by Luke Steel
She thrusts her hips up, pulling me deeper into her tight folds. I think she can take all of me, but we’re not there yet. I rise partially and push against her knees, bending them toward her chest. Every thrust opens her more, until finally she takes all of me, and she’s panting, impaled on my cock.
“Oh god, don’t stop, Jet,” she cries, nearly a whimper.
The last of my control burns away, and I slam into her, jackhammering my hips in a blown out frenzy. Her moans rise in pitch.
“Yes, Havana. Come on, baby. I feel you getting closer. You can come for me.” Our bodies are slick with sweat, our sensations on overload. The pent-up tension of wanting her all day is unspooling, and she feels better with every stroke, the closer I get to the edge. She’s a fucking ocean goddess, and I want her to ride me like the waves. I roll to the side and bring Havana over me, still seated fully on my dick. Her eyes roll back as new sensations hit her.
She braces her hands on my chest and finds her own rhythm, rolling her hips over me in a sinuous motion.
Fuck me, I’m so close, but I want her with me. My thumb finds her clit, and her moans join mine. I’m cursing and grunting, and she’s panting, and her pussy begins to tighten around me, and my dick swells, and she comes again, and I explode in the best fucking orgasm of my life.
Chapter Four
What the actual fuck?
The pounding on my door is joined by a male voice yelling my name. I sit up in bed and take stock in the morning light. Me: naked. Beside me in the bed: Havana, also naked. The brightness of the light streaming through the round window of my stateroom confirms what the sinking feeling in my gut already hinted. I jump up and yank on underwear.
Shit.
It’s well past breakfast, and Havana and I are both in here sleeping off the freaking earthquake that hit us last night. This is an unmitigated disaster. Not only will our combined absence raise suspicion, but the first breakfast of the cruise will be a clusterfuck.
The pounding starts again. Havana stretches languidly and opens her eyes. Then she freezes. I watch the recognition that just hit me wash over her.
“Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit.” She scrambles out of bed and locates her silver dress. She shimmies into it, still cursing. “Crap. Oh crap, breakfast must have been a complete mess. I didn’t finish the paperwork, Jet. I didn’t have time because I was finalizing the dinner and dancing, and I was going to do it after the party last night.”
She grabs a shoe and crawls around, looking for its mate.
Okay. This is on me. Maybe a little her.
“Calm down, Havana. It’s okay. No one saw us together and we both worked hard to make everything right yesterday. One hiccup won’t sink us. You’re gonna need something besides that to wear back to your room.” I rummage around and come up with a T-shirt and running shorts that have a drawstring.
I hand her the clothes and nod at the bathroom. “Hide in there, but don’t close the door. Quiet, okay? Get those clothes on as soon as you can without making noise.”
I throw on a pair of shorts and a polo, and then open the door. Richard, of course. He’s scowling and about to knock on the door again.
“I hate to interrupt your morning, but where the hell have you been, Jet? Breakfast was completely disorganized.” He glances over my shoulder, but I don’t invite him in.
“What are you talking about, Richard?”
“Breakfast was over fifteen minutes ago, Jet. No one knew what they were doing. Our private buffet wasn’t set up, and we had to fight the rest of the cruise ship for breakfast. Jenny had to eat just bacon and fruit, because almost nothing else was gluten free. The whole thing was shameful. Do you have any kind of explanation for this?”
“I apologize, Richard. Clearly between the long day and a little too much unwinding at the party last night, I overdid it.” I keep my voice calm and reassuring, but I’m not going to grovel if that’s what he’s after. “I had a little too much fun, but it’s one small hiccup. We’ll get everything straight by lunch and you’ll have forgotten it by tomorrow.”
I step back as if to close the door, but Richard doesn’t follow the cue. Instead he looks around my room, more pointedly this time. His eyes linger on the bathroom door, but he stops short of attempting to search my room.
“Havana wasn’t at breakfast either, Jet. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her? She didn’t answer at all when I knocked on her door.” He doesn’t outright accuse me of anything inappropriate, not yet.
