Flash Drive

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “That’s a deal.” He grabbed a brandy snifter and handed it to her. Then he took the plate of heart-shaped cakes. “Fortification for later. If there are paddles and floggers involved I’m going to need a lot of cake.”

  She turned back for the other snifter, “If there are paddles and floggers involved, I’m going to need more brandy.”

  He laughed as he led her to their stateroom, and grinned when he saw her face light up as she admired the opulence. Done in the style of the 30s and 40s, it was over-the-top, down to the polished silver cigarette case monogrammed Zelda lying on the sofa table. As she slowly turned and cooed over the chandeliers, the mirrors over the bed, the lush polished wood, his heart swelled. She was so beautiful. And as uninitiated as he was in the ways of the haute-monde . . . she could easily own three ships like this, yet here she was, enchanted with having the use of this luxurious vessel for just one night.

  If he’d doubted it before, he could doubt it no longer. He loved this woman—more than life itself.

  He’d heard people say that—more than life itself—but never really knew what it meant. But he knew now. If this ship went down tonight, he would die trying to save her. For life without her wouldn’t be worth living. She was his reason for breathing.

  She stopped turning in circles and stared at him. “You okay?”

  He took both glasses from her and placed them on a table. “I’m fine. You just blew me away there for a minute. You are the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, I doubt that!”

  “Don’t,” he said as he spun her toward the bed. “Here, let me help you out of that dress. I’m anxious for you to read me a bedtime story.” He was immediately reminded of her bedtime stories, and thought it might be a good time to let her know he appreciated good erotica. “Nothing like a well-told naughty tale. Read by a ravishing woman, this is going to be a real treat.”

  He began undressing her. “If you could read the book naked . . . that would make it all the better.”

  She lifted her arms and began removing the studs from his shirt. “Only if you’re naked too.”

  Five minutes later they were propped up in bed, Laurel braced against Garrett’s shoulder as she read to him while sipping brandy. Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep. An hour later he was still holding her and watching her sleep.

  He could finally understand why Jack had been so determined to see Rose safe when the Titanic sank. Jack knew that if he’d tried to save his own life, that there was a chance he’d survive and that Rose wouldn’t. That would be no life at all for him. He kissed Laurel’s hair and settled her on the pillow. If he couldn’t have Laurel in his life, he might as well go on deck and jump off the ship now.

  Chapter Sixty-six

  There was a gray fog moving past the porthole and just a glimmer of light bouncing back from the ship’s lights reflecting off the water. Garrett leaned up to check the alarm clock on the nightstand 5:47. Almost dawn, but not quite. He was wide awake.

  He looked down at the sleeping angel in his arms. With her blonde curls fanning the pillow, her rosy cheeks flushed, and her lips slack in an expression of trust and contentment, she looked like something divine. Celestial appearances aside, his body was awake, due to other aspects of her. Her rounded bottom was tucked snuggly into his groin and it was giving his penis a fit. Hard and innocently eager, as only a wakening penis can be, he had to consciously strain to hold back from nudging into her sexy little slit and taking her.

  He moved her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck. She purred. He kissed his way to her earlobe and licked. She moaned. He blew a breath into her ear and drew the tip of his tongue around the whirl, and she pushed back against him.

  Slowly he brought his hand around her waist, skimmed her torso and caressed her soft warm breast. From those soft, pursed lips she let out a sigh so enticing that he had to fight the urge to flip her over and taste her.

  His fingers found her aureole smooth and velvety, the nub barely puckered. He gently stroked it back and forth until it became hard and needy under his fingers, then he lightly tugged and listened, as her breathing changed and her legs moved restlessly under the covers. She arched her back and thrust her bottom against him. As invitations went, it was pretty blatant, and Spearman was not about to decline a request to the world of heavenly delights.

  Garrett took his time, moving his hand over her belly and stroking through her curls before separating her lips and inserting a finger inside her. His Laurel, was there ever a time she wasn’t wet? It did a man good to feel a woman’s want-you-so-much proof, especially like this, when he could just tip his hips and slide right into her.

  He removed his finger with the intention of replacing it with two, but her mournful moan of disapproval decided his dilemma. He spread the precum over the head of his penis and placed it at her opening, then with slow, incremental shifts of his body, entered her fully. When he was totally encompassed inside her, he stilled so she could feel his dick pulsing and reacting to her tight, warm sheath. He could do this for a long, long time, but clearly Spearman wanted to explore . . . probe . . . thrust—feel the heat, feel the friction. His erection was awake and wanted to play.

  He kissed along her neck and shoulder and listened to the sweet sounds of welcome coming from deep in her throat as her hips flexed and the muscles in her vagina clamped around him.

