“My list is long,” he said. “Very long.”
CeCe rolled her eyes. “Please. Only I can make the very bad dirty puns. You fail when you try.”
René frowned. “Why do you say that?”
CeCe smiled and backed her way to the ladder at the stern edge of the deck. The blue infinity of the slumbering ocean surrounded them, sea, sky, stillness. She then faked a terrible French accent. “Um, my name is René, and I am very handsome. I think I am smooth as foi gras and very fine, like fromage et escargot, and I am too busy to cook my hamburger, and so I call it steak tartare. Oui, merci, and s’il vous plait.”
This time René rolled his eyes. “I would make fun of you, but it’s easy to ignore Sweden. Even easier to ignore Portugal.”
“A lot you know. I’m from the Azores, not Portugal. We are fast. Come and catch me, and I’ll let you touch me again. If you’re a good boy. And if you are quick enough.” CeCe brushed her hands down the sides of her breasts, across her flat stomach, and then playfully, touched between her legs.
René’s jaw muscles jumped.
Chienne, not understanding they weren’t really fighting, barked a stream of dog warnings.
When René reached an arm toward her, CeCe caught him and pulled both of them overboard into the cold water. After being in the sunshine, the sharp slap of the water felt good.
CeCe flipped, turned and dove down into the deeper, colder water. She knew René was chasing her, and so she swam faster, under the boat, and up the other side.
She’d figured they would hang out for a while to swim and enjoy the ocean, so she’d put down the rope ladder earlier. She scrambled up again. Chienne was whining and fretting, obviously scared she’d been left.
CeCe took a moment to calm the old dog before getting her mask, snorkel, and fins.
She’d just fixed them in place when René popped up on the other side. She gave him a wave and dove into the water. This time, she could see the sunshine streaming into the blue depths of the deep ocean, into darkness.
At the edge of the inky depths, a glittering splash of silver moved in a swirl. Below them was a school of tuna, spinning about in huge swirls, the sunlight reflecting on their backs like diamonds.
A shadow sliced through the cloud of silver, the predator’s shape recognizable even from a distance.
A great white shark.
CeCe smiled. Such beauty. Dangerous, yes, but the shark was far more interested in the tuna than in her. In comparison, she was like a skinny little toothpick. She’d grown up seeing sharks all the time. They posed little danger. The cloud of tuna swirled away and the shark followed, a piece of midnight following diamonds.
CeCe felt her lungs spasm, and she burst to the surface, breathing hard, but feeling so lucky. Out in the middle of the ocean, such sightings were rare.
Something grabbed her leg, and she let out a shriek. The shark?
No. René pulled her down, and she kicked him before splashing to the surface.
He popped up as well. “You scared me!” she said, laughing. “Did you see the tuna and the shark?”
“Shark?” René grabbed her and pulled her to the Tourbillon. He had her out of the water in seconds. She laughed and again teased him with a bad accent. “Je suis René, and I am very frightened of sharks.”
He gave her a dark look. “You saw a great white, didn’t you?”
CeCe shrugged. “Yes, so? Do you know how rare shark attacks are? Almost as rare as René attacks.”
“Those happen a lot,” René said, relaxing. He pulled her close.
CeCe didn’t want to kiss him. She wanted to look at him, water dripping down his face, his hair swirled around his head, out of place. He looked so boyish, she had to grin.
Then she let him kiss her.
Once CeCe convinced René it was safe, she coaxed both René and Chienne into the water. The dog loved paddling around, swimming easily. Centuries before, Portuguese water dogs had been bred as messengers between ships, so they naturally loved the water and had duck-like webbing between their toes. While she was a natural in the ocean, it took some work getting Chienne back on the Tourbillon. CeCe pushed, René pulled, but the dog kept snapping at him, growling all the time.
René took it good-naturedly. “Yes, Chienne, I am handsome and French, and you secretly adore me.” He used the same bad French accent CeCe had teased him with.
They finally got Chienne back aboard. The dog shook herself all over René, showering him in doggy water. He waved a hand over his nose and then dove back into the sea to wash off.