“I’m sorry, Richard, but I just woke up. Haven’t had time to do anything more than get dressed. Something about that ocean air made me sleep like a baby. That or the whisky.” I chuckle and lean against the doorway, keeping my posture relaxed. “I’m concerned that you can’t find her, though. She’s been exceptionally competent so far.”
“Please let her know I’m looking for her when you do see her,” he snaps.
“I’m sure you’ll find her first, but I definitely will.” I move to close the door and Richard strides off.
I watch his wide back retreat down the hall. Something seems off about him, aside from the fact that he clearly suspects Havana is—well, where she is. Whatever’s eating him will come out eventually; these things always do. But I’d rather not be surprised by it when it happens. I close the door thoughtfully and Havana peeks around the bathroom door.
“Safe?”
“All clear.”
She walks out, dressed in my oversized shorts and T-shirt. However adorable she looks, anyone who sees her will know pretty instantly what she’s been up to. The only thing worse for her than hooking up with me would be hooking up with one of our guests, so we don’t want anyone reaching either conclusion. I call the concierge service and arrange for the apparel store to send a trio of dresses, a pair of sandals, and undergarments to my room.
I sit in the overstuffed chair to wait, and she flops backward on the bed.
“I have to say, I’m glad we dodged explaining this to your uncle.”
“Well sure, there’s that, but also holy shit, I can’t believe I missed breakfast. This never happens. I never do this, Jet.”
“I don’t make a habit of dropping the ball either, but it’s the first day. We’ve got time to turn it around.”
“I swear to god, those people will have so much fun they don’t have time to complain.” Her angry determination to make people happy makes me chuckle.
She’s startled, but yields to giggles.
“It’s a complication, but I don’t regret last night, Havana. I hope you don’t either.”
She stares at the ceiling. My heart thumps as the silence grows.
Then she sighs and pushes up onto her elbows. “I don’t, of course I don’t. Last night was amazing. But I can’t help feeling like we’re tiptoeing through a minefield, professionally speaking.”
I get her worry; as important as this project is to me, a gig like this for someone working solo—it can make or break their entire business. However, as she talks, I can only focus on how gorgeous she is. The remains of last night’s makeup ring her eyes in dark smudges, but on her it looks intentional, like some silent film star. The need to touch her seizes me. I might not get another chance.
So I nudge her over and pull her back with me onto the rumpled covers. She nestles in the crook of my arm with a sigh. It’s a weighty sigh, filled with fret. I kiss her temple.
“Worry doesn’t get you anywhere, Havana. Solutions do. What have we got today, again?”
The recital of today’s details distracts her until the clothing arrives. After I take the garment bag and hand over a tip, I gather Havana in my arms.
She opens her mouth to speak, and I capture her lips instead. She protests, an indignant squeak against my lips, and then surrenders to the kiss. My dick twitches to life, but I pull away.
“I’m headed out for damage control. See you there?”
She nods, clutching the bag of clothes, and scurries into the bathroom.
I slip on shoes and head for th
e bar.
After a successful lunch, thirty-four individual apologies, and as many brunch cocktails needed to smooth the path, I head to one of the pools to relax with a drink. Mainly I just want to spread out in this lounge chair in the sun and plan, now that we’ve cleaned up this morning’s mess. The first port call and excursion are coming up fast, and I mentally go over my checklist from Havana.
The kidney-shaped pool isn’t crowded, with many cruise guests still finishing lunch or sleeping it off. But the couples and families here lounge and swim, splash and laugh. A few are from our group, but none of the top level execs. I pull up their names from my memory bank to practice: Shonda from accounting and her husband Darius; Bob, a gray-faced manager, here alone; and communications director Kelly with her partner Ayesha. Some older kids practice cannon balls until a parent scolds them for splashing. A lone pre-teen swims back and forth through the curtain of water falling from the waterfall feature.
My eyelids begin to droop, lulled by the shushing of the water and the warmth of the sun. From behind me, a pair of long, slim legs walks past my chair. My eyes pop open. I recognize Havana’s rear view first, and then her shiny black hair, tied back in a ponytail. Her thick bangs and oversized sunglasses, along with crimson lips, make her look like a starlet.
