by Daya Daniels
I give him a little nod, unable to focus only on the words falling from his lips and what he’s doing to me at the same time. His touch warms my insides. Nico shifts his weight and hovers above me, peering down into my face as though he’s searching for something. A lock of his wavy hair tumbles across his forehead. This man is effortlessly sexy.
Holy fuck.
His bronze eyes bore into mine, allowing me to absorb his chiseled features. His forehead furrows when he looks at me. The muscles in his arms tense and the moonlight casts shadows over the lines of his chest and abs, down to the Apollo’s crest at his hips. He’s a fucking masterpiece. A vision. A panty melting, brain mushing, thigh-spreading package of man.
“What?” I whisper with a giggle.
Nico gives me a mischievous grin. “I love you.” He dips down and kisses my lips before I can respond.
We were moving at breakneck speed and we both knew it but the amusing part was that now I didn’t think I cared. He backs away slowly and runs his fingers through my hair. He places his index finger over my lips when I open my mouth to speak.
“Shhh.” He whispers, studying my face like I’m a specimen.
“Nico.”
He smiles and kisses a line down my stomach. I thread my fingers through his hair and drop my head against the mattress, to stare at the ceiling that moves from left to right with the soft rocking of the boat. I take a deep breath, when his tongue begins to consume my flesh.
Nico
Two weeks and a few days had passed. Cass spent most of her days in Dockyard taking photographs for the America’s Cup event. She had nearly a thousand pictures just of the boats that were at least ten million apiece. At that’s just for the original, not including the back-up boat.
Each time Cass spoke about what she did during the day, there was a glint of excitement in her brown eyes that you couldn’t miss. Her photographs were captivating and the angles and the light she used to capture every moment on film were innovative. I’ve never seen pictures like some of hers.
I’d spent most of my time on the water and with Cass when she was finished for the day. We’d been out deep sea fishing once with Ambrose and caught a marlin that took nearly four hours just to reel in. I promised to take Joseph at some point, who seemed like he was dying to go. I fished. I wrote. I tended to everything Aurelio asked me to.
This morning, I snuck away early when my phone rang and a picture of Tatiana popped up on the screen with a tiny red heart.
“Papai, I miss you.” Tatiana says peering closely into the screen. Her curly hair is all over the place and her eyes are gloomy.
It breaks my heart to see her like this. I tilt my head to the side and listen to her take a small breath, while she holds her tears in her eyes. “I want to see you.”
“Yes, you will soon.”
The sound of my mother speaking French in the background, makes me smile. She’s complaining about Tatiana’s clothing selection.
“I know but it isn’t soon enough.”
“Three more weeks of school Tatiana and then you’ll be here, with me.”
She wipes her tears that are freely falling now and sniffles. Soon, I’m faced with a tidal wave of sobs.
“I know.” She hiccups and the camera dips a little when she drops the phone in a pile of pink pillows.
I shift against the port side of the boat, placing my foot on a bucket that’s turned upside down. “Please don’t cry, Tat.”
“I’m trying not to.” She mumbles and then gives me a stone-face that makes me laugh.
“Tatiana.” My mother Marielle calls out. “Vous devez vous preparer. You have to get ready.” She complains, coming into the view of the camera. “Nico.” She says. Bonjour, baby. I haven’t seen you in sooo long.”
I take in the sight of my mother Marielle’s elegant features. For a woman as she old she is, she still looks young enough, maybe even to be Tatiana’s mother.
“Bonjour, Mom.”
Marielle smiles. “Tu as l’air bien. You look good.”
“Merci. Thank you. So do you, as always.”
Marielle shifts, showing me the blue dress she’s wearing and flats. “I look good, don’t I?”
Tatiana sniffles. “Oui, Grand-mere. Yes, Grandma.” She says sweetly, still wiping her tears.
Marielle scoots on the bed next to Tatiana, pulls her into a hug and kisses her forehead. Like I should be doing. Tatiana looks up at Marielle with the most adoring eyes, while my mother fiddles with her hair.