CeCe started up the hibachi hanging off the stern, both to warm them and to heat coals for grilling. The sun was going down, and it had grown cool. Not chilly, not by any stretch of the imagination, but cold enough that a fire felt good. Both of them changed into their clothes. CeCe pulled on an aquamarine knee-length dress she’d bought when she was in college, with a bright orange sweater on top. René wore jeans and a Latin patterned button-up that he left unbuttoned.
He cast out a line and let the bait drop deep. He kept a hand on the pole, watching the sun sink. CeCe first fed Chienne a big bowl of wet and dry food mixed. The dog attacked the bowl, licked it clean, and then pushed it around, in hopes for more.
While Chienne ate, CeCe chopped a salad and got out the eggplant she’d left in a balsamic vinegar marinade. The chances of René catching a fish out here, with a single line, was unlikely, so she decided to cook all the eggplant over the coals.
She would’ve loved some wine, but it wouldn’t be good for the little olive inside her. Olives, that’s what her father had called babies. She smiled at the memory of her father’s lined face, always so excited about babies and family, even though his own family had crumbled under his feet. For an instant, she thought about going home, but no, not with René, and not until she had the baby. She would make it clear she didn’t need her father’s, or brothers’, or any man’s help.
She poured herself a glass of water, and wine for René. Because he was French, meals meant wine, even if the menu was all vegetables. Just as she thought, his line remained motionless. Every once in a while, he touched the expensive sailing watch on his wrist. She’d seen him touch the timepiece before, almost like a nervous habit, and somehow could guess its history.
“Your father’s?” she asked.
He nodded. “He taught me to fish, to sail, everything. He is here now, in the ocean, in the sky, all around me. But it seems he has abandoned my line, or is scaring all the fish away.”
“Just like a father,” CeCe said. “Always teasing. My pai taught me how to fish as well.”
René smiled. “Family. It is hard to get away.”
“Some families are more difficult to escape than others,” CeCe said, and then regretted her words. She didn’t want to go into her past, not on such a gorgeous evening.
“Oui,” René said simply, touching the deck of the Tourbillon.
They ate the grilled eggplant and salad, sitting close, as the sun spilled soft colors across the sky. Oranges, pinks, and smudged reds painted the ship and the sea.
In the silence and color, René held her close, and CeCe relaxed into his arms. What a day. As for the night, she couldn’t wait. Every nerve came alive across her body in anticipation of him inside her.
Chapter Thirteen
21.8600ºN, 62.8545ºW
Day Ten, Nightfall
On Way to Bermuda
René noticed CeCe did not drink the wine, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t want to dull her mind for their big night. He was careful with how much he drank. Rarely did alcohol affect him, but with this woman, he knew he would have no problems. She was too beautiful, too sexy, too wild. And such the tease.
He held her as they watched the sun set on one of the best days of his life. Chienne had already gone below, probably to curl up in her bed in the galley, so they were alone except for the stars winking on in the growing darkness.
A huge tail broke the water i
n the distance, followed by a spout. In the quiet, the whoosh and spray sounded followed by the pattering fall of droplets. A lone humpback whale rolled about.
“Do you see it?” René asked.
“How could I not? She is beautiful.”
“Why is she alone?” René asked. “Humpback whales mate for life, don’t they?”
CeCe chuckled, “No, far from it. They do come together for mating, but they are not monogamous. The mothers raise their calves alone and are just fine.”
“It sounds lonely,” René whispered.
“Not to me,” CeCe said. “I look at her, in the middle of the ocean, alone, and I see power. Yes, she might have wandered from the herd, she might even be lost for the moment, but she will figure out where to go and what to do. Her instincts are powerful.” She stood and stirred the charcoal on the grill hanging off the stern. Flames licked up in the growing darkness.
“Instincts?” René looked up at her, smiling. “What do your instincts tell you?”
CeCe straddled him. His hands immediately went to the soft fabric of the dress on her hips. Hips, so squeezable. He loved them, like he loved her butt and breasts.