She doesn’t see me until she drops her towel on the chair beside me. Her cherry red lips part and then curve into a smile. With her eyes hidden behind the shades, it’s hard to tell what kind of smile it is. She doesn’t keep me guessing, though. She doesn’t speak, so to an observer she’d just be anyone going for a swim. But that smile stays in place as she removes the gauzy cover-up to reveal a black halter-top bikini.
The way women do, she pulls the elastic band out of her already smooth hair and re-gathers the ponytail. The pose reminds me of my first glimpse of her in the lacy underwear, and thoughts of underwear remind me of their absence last night. I shift in the chair, hoping to relieve the pressure in my shorts. As she pulls the thick hank of hair through, she dips her chin so the sunglasses scoot down her nose. That smile means she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
If feels like a challenge.
She breaks the gaze and puts her sunglasses on top of her towel in the chair.
“Will you be joining me for a swim?”
I laugh. “You know, I wasn’t planning on it, but I think I might.”
She walks to the side of the pool and dips in a toe.
“Planning to scandalize the ship with skinny dipping or jump in fully clothed?”
“Back in five minutes.” I stand to walk toward the cabana and pause as I pass her. “Hope you’ll wait for me. A swim is definitely what I need right now, and it’s much less fun alone.”
“Hurry up,” she says. “Can’t say how long the offer’s open.”
I won’t look foolish, so I walk calmly to charge an extra pair of swim trunks to my room and change in one of the stalls. Thank god for American style swim trunks. If I were some European guy in a Speedo right now, the whole ship would know what I’m thinking.
At the side of the pool I look for Havana and find her reclining on an inflatable float. I dive under and kick toward her, surfacing a few feet away. She hears me and I wade toward her in the waist-deep water. She stares openly at my chest and abs. She’s not the only one who looks good in a swimsuit. I like working out, and my body shows it. So subtly she won’t notice the movement, I flex my pecs and arms. Her open-mouthed gaping prevents her from noticing when the pre-teen kid surfaces too soon under her float. He bobs up, and she takes a tumble. The poor kid mumbles an apology and retreats when she comes up sputtering.
A wave of water hits me in the face.
“That’s what you get for not warning me,” she says.
“Worth it to see you get wet.”
A hint of pink blooms on her cheeks.
The Smooth Sail couple leaves the pool and another plops into nearby deck chairs. Havana glances over her shoulder at them and shakes her head. “You’re trouble, Jet.”
She flips over on her back and swims toward the deeper end with a leisurely backstroke. I capture her float and kick toward her. She stops to tread water and I pass her, floating further toward the waterfall.
“Sure you can control yourself around me?” I ask. “I saw you looking.”
“Right back at you.” She ducks under and comes up on the other side of the float to face me. Water streams over her face and she pushes her bangs out of the way as one hand clings to the float.
Our legs tangle in the water under us, flesh sliding over flesh. Only a few triangles of fabric hide the parts of her I want most to touch. Her eyes drop to my arms and chest where they rest just out of the water. Her wet skin glistens, and her red lips are the only makeup on her otherwise natural face. The effect is perfectly like her, wanton and reserved at once.
I capture her knee between mine under the float. Her eyes flutter almost shut as the movement of the water pushes us together and apart, rocking naturally together.
The pool falls quieter as the laughing kids are called away by parents. Our end is quiet. Undisturbed. No sunbathers too close. No swimmers but us.
“We shouldn’t—” Her eyes get big. Under the float, my fingers find her hip.
“Of course we shouldn’t,” I agree. “Completely unprofessional.”
She opens her mouth to speak, but only gasps as I slide my hand around to cup her mound. My thumb rubs over the slick fabric of her bikini bottoms.
“And I in particular should certainly not do this.”
I reach inside her bottoms to rest my palm directly over her warm sex. Her face shows everything, so I angle us so she faces behind me, and I can keep an eye on the rest of the pool. My thumb burrows into the fleshy hood over her clit, and I apply gentle pressure. She bites her lip.
Realizing she might be sore, as tight as she was yesterday, I press only my middle finger into her folds and angle it inside. I move slowly so splashing water doesn’t give us away, stroking in and out, watching the play of pleasure over her features.