“All she’s been doing Nico is crying and whining – whining and crying. Oh, my God.” Marielle complains, poking Tatiana in the side. “But they’re crocodile tears!”
“No, Grand-mere. They aren’t.”
“Oui, ils son. Yes, they are.” Marielle says sternly. “As soon as you hang up the phone, Nico. Her face dries right up and then she’s with her friends laughing and playing again!”
I shake my head at their bickering.
“How is it there?” Marielle asks me.
“It’s been good.”
“Papai met a girl!” Tatiana sings.
Marielle’s big blue eyes take up the entire screen. “Vraiment? Really?” She questions dramatically.
I sigh with the roll of my eyes. “I’ll tell you about it later, Mom.”
“You must.” She says sternly.
I push off the side of the boat, when a car pulls into the lot a few feet away. “I have to go.”
“Have you seen your-.” Marielle starts. “Never mind. I’ll call you tonight.”
“Tat, have a good day in school. Please don’t cry. You’ll be here soon.”
“Okay, Papai. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I blow her a kiss and end the Skype call.
Groaning, I put my Rayban’s on and head up the stairs to the parking lot to meet the asshole that’s just jumped out of the silver, all-electric BMW i3 Hatchback. Drugs by EDEN blares from his stereo.
It’s only seven in the morning and the sun is barely over the horizon.
“I told you not to come here.” I say approaching the car, when Tomas eases out of it.
He throws his hands up in the air as though he’s never seen me before and pulls me into a fierce hug. “Eu sinto muito. I’m sorry, Nico. I had to see what all the fuss is about.” He laughs. “It’s spectacular out here. If it wasn’t for the eyesore right in front of me.”
I laugh unsure if he’s referring to me or Reel Talk.
“Do you like the car? When I selected it, I thought about you, being environmentally conscious and all.”
I run a hand over my jaw. “Yes, it’s nice. I do like it.”
Tomas gives me a gleaming smile. “See, I’m thoughtful.”
I only nod, looking over his attire that’s short of comical. He pulls me into for another hug, patting my shoulder hard. I push him off me.
“What kind of greeting is that for a man you haven’t seen in a while?”
I wave him away and inspect the car without answering.
“It’s good.” I confirm, giving him a nod.
He backs up and leans against the door, gazing out in the direction of Ely’s Harbor. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“You met someone.” He says giving me an amused look.
I give him an expressionless look.
“I know you have. I can’t tell.” He laughs.
“What did you come here to talk about?”
Tomas stands straight again and chuckles. “I came here to see you, since you never come to see me.”
I let out an exhausted breath.
“I won’t take offense to it, of course but I...”
Cassandra
It’s Saturday morning. When I awake, Nico has already left the bed. I push to my feet and head to the bathroom. Quickly, I brush my teeth, wash my face and scramble up the stairs to click the laptop alive. I upload the most recent photographs of the boats I’d taken pictures of and separate them i
nto folders. I need to narrow twelve hundred shots down to ten and I’d no clue how I’d do it.
Pouring myself a cup of coffee, I click on the radio. The R&B pop song Like Me, by Twanée sounds from the speakers. I sing along to the song and take a seat back at the kitchen table, only wearing a simple T-shirt that belongs to Nico and panties underneath. I take a deep breath and open the folders.
I freeze when a tangle of voices in the distance, steals away my attention. Standing, I pad across the tiny kitchen and turn down the music, then stare out the window. Nico is standing next to a man, talking. Their backs are to me. I narrow my eyes and look at the man’s attire – tailored shorts, a white polo shirt, Gucci canvas sneakers. A very expensive Omega decorates his wrist and glints under the morning sun. His skin is deeply tanned and his black hair is immaculately styled, like Al Pacino’s was in the Godfather II much of the time. The two men are nearly the exact same height and build, except Nico is heavier.
