“Not yet,” he said.
There was a firm tone of command in his voice, a naturally confident belief that she would listen to him—obey him. The charisma that had made him a famous performer, capable of holding sway over huge crowds, made him just as fascinating in very close quarters—and made Jordan just as eager to please him, to gain his approval.
He’s like the rich, popular kids from school days, she thought with a twist of feeling that was half admiration, half disgust. Getting his way just because he says so, just because he’s gorgeous and sexy and…
He stepped close to her, pulling the hem of her shirt back down. He was so near now that she could feel his deep voice faintly resonating within her own chest, and she trembled with the need to touch him. “You may be the captain of the boat,” Davis said quietly, “but I’m in charge now.”
Jordan’s eyes widened. This was definitely nothing like her experience with her old high school boyfriend.
“I get to call the shots,” Davis continued. “Right?”
For a moment Jordan considered calling the whole thing off, storming out of the cabin and retreating to the helm where she knew she was in charge—where all the responsibility for her boat and crew rested on her shoulders, but where she also knew she could keep control of herself—of everything. But the memory of Davis’s kiss—the hot, quivering energy it sent coursing through her body—kept her rooted in place. Even if she didn’t know exactly where this all would lead, she knew she wanted more. More than just kissing—more than this game she and Davis had played almost from his first moments on the Coriolis—him tempting her with his mere presence, and Jordan pretending she didn’t notice his cool self-possession, the smooth, hard curves of his chest and arms, his intoxicating smell. She couldn’t suppress any longer the effect he had over her—the way his voice made her want to wiggle right out of her panties.
How dare he make me feel this way? She stared at him, wordless, all power of speech stolen from her by the fire in her body, by her astonishment at the force of her own desire—and what she was truly willing to do to get what she wanted, now that she’d acted on her impulses.
Jordan swallowed down her inhibitions and her bubbling fury, holding Davis’s steady, commanding blue gaze.
And then she nodded.
The moment she gave her consent, Davis’s arms were around her. He crushed her in a tight grip against his body; she could feel the steady beating of his heart against her own chest, and its slowness only annoyed her all the more. He was deliberate, in control—in his element… while Jordan’s heart raced and her breath came short, her body shivering with the excitement of giving into an indulgence she hadn’t experienced in far too long.
He kissed her again, teasing her lips and tongue with such careful movements that her knees buckled and she moaned against his mouth. Davis eased her back until she sat on the edge of the berth. Unthinking, Jordan tried to peel off her shirt again, but he caught her wrists and pulled her hands away from her body—held them out so that she was fully under his control.
“Not until I say so,” he whispered.
“I just…” she could barely gasp out the words. “It’s just that… you don’t know how long it’s been.” Embarrassed by the admission, her face flamed so hot she was sure she’d catch the cabin on fire.
But Davis only chuckled softly, and not in a condescending way. “Really?”
He let go of her hands; Jordan rested them on the mattress beside her and didn’t attempt to undress again. “Yeah. So what?”
“Don’t get mad. I’m just surprised to hear it, that’s all. A woman as gorgeous as you…”
He drew closer and Jordan thought he would kiss her, but he turned his face at the last moment and instead raked the rough hair of his chin and cheek against her neck. Jordan could only let out a ragged gasp as electricity seemed to shoot from that contact, from the sliding scratch that was almost painful, down every nerve in her body at the same time.
“A woman as beautiful and sexy and ambitious as you ought to have men after her all the time.”
“Work,” she muttered. “It takes up so much…”
She trailed off with a sigh as Davis’s lips found that same place on her neck. A slower current of fire followed that first jolt of electricity, burning away Jordan’s words. She reached for his body, slid her hands up beneath his plain white t-shirt, and fought back a whimper as she traced the contours of his body—the hard, flat planes of well-toned muscle, the smoothness and warmth of his skin, the small patch of soft hair on his chest.
Davis stood back and removed his shirt with one clean motion. Jordan’s eyes widened, taking in his bare skin—bare but for a few intricate tattoos on his chest. God, he’s hot. The balance and strength of his body seemed almost unfair—how could a man be so gorgeous with his clothes on or off?
Suddenly Jordan felt a chill of misgiving. Sure, she was in pretty good shape from her many years of working lines and keeping her balance on the decks of moving boats. But Davis Steen had been all over the world, performed on some of the most prestigious stages—and no doubt had plenty of experience with some of the most stunning women on the planet. There was no way some island-bound girl from Griffin Bay could measure up to even his most casual, offhanded encounter with the tartiest of groupies.
“Now you,” he said, his dark voice compelling.
Jordan shook her head. “No. No way.”
Davis gave her a confused half-smile. “I thought you wanted to.”
“I did… I do. But…”
“Well, you agreed I’d call the shots. Didn’t you?”
“Okay,” Jordan whispered. Slowly, hesitating, she removed her shirt and cast it aside. Sitting there in just her jeans and the most basic, boring, nude-colored bra, she looked up at Davis shyly, expecting that arrogant, judgmental grin or maybe even outright laughter.