So subtly no one will see, she picks up my hand where it holds the float. Lifting just my forearm, she sucks the middle finger of that hand between those plump, red lips just as my other hand fucks her in broad daylight, shielded only by crystal clear water and a plastic yellow float. I thrust, and she sucks, and the sensations combined nearly fucks me over. I want her so goddam bad.
My hand pumps faster, and she drops my hand as pleasure overtakes her. My thumb presses again on her clit, just enough to amplify the sensations inside her. Her slickness warms my hand in the cool water. Her breathing says she’s close, so I keep the pressure, watching her face and trying not to go under. Finally she squeezes her knees on my hand and bucks against my palm. I wait out the spasms then duck underwater to press a kiss on her belly.
When I surface, I grab the float again and kick toward the side of the pool.
“What are we doing, Jet? Didn’t we agree that this was impossible? Unprofessional? Risky?”
“I don’t give a shit about any of that, Havana,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to resist this. I can’t resist you. Come with me.” I swim closer so our limbs slide over each other again. Simple touches shouldn’t feel this good.
“Where?” She squints at me, almost groggy.
“Anywhere.”
We keep the float between us as we swim to the side. I watch her rise out of the water, dripping, and imagine untying the sides of her tiny swimsuit. My knees almost shake as I walk, I want her so bad, but we pretend we’re just tired of swimming. She grabs her towel and I pick up my clothes, and I stroll toward the changing rooms. She puts on her sunglasses and follows me, but when we pass the changing rooms, I turn sharply and pull her inside one cramped room.
“Here?” she exclaims, and then I swallow any protests.
My lips crush against hers, and my fingers fumble with the knot at her nape. It’s a simple bow rather than a knot, another dangerous move by the same wo
man who went commando to a work party, and just as convenient. As the wet fabric peels away from her skin, I push her breasts up and fasten my lips on her left nipple. She inhales sharply. I go for the ties at the bottom and it falls away too.
“God you’re so beautiful,” I murmur as I gaze at her. I could look at her forever. I could fuck her every day for the rest of my life and die happy.
We’ve got maybe four feet square in here, and a squat wooden cabinet that holds complimentary towels. My arms enfold her in a bear hug, and I lift her onto the cabinet. The chemical tang of chlorine scents the air in the small space. Out of the sun, our wet skin prickles with goosebumps, but I plan to warm us both up. She braces her hands behind her and laughingly pushes at my swim trunks with her feet. I shove them down and kick them side, and then capture one of her feet. Bringing it up over my shoulder, I kiss the inside of her ankle, then the inside of her knee, and then kneel to kiss her inner thigh. Her knees drape over my shoulders and she lifts her hips, eager. She sighs my name as I spread her thighs and flick my tongue over her clit.
My cock swells as her scent washes over me, earthy and sexy and delicious. There’s no telling when the afternoon crowds will show at the pool. I don’t have time for lengthy foreplay. I slide a finger inside her, and she’s as wet and ready as I hoped. I suck and tease her clit some more, and then stand up. I press into her spread thighs, aching for her. One hand on the wall beside me, one hand behind her back, I ease into her. No condom again—fuck—and no going back.
Voices pass the door.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
“What? Yes, god yes.”
“I mean do I need to hold back? Are you sore?”
“No,” she hisses. “Don’t hold back. Fuck me. Now, Jet.”
So I let go. I pound into her, hard, punishing strokes that jolt her almost off the table. A chatting voice passes the door. No time. I change the rhythm and angle, slowing down so the thick length of my dick rubs against her clit. I roll my hips, savoring every sensation. Another voice. I focus on the friction, the tension building in me. Sweat beads on my forehead. Havana’s ponytail drips cold water on my hand and I look at her, thrusting her hips in time with mine, head thrown back, ruby lips now smeared from my kisses. Her breasts bounce with every stroke. Ah fuck, I’m close. Then her eyes squeeze tight and she arches into me with a long, low moan. I shudder and come inside her right after, pulsing inside her even as she still quakes around me.