room for Ford to join her.
Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore worked the pottery wheel on the movie screen, as the server placed a bowl of popcorn on the table and took their drink order.
“This is one of the most romantic movies ever made,” Charlie said, snuggling against his side. “A supernatural love story, proving the power of love does exist.”
“This scene is sexy as hell,” Ford replied, determined to keep it in the present and give her what she wanted. “I’d shape clay, or anything else, with you wearing that shirt any day.”
With his fingers angling her face toward his, he brought his mouth to hers and licked along the line of her full lips until they parted and he tasted the addictive flavor of his Charlie. Tongues mingled, lips locked, and his mind filled with selfish images that he knew would make her wet and ready for him in the middle of the night.
Unfortunately, he wouldn’t have her on their first night at sea. He could, however, make her realize how much he wanted her. He brushed the pad of his thumb across her lace-covered breast, then slipped under the soft material and circled the hard bud, taking his time as he kept his mouth sealed to hers. When he kissed her neck, and her breathing grew ragged, he moved her hand over his painful erection.
Small yet strong and determined fingers stroked him, sliding past the elastic of his boxers and wrapping around his cock. The other participants were too engrossed in their own activities to notice, and Ford liked the comfort of privacy in the public setting. Mostly because he knew what the thrill of exposure was doing to Charlie. “Take what you want, chère.”
“I want you,” she said, tangling her free hand into his hair and bringing her mouth to his. “I want to give you pleasure.”
Only Patrick would possibly notice that the make out session with Charlie had gotten so heated, but Ford knew he could count on Patrick’s discretion. The bartender was more than an employee. He was a friend.
The night before Patrick had married the love of his life, Rena, Ford had agreed to make her fantasy of having two men at once a reality. They’d fucked Rena every which way until thirty minutes before the ceremony. It was Ford who, while taking her mouth, had the sense to wash the sticky evidence of their night’s activities from Rena’s hair, while Patrick kneeled behind his then-fiancée’s bent form and claimed her ass.
Hot as the memory was, he wasn’t offering Charlie’s mouth to anyone else.
“Want you so bad,” he groaned against her neck and felt bumps form on her skin at his words. “I want that pretty little proper mouth of yours. I want to taste you, to bury myself inside you, and to hear you call my name as you shatter.”
“Yes,” she breathed, fisting him tight, and twisting her soft body against his in search of his lips with obvious excitement.
“Delicious,” he said, reclaiming her mouth.
With an audible breath, Charlie broke the kiss and pulled away. She trailed a manicured fingertip up his chest and tapped his chin. Giving him a wicked grin, she quickly glanced at the other occupants in the room, licked her lips, and let her gaze skim to the shadow above his groin.
“It’s my turn,” she announced, folding her body beneath the coverage of the tablecloth and fitting herself between his legs. “Lift for me, honey.” He heard the endearment and tangled his fingers in her soft as silk hair. When her hands were on either side of his hips, he lifted off the seat and she pulled his boxers down to his ankles.
They were breaking more than one rule
, but he couldn’t think past the fact that Charlie’s breath swept over him and she was looking up at him with a pleading need in her beautiful eyes. He didn’t get it. Just a second earlier she’d seemed eager to take charge. Yet she was waiting for him.
Sipping on his vodka, he nodded and feathered a finger over her cheek encouraging her to take him in her mouth. “Yes, baby.”
Soft lips went up his thighs. Her warm tongue licked over his balls, swirled, licked more, and she took first one, then the other, into her mouth. Pressure built on his spine, and she hadn’t even reached his cock.
Tugging on her hair, he answered the question in those baby blues of whether her mouth was pleasing him, because yes, it was. He closed his eyes and dropped his head to the back of the seat, reveling in every sweep of her tongue as euphoric darkness swallowed his composure. Her lips closed around his left ball and suckled, then repeated the sweet torture on the right. She kept doing that, moaning soft noises of pleasure, like he was a treat to be cherished. She used both hands to stroke his shaft, and a grazing fingertip spread the moistness around the tip. She drove him mad with the need for her mouth. A battalion of red ants marched over his nerves, but in a very, very pleasurable manner. Sick. He was a grown man. It wasn’t the first time he was in this position, so he shouldn’t be about to lose it.
After a few minutes of being in Charlie’s mouth, the sense to protect her head from bumping against the table disappeared because he concentrated on not coming too quickly. He felt her gentle strokes in every way and refused to have the sensations cease before he absolutely couldn’t handle them any longer.
Charlie lapped up the side of his cock, her tongue warm and moist, as she continued to look up at him, silently urging him to watch, in the sexiest invitation of his life. He held the cloth away from her face, slid to the farthest edge of his seat, and watched as she took him fully into her mouth.
The gentle and tentative strokes disappeared. She fisted the base and sucked him deep until he hit the back of her throat. Holding his gaze as her cheeks hollowed and her tongue flicked, she worked him like she lived to give her man head at the dinner table.