“It’s good to see you, Nico.” He says, tossing an arm over his shoulder and guiding him off out of my sight.
I back away from the window, turn the music back up and take a seat back at the table again. I click through all the images, angling my head every now and again to get a better look at the images I’ve captured. These boats are incredible – sleek, aerodynamic and fast – capable of cutting across the water at three times the speed of the prevailing wind. These boats had previously been recorded of doing speeds of 50.8 miles per hour or 44.1 knots, which I knew from my endless research.
The door clicks open and Nico steps in, holding his phone in his hand. He runs a hand through his unruly hair and pours himself some coffee.
“Who was that?”
“Tomas.” He answers, without elaborating very much. “He’s interested in Ambrose’s boat.”
“Oh. That’s good. I knew Ambrose had some offers.”
“Yeah.” He says and moves to take a seat next to me, staring at the shots of the boats on the large screen. “They’re amazing, Cass.”
I give him a shy smile. “Thanks.”
“You have shots of three different types of boats here.” He points a finger at each craft. “They weigh around three thousand pounds each.”
“Yeah, I know that but I don’t truly know the differences. I’m still doing my research.” I laugh.
Nico sits straighter and leans into the screen giving me a curious expression. “Basically, there are three types of boats.”
I nod and sip from my mug.
“Just remember that F, stands for foiling.” He explains. “These boats are one design, foiling, wing-sail catamarans. This is the one that is raced in the world series.
“This year each team must design and build its own boat, which are fifteen meters, or nearly fifty feet long, with a forty-five-foot hull length, which are built to a design rule.
“All racing this year from the qualifiers to the actual match, will be match racing in these boats.
“The first one is the boat the teams use to test ideas, validate assumptions and to practice in. This particular boat.” Nico says pointing at the screen. “Doesn’t ever engage in official racing.”
“Got it.”
I open my mouth to interrupt. “It was explained a little to me a few days ago. I guess, I kind of get it but what is foiling?”
Nico’s brows meet in the middle of his forehead. He points to a photograph of one of the catamarans tipping. “You see this.”
“Yeah.”
“Foiling is a technique these guys use to lift themselves out of the water and accelerate to crazy, stupid speeds.”
I laugh at his description.
“This is an incredible shot, Cass.”
“Yes, and I got very, very wet taking it.” I grin. “But it was cool.”
Nico kisses my cheek and ruffles my hair playfully.
“So, each hull has a L-shaped hydrofoil that can be lowered into the water. The foil works like an airplane wing, but instead uses the oncoming water to produce enough lift to push the entire boat out of the water. The wind pushes the boat to one side, which means only one foil and rudder make contact with the water...the rest is airborne. These boats fly.”
Nico’s face brightens.
“These guys need to keep the boat on the foils as long as possible, because any contact between the boat’s hull and the water destroys its speed.
“The hulls can also dig in and cause the boat to somersault forward, a very big mistake that can end in fucking disaster.” He sits closer, pointing to a few of the helmeted men in the picture. “This is the helmsman. He’s the master commander. He is the tactician and communicates the plan to the rest of the team. In a foiling boat, he controls the boat on the hydro foils. If he loses concentration and the boat slows down and comes off the foil or worse, can crash if it flies too high. This guy makes split second decisions. It’s not the job for the ill-attentive.
Nico’s index finger moves across the screen to my left.
“This guy is the wing trimmer. He controls the enormous wing-sail that’s the driving force behind the boat. He also helps with maneuvers to get the daggerboards, which is a retractable centerboard, up and down. This guy is sometimes a tactician too, constantly watching the wind and what the other boats are doing and feeding this back to the helm.”
“Got it.” I say with a playful smile.
“These guys are the grinders who are the main power source for winding winches and pulling stuff hard. These guys work at full capacity the entire race. When they’re not winding winches, they’re lifting boards up, winding the code zero (front sail) in or hiking (leaning out) as hard as they can.”
“This is cool, Nico.”