Instead, she found him staring at her body with unmasked hunger.
“Shit,” he muttered. “You are hot.”
Jordan blushed. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls you seduce in the cabins of their own boats.”
He huffed a hoarse little laugh, but then he reached out slowly and caressed her bare shoulder. His fingertips slid down her arm to her elbow, raising a thrill of anticipation along her skin. Then his touch, faintly rough with the calluses from his guitar strings, tracked up the inside of her arm. The skin there was more sensitive—so sensitive it almost tickled. Jordan shivered and gasped.
His hand found the swell of her breast. He covered it with his whole hand, and moment by moment his grip firmed until he squeezed her. It was nearly painful, but with an ache Jordan relished. Her nipple pressed hard against his palm; she arched her back, pushing into his grip, savoring the delicious pressure.
His hand moved away abruptly, and Jordan bit her lip, struggling to play by his rules—to let him call the shots, even though she wanted to plead with him to touch her that way some more, to do it all again. But a moment later he leaned her back onto the bed and his mouth descended on her breast.
The thin fabric of her bra intensified every sensation as Davis circled her with his tongue, then flicked it lightly over the hardened bud of her nipple—then grazed it with his teeth. Jordan arched her back and cried out, unable to keep any part of herself under control. Panting and gasping, she gripped his broad shoulders, digging in her nails when he moved to the other side and repeated the same tormentingly slow movements—circle, flick, bite.
“What do you want?” he asked, pulling away, his voice roughened by desire. “Do you want more of this?”
Jordan nodded wordlessly.
“I’m not going to give you more,” he said, and she bit her lip, wrestling with her need, with the frustration of his denial. “Not until you beg me.”
Absolutely not, Jordan told herself. I do not beg—for anything. Not even for pleasure so intense it stripped away all her senses but touch, making her unconscious of everything but the feel of Davis’s mouth and
tongue and teeth turning her body to liquid fire.
He ducked his head again, and Jordan tensed with anticipation—but his lips hovered just above the wet patch on her bra. She could feel his steady, even breath stirring over her nipple, chilling her, making her ache with the need for more. She tried to arch up toward him, to force the contact on her own—but Davis backed away just enough to draw out her torment.
Jordan writhed in helpless, agonized fury. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him close, gasping as his hard cock pressed against her. But Davis only pulled away more, giving her nothing of what she wanted.
“You know what you have to do.” His lush, velvety voice whispered over her breast.
Jordan swallowed hard, fighting down her pride, and secretly enjoying the thrill it gave her, deep in her gut, to crush it and put someone else in charge—to relinquish her own helm. Still, the words came hard. “P… please.”
Davis tilted his head, pretending he couldn’t hear her. “What? What did you say?”
“Please,” Jordan said, more clearly this time, but with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Dimly she was aware that he’d probably never listen to her again—that her authority as captain would be a joke to him from now on. But the ache was so strong in her, so hot and insistent, that in that moment she didn’t care.
“Please, what? Tell me what you want, Jordan.”
Even if she had been able to say any more, Jordan wouldn’t have done it. This was all part of his infuriating game, to whittle down her stoic nature so he could parade the power he had over her more easily than ever before. Jordan knew the more she begged, the more she gave into his commands, the more difficult the next few days on the boat would be—and she’d already made the rest of this trip hard enough on herself.
“Tell me,” Davis insisted.
Instead of giving in, Jordan grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to her breast. Davis laughed through his nose as he obliged her—laughed at the way he’d stripped away her inhibitions, at the way he was even now eroding what little remained of her control.
I hate you, you irredeemable, arrogant, ego-ridden, rich-as-sin prick of a man! Jordan raged at him silently even as her body bent and melted in his hands, as she moaned and panted and wished for him never to stop what he was doing with his teeth and tongue.
Davis disentangled himself from her arms and legs; he stepped back in the confines of the cabin and watched her for a moment in silence. Jordan, still splayed on the bed, propped herself up with her elbows and glared at him.
“Stand up,” he said.
I’m not sure I can. But she slid from the berth and stood shakily, cursing herself for not even trying to resist this command.
Davis took her by the shoulders and turned her around. She gazed out the porthole at Lopez Island, at the calm, glassy surface of Fisherman Bay. She bit her lip at the sight of the ripples spreading out from where the Coriolis was anchored. Who had seen the boat rocking—and did they guess what it meant? If Storm or Emily sees this… She didn’t want to think about what might happen if her crew knew she’d behaved so unprofessionally, so spontaneously—and if they knew how badly she wanted this moment to keep on going forever, how she never wanted Davis to stop.
He unhooked her bra with a deft, practiced flick of his fingers. It slid down her arms and hit the cabin’s floor. Jordan reached up automatically to cover her breasts with her hands, but Davis got there first. Slowly he massaged them, rubbing her in ever-decreasing circles until just his fingers circled her nipples, until he pinched her lightly with finger and thumb and pulled gently, so gently. She leaned against his chest, head thrown back in surrender, moaning.