She gazed into his eyes, a look that could melt stone.
She bent and kissed him, lingering, wet, and hungry. She released him, pulled her sweater off, and flung it behind her. The dress followed. She was braless. Her amazing breasts, full and rosy nippled, hung loose until he cupped them in his hands. He pushed his erection against the heat between her legs, and they moaned together.
She stood. In the dark, the fire glowed golden on her skin, her hair haloed in flickering orange light.
His skin missed hers. His heart missed her heart, beating together, in the middle of the ocean, so isolated and alone.
René slid off his shirt and whisked off his pants and underwear. Now, both were naked. René felt the deck under his legs, and a part of him melted. It was the Tourbillon’s deck, old and weathered, but still strong enough to cross the Atlantic. He knew, she wasn’t cursed, and he knew she longed to redeem herself.
CeCe straddled him again. Now, he could feel the wetness between her legs, and the coarse hair. He was so glad she didn’t shave. He wanted a woman, not a girl. And CeCe was a powerful woman, alone, yes, but she had chosen to be with him.
Before he knew it, he was thrusting, trying to get into her, but she stopped him. She drew back and caressed his hair. “René, we are close, yes, so close, but we need to talk about protection.”
René’s mind could hardly take in her words. And then the weight of what might’ve happened rained down on him. Babies. Disease. He had to slow down and think. He had condoms below deck in his bags. He’d been so enraptured with CeCe, and the night, he hadn’t really thought about it.
“Oui, you are right,” René whispered.
CeCe trailed kisses up his neck to his ear, still grinding down on him, soaking him in her juices. “Pregnancy isn’t an issue. And I’m clean. What about you?”
René made his living on his health—you can’t sail the sea if you’re sick. With his lifestyle, he visited the doctor at least twice a year for the whole range of tests. Yes, he was clean. He’d thought he’d have a little something with Lindsay, but she had chosen the chef over him, which in the end was for the best.
“I’m clean,” René said. “But if you don’t trust, I do have …”
CeCe pushed a finger against his lips. “I trust you, René. You are far more than what you seemed at first.”
René loved hearing those words from CeCe. He wanted to be more, and if CeCe believed in him, he felt even closer to her.
CeCe shifted back and took him inside her.
The feeling was so intense, so warm, so tight, René cried out. He nearly lost it, but kept a grip on his orgasm, just barely. Never in his life had he felt such passion and pleasure.
CeCe didn’t move until he regained control. He held her tight by the hips, pressing her down on him, as her tits tickled his face. He turned and sucked a nipple.
“Suck me, René. Suck me while I fuck you.”
René lost his breath. His heart pounded in his ears. He licked and nipped at her breast.
CeCe eased up his penis and then settled back down. He wanted to turn her over and fuck her hard, but she was in control. And he would let her fuck him like she wanted. For now.
* * *
CeCe knew he’d almost lost it right at the start, and yes, that would’ve been disappointing, but not the end of the world. They had days and days, weeks ahead of them. This would be only the first of many lovemaking sessions. The night was dark and cool around them, but their fire and the flickering flames of the grill gave them a blissful warmth.
She loved how drenched and full she was. Just as she’d thought, René’s cock fit her perfectly. It touched every sensitive part of her, and on top, she could grind against his pubic bone when she sank down on him. She got her feet under her and rose up and down, then slid her clit against him, rubbing, until she couldn’t help herself.
Filled with him, she rubbed and found herself over the edge. Squeezing him as she came, her mouth open, she gasped and moaned. She soaked in the heat of the fire, the chill of the ocean night, his sweat, her sweat, his skin on hers.
René growled and turned her around, handling her easily.
She flipped onto her back, their clothes cushioning her. She also felt the smooth wood of the deck beneath her feet. Years of water and wind had polished the wood of the beloved boat and CeCe felt the years, even as she felt the straining man above her.
René slammed into her. She was so open to him, after coming so hard, and she wanted to feel his belly on hers. She pulled him down. His face buried in her neck as he thrust into her over and over.