  Slowly he moved. A long, slow withdrawal followed a smooth dominating reentry. More languorous and unhurried strokes followed until he finally set a rhythm that was designed for maximum friction, a power glide that thrust to the hilt then reversed itself to drag the sensations out until they both became frenzied with the repetition. He groaned against her and she pushed back to him, pulling one knee toward her chest so he could grasp her hip and angle in deeper. He heard her moans, her whimpers and her panting gasps, then he heard the sound he’d been dying to hear, a low shriek followed by, “ Oh God, I’m coming, coming, coming,” and then she did. He actually felt the release of liquid flow over him and coat the underside of his penis as he ground into her and erupted into the velvet fist that was milking him. Her name, a wild benediction, was repeated over and over again into her shoulder, as his mouth opened and closed over her skin, until the force of his virtual death from orgasm actually caused him to rear up and bite her. He didn’t remember anything after that. Only came to when Laurel slid off him, laughing that she had to pee.

  When she came back a few minutes later, she snuggled into his chest and smiled up at him. He managed to open his eyes and focus. God she was beautiful. And sexy. And sweet.

  “I think I bit you.”

  “Yes, I think you did.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She looked over her shoulder, “Nah, some nice teeth marks though.”

  “Really?” he was surprised. He’d never bitten anyone before. But then he’d never had an orgasm like that one. Building soft and sweet and exploding into a nuclear holocaust.

  “That was nice,” she murmured and kissed him on the chin.”

  “Nice is an understatement. That was phenomenal.” He bent and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “For you too, I hope.”

  “Oh yeah. Problem is . . . now I’m energized while you look . . . well you look . . .”

  “Well loved?” he prompted.

  “Sleepy? Out for the count?”

  “Believe me, I feel like it.”

  “I want to go on deck and watch the sunrise,” she said, shifting to sit cross-legged on the bed.

  Her perkiness was going to be the death of him, more so than the orgasm that had catapulted him out of his body a few minutes ago. He groaned. “Okay . . . just give me a minute.”

  He tossed off the covers, made two attempts to sit up and finally sat with his legs over the side of the bed befor
e walking toward the bathroom.

  “If this is what sex does to guys, why do they want to do it all the time?” she asked as she scrambled into her underwear then put on the fleecy robe she’d found in a closet.

  “Feels good at the time. Feels good every moment up to the time . . . already feels good thinking about the next time,” he said with a wolfish grin as he disappeared behind the door. She noticed that he didn’t bother closing it and wondered if that was a man thing, not minding anyone watching them pee. She supposed you had to get used to it. Girls were the only ones who usually had stalls, so maybe they were used to it.

  She opened the door to go into the stateroom, and discovered a silver cart had been set up. There was coffee and a tray of assorted croissants. She grabbed a chocolate croissant and poured a cup of coffee from a pot that had a tag that said Hazelnut Regular. She walked upstairs and stood at the rail. A minute later Garrett joined her, in his own robe with his own mug of coffee. As she sipped and munched, she thought, did it get any better than this? Great sex, fresh hot coffee, rich chocolate, and a beautiful sunrise dawning with a man she was coming to love, standing beside her.

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  They arrived in Little River while they were eating an elaborate lunch, and, neither in a hurry to get anywhere, they sat on deck nibbling and watching the people and their dogs run around the marina. Theirs was by far the largest ship, so they got plenty of stares from both the boat owners working on their boats, and the tourists out for a stroll along the waterfront on a bright sunny day.

  The crew helped them load Garrett’s truck, that had arrived during the night, and after thanking everyone for their magical evening, Garrett surreptiously handed out generous tips. Then they were on their way home.

  Laurel was surprised when Garrett pulled over after turning off Route 17. He put on his blinker and eased into Vereen Gardens. He followed the road to the end where there was a parking lot near the water.

  “Why are we here?” Laurel asked.

  “Two reasons,” Garrett said as he parked, then turned to her, his arm on her seat back, his fingers play with her ponytail. “One, I’m not ready to leave you at your door yet. I know you have things to do, and so do I, but I know I will miss you as soon as I leave you. And second, we need to talk. About us.”

  “Us?”

  “Us.”

  “What about us?” she asked.

  “That’s what I’m hoping to define.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’m falling for you Laurel, and it’s a big thing for me as I’ve never cared for a woman like this. Never. I’m not the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but I’ve never been the take-her-home-to-meet-momma type either.”

  “Well, for my part, you know that can’t happen.” She said with a touch of irony.

  “Okay, poor choice of words. What I meant to say is that what we have here,” he motioned with his hand first to her then to him, “between us, is growing into something that might be of a more permanent nature.”

  “You’re being so formal. We’re in a relationship. I

  get it.”

  “Well, there are rules for relationships, aren’t there?”

  “Yes, yes there are.”

  “Well, let’s do mine first, then we’ll do yours.”

  She smiled over at him and said, “Okay.”

  “We agree we’re exclusive. I don’t see anyone else, and neither do you. This way when I travel up north or you travel someplace with your friends, we don’t have to worry.” He gave her a pointed look and she nodded.