“This guy is a trimmer who controls the front two sails, the smaller jib and the code zero. This guy’s job is busy since he works with the wing trimmer and helmsman to keep the boat moving fast.”
His finger slides across the screen again. “This guy is the bowman or utility man. This guy right here is big.” He laughs. “He has to be to cross the boat for a change of course. He sets everything up on the opposite side ready for each maneuver. He has to be quick on his feet and nimble, despite his size.”
Strong hands massage my neck as Nico speaks. He inches closer and kisses me again. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”
“Maybe you’re my only fan.” I laugh.
He pokes me in the side and pulls me into his lap, surrounding me with his warmth.
I wrap my hands around his neck. “How do you know all this stuff.”
“I’ve been around it all my life. I told you.” He says softly.
“Right.” I breathe into the skin on his neck. “You did.”
He groans, wraps his arms around me and simply holds me. “I want to take you somewhere.”
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise. You must get dressed and then we’ll hop on the bike.”
I run my tongue along his neck up to his ear, nibbling on the lobe. “What if I want to stay here?”
He laughs and drags his fingers up my thighs, allowing his hands to settle at my waist and squeeze. I grind myself along the length of his hardness and moan against his lips. Nico chuckles and his jaw tightens.
“I love you.” I whisper.
He freezes and stares at me, when I take his top lip into my mouth and suck.
“I thought you didn’t want to move too fast.” He rasps out, when his face contorts as I dry hump him.
We were moving too fast. I decided I’d let future Cass worry about that.
“I didn’t but you seem to be the one steering this boat. I’m just along for the ride.” I smile.
“That’s a fitting analogy.”
I wiggle my brows and pull his large hand to my breasts, encouraging him to squeeze them.
“So, you love me?”
“Uh huh.” I say, plunging into his mouth with my tongue.
Nico sinks further down into the chair that creaks with our heft.
; “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I breathe out, sliding a hand down undoing his zipper.
Nico hisses and his brows cinch as he pulls me closer. I hastily pull his heavy cock from the seam of his zipper. It hard and hot under my fingertips and my want for it skyrockets when he pushes the T-shirt I’m wearing up to my neck and sucks a nipple into his mouth. I scramble to slip out of my cotton panties but before I can, Nico simply tugs on the thin material and it shreds in his fingers. I let out an appreciative gasp, feeling his wet mouth still along my tender flesh. I shift my weight, pumping his warm length from root to tip, dragging my fingers over the syrupy precum that’s gathered at the head of it.
I push up on to the balls of my feet and slide down onto him. A loud groan leaves his mouth that he buries into the skin on my neck. I move slow along the length of him. He plants his lips to mine, while I steady myself against his magnificent body. I bounce on top of him, desperate to have him deeper, splitting me wide open with his thickness.
He pants staring up at me with those incredible caramel eyes of his. I don’t ease up for even a moment. Each rise and fall I make on top of him, has the chair scraping along the wooden floors louder.
“I love you.” I whisper again, certain this is crazy but I don’t think I care anymore. I’ve fallen and I’m over the moon he’s here to catch me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cass
The wind whips across my face, when the Sikorsky S-92 dips left, flying across the wing-sail catamaran, that’s cutting through the water in the Great Sound at an incredible speed. The water mists everywhere the foils hit the ocean. I focus my gaze on the sleek sixty-six-foot sail, that’s around nine hundred square feet and the team of men that control this flying-water-machine. It’s an incredible sight from above. Smaller chase boats made up of more camera crew and safety teams, try their best to keep up with the wing-sail catamaran on the water, taking shots and keeping the crew out of danger. Drones strategically patrol the sky around us, taking stills and video from above.
This is at least the fifth practice run the team has done this morning. The men wake at dawn, spend five to six hours on the water and the rest of the day prepping and training. I was certain at this point, I was more exhausted than they were after spending most of the morning wet myself from being in the salty ocean. I’d changed my clothes already twice and after this run of shots, I planned to go home.