She clung to him, crying out. His smell overlaid with the smoke of the fire claimed her senses.
Glancing at the stars, she wondered how many men and women through the ages had made love under a night sky, adrift on the sea, a world of wind, water and fire.
The rest of her was consumed by René’s lust. Her pussy gripped him, licked him, and she was going to come again. Rarely did she come once from just sex and never twice. But this time, this man, had become a part of her, pleasuring her, and she was pushed again into a throbbing, dripping hot wet convulsion of pleasure.
Seconds later, René pressed himself as deep as he could inside her and came himself. She felt the gush of him filling her, his come in her, his breath in her ear, his body on her, every part of him touching every part of her.
They hadn’t come together, she didn’t have such childish fantasies, but they had orgasms within seconds of each other.
When she felt wet drops on her neck, she lifted his head with a touch. His sweat dripped on her, but she didn’t care. His eyes, God, his eyes, he gazed down on her with unmistakable love. And he let her see his raw feelings, courageous and unfaltering.
* * *
René awoke to the glow of the sun on the horizon. They’d pulled the mattress and blankets from the main cabin up onto the deck. He awoke to another day of windless, motionless water.
If they still couldn’t fix the engine and if the wind didn’t pay them a visit, he’d check the GPS to see how far they’d drifted off their rhumb line. It didn’t matter all that much. They had plenty of food and water, and they could re-supply in Bermuda. CeCe did need to make it to Portugal for her next job, but they had months until then.
He watched her sleep for a while, her perfect, beautiful face so serene and relaxed.
She must know he was falling in love with her. Zut alors, he’d let her look into his eyes and showed her how vulnerable he was. What did it all mean? He’d been surprised when CeCe had first kissed him. He’d thought she was done with men, especially men like him.
And now? He didn’t know where he stood. His entire world had come undocked. Who was this New René Baudoin? Normally, after sex, he’d be looking to chase after the next pretty face. Instead, he felt like he’d
found the best woman in the world and would forsake all others to be with her.
René stood, dizzy for a moment. He was thinking marriage. Him.
Such thoughts were madness. And yet, when he looked at her, he had a hard time keeping his heartbeat and breathing normal. He felt the pull to kiss her awake, but wanted to do something special before she woke up.
He wanted his woman to have breakfast and coffee in bed.
His woman. He liked the feel of those words knocking around in his head.
His woman deserved waffles. Nothing less. There should be some berries still rolling in the bottom of the chiller. Of course, he had seen to the provisioning of the largest jug of maple syrup he could find, so waffles it was. Bacon for him.
He was in such a good mood, he’d give Chienne a piece, the filthy animal.
Chienne snapped up the crisp bacon and slurped it down. She didn’t wag her tail at René, but she also didn’t glare at him. She woofed, as if to say, “You keep giving me bacon, mon ami, and we might just get along.”
An hour later he returned to the deck with a tray. Chienne followed, her face full of hope for another piece of bacon.
CeCe sat shrouded in a blanket, her knees to her chest. She’d still be naked. When his cock hardened again, he was tempted to slap the old boy into submission. Breakfast first, then more sex.
She smiled, and René’s heart pooled into a puddle. Such sunshine filled this woman. His woman.
“Breakfast, Cheri. Belgium waffles, strawberries, syrup, and bacon for me and Chienne.” He set the tray beside her.
She clasped the coffee in two hands and sipped. “When I woke up, I was surprised. No wind. I thought about that old poem. ‘As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean.’“
“Like the Iron Maiden song,” René said happily. He’d been in a bar in Acapulco and had sung the song with a bunch of drunken frat boys years ago.
CeCe shook her head. “No, Samuel Taylor Coleridge. One of my roommates in college was an English major. Did you go to college?”
“For a time.” René sat and picked up his plate. He forked a piece of waffle into his mouth. Too big. He was so hungry! But he had to show he had manners. And here was the new René, trying to impress a girl. He was losing his mind.
Up Too Close Page 11