  “Just so we’re absolutely clear, no one touches you but me, got it?”

  She grinned from ear to ear. He really was new to all this. “Got it. Ditto you.”

  “Ditto me. And while I don’t expect either of us to give the other a play-by-play of their day, we should share the significant things, the way couples do. Right?”

  “Sure. We’re a couple. I get that.”

  “I want to know where you are.”

  Her eyes went wide at that.

  “I don’t mean every second, but if you’re going to Charleston for a few days, I expect you to tell me. I don’t want to have to wonder where you are and if you’re safe. So even if we’re not seeing each other every day, we should at least spend a few minutes talking.”

  “Garrett, you don’t have to go over all this. I’m sure that if we’re not fighting, we’ll spend lots of time on the phone. Probably more than you’ll want.”

  He ran his finger down the length of her nose, “I’ll always want to talk to you.”

  “You say that now . . .”

  “I don’t think there’s such a thing as getting too much of you. I’m falling for you, and I hope you feel the same way about me.”

  “I think I may be slightly ahead of you. I may have already fallen. And I’m sitting here trying to figure out if I’ve survived the fall. It’s why I had to leave, why I couldn’t stay around waiting for your call. I’d already invested too much.”

  “You need to trust me.”

  “I do trust you.”

  “I’m not sure you do. And I need you to. I need that very badly.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Prove it.”

  “How?”

  “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “From time to time I’m going to ask you to do some things, some you’ll want to do, and others you won’t.” His voice got husky, “I want you to do them anyway.”

  “Because I trust you?”

  “Yes. Because you trust me.”

  “What is it you want me to do?” she asked, skeptically.

  “I want you to take your top off.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.”

  She was wearing a white halter-styled top over yellow capris. He had watched her dress this morning. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  She looked around and didn’t see any other cars.

  “There’s no one around,” he whispered.

  “What if someone comes?”

  “Trust me,” he said and looked her in the eyes.

  “Trust me.”

  She hesitated, then unbuttoned the strap behind her neck and let the top fall to her waist.

  He blinked momentarily and inhaled deeply, then opened his eyes fully to look at her.

  Her breasts were almost white in the bright sunlight, her nipples pink. Her skin was creamy and her neck was dusted with tiny freckles. She was lovely. The sight of her was doing amazing things to him. He saw part of the bite mark on her shoulder and went instantly hard. Spearman was pleased that he had marked her.

  “Take the top off completely and give it to me.”

  Slowly, she did as he asked, unbuttoning her top at the waist and pulling it off, then handing it to him, her eyes never leaving his. He could see that her breathing had accelerated, and that her lips were parted and she was panting.

  He tossed it onto the back seat. She watched it land there, out of reach.

  “You have lovely breasts. 36Cs?” he asked.

  “Yes. Good guess.”

  “An educated guess, Miss Leighton. My hands are quite experienced. I’ve held many breasts in my hands. Squeezed, stroked, caressed, even slapped them.”

  “Slapped?” her eyes went wide. He registered her shock and had to keep from smiling.

  “Sometimes you have to do what the lady wants whether you understand where her desires are coming from or not.”

  “Would you slap mine?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t. I won’t hurt you Laurel, I told

  you that
.”

  He got out of the truck, closed his door and came over to hers. He opened it and offered his hand to help her out.

  “What? You want me to get out of the truck?”

  “Trust me,” he said in a low, gravely voice. And holding his hand out to her he waited. His eyes bounced from her eyes to her chest, and then back again.

  “Somebody might see . . .”

  “Trust me.”

  She scooted off the seat, sparing a quick glance at her top on the back seat. She timidly took his hand and stepped down. He closed the door and locked the truck.

  She jerked when she heard the locks click. Somehow locking it, knowing she had no place to run for shelter, made it all that much worse. Or better? She had to admit she was unbelievably turned on, excited in a way she’d never explored, except through her naughty heroines. The road noises she hadn’t heard before pricked her ears. She was aware of every sound now and she strained to hear the sound of gravel crunching on the road, knowing it would signal someone’s approach.

  Garrett clutched her hand tightly in his and led her around the truck to a wooden walkway.

  “This fronts the waterway,” she said with hesitation in her voice.

  “Yes, it does.”

  “I don’t think I can do this Garrett.”

  “Yes you can. Trust me. Do you trust me?”

  She looked over at his face. He was looking at her chest, but then he raised his slumberous eyes to hers. “Well do you?”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

  “Good,” he said and led her around a small cove and then off the decking onto a hiking trail. “Walk with me.”

  They walked through the woods, his hand holding hers, her topless and him staring at the sight she made. Seeing her like this, her naked breasts heaving against the backdrop of the forest, had quite the effect on him. It was primitive. Timeless. She was his Isolde. He was her Tristan. She was flushed with embarrassment, but aroused. It was highly erotic. He was a tad embarrassed for her, and the effect was staggering.