“Now your jeans,” Davis whispered in her ear. “Take them off.”
This time, Jordan hesitated. She shouldn’t have allowed it to go this far. To go even farther would be…
Her hands moved of their own will, unbuttoning, unzipping, pushing her jeans down over her hips and ass no matter what her better judgment said.
Davis stroked one hand down the flat of her belly, reaching his fingers toward the waistband of her underwear with taunting slowness.
“Yes,” Jordan gasped. “Please.”
But his hand drew away again. “You know what I want?”
Jordan quivered. She didn’t care what he wanted—she only knew what she wanted, needed—a release from the throbbing ache that seemed to fill her whole body.
When she didn’t answer, Davis turned her around again. She stared up into his face. He was so cool, so in control—so unlike her, the quivering bundle of helpless horniness. She heard the sound of his zipper and then his jeans sliding down his body. She looked down just as he reached for his boxer-briefs—the outline of his hard cock made her eyes widen in surprise. Then he dropped his shorts, too, and his erection sprang free. He was big—big enough to give her pause. But somehow his size didn’t surprise her. It was no more than she expected from a man like Davis, who was so disgustingly sure of his own sexual power.
Davis popped open his cabin’s locker and plunged one hand into a pocket of his duffel bag. The hand came back with an unmistakable flat, square packet.
“You brought condoms on this trip?” Jordan asked. “Did you really think you were going to get laid?”
Davis shrugged. “Was I wrong about that?”
“You’re so gross,” Jordan said. “You really are the worst.”
“And the best.” He laughed. “You love what I’m doing. You know you love it.”
She refused to answer. She bit her lip hard to keep from blurting, I do. I love it. I’ve needed it—do it to me some more or I think I might explode. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She had no desire to confirm Davis’s high opinion of himself.
“As I was saying,” he said, his voice reaching out to brush her nearly-naked body, the sound of it sliding all along her skin, “do you know what I want?”
She shook her head.
“I want you to put the condom on me. I love it when women do that—it’s kind of a thing for me.”
She blinked at him a few times, speechless.
“You do know how to put a condom on, don’t you?”
Now it was Jordan’s turn to laugh. “Are you kidding? What, you think the sheltered island girl doesn’t know how a condom works?”
The truth was, Jordan had never put a condom on a man before in her life. Oh, the few times she’d stumbled through terrible sex with her old boyfriend they had used protection. But she’d always left that up to him. This was uncharted territory for her, and she felt more out of her depth than ever.
I’ll be damned if I give Davis the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated. She swiped the package from his fingers with a swift, sure gesture. Then she tore it open and pulled the rubber from its wrapper.
Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, she thought in a panic as she held the thing delicately. She tried to remember the one lesson in “family planning” she’d had in high school, when a lady from Planned Parenthood had demonstrated how to put a condom on a banana.
Jordan reached low and took Davis’s cock in her hand. It was so firm, so thick—and the skin of it was as smooth as warm silk. Captivated by it, she ignored the condom and ran her hand up and down his shaft, feeling the subtle shift of its contours, the way it thickened slightly in the middle, the delicate shape of its head and the way the skin glided over it, easily beneath her touch. She tightened her fist just a bit, the way Davis had done to her breast, and felt his cock give a small, involuntary jump in her hand.
Davis’s studied composure fell away; his breathing turned ragged, and his chest tensed as he struggled to keep his cool.
“Oh,” Jordan murmured wickedly, “do you like that?”
She worked her hand up and down his shaft again, slowly, then with gradually increasing speed.
“Put the condom on,” Davis said hoarsely.
“What?” She pretended not to hear him, sliding her hand along his length.
>
“Put the fucking condom on!”
“I don’t—”
Jordan never finished her sentence. He tangled his fist in her ponytail and kissed her hard, with a desperate force that almost knocked the wind from her lungs. Then he backed away just enough to speak.
“I have to fuck you,” he growled.
He still had his grip on her hair; with slow, steady pressure he pulled backward, until her face was tilted up, her neck exposed. His mouth and his unshaven chin traced along the line of her throat, speeding her pulse and wrenching a moan from deep inside her.
Jordan found that the long-ago lesson came back to her quickly. In a moment the condom was in place—she didn’t even have more than a heartbeat to wonder about all the creative condom-applying techniques Davis’s many previous conquests had used to impress him.
But she figured in this case, speed counted more than style. Davis seemed to agree. He lifted her, both hands gripping her ass, and tossed her lightly back onto the berth. Giggling a little with the absurdity of the situation—and with shock at the potency of his need, which so mirrored her own—Jordan lay back gratefully, eager for what would follow.
Davis pulled her panties off and tossed them into the cabin behind him. Then his broad, strong body loomed up over her own. When he reached down to part her legs, she did it for him, clinging to his muscular arms and panting out her pleas for him to hurry, to do it, to give her what she wanted.
There was only a moment’s brief resistance, and then he was inside her.
“God,” he groaned in her ear, “you’re so wet. You’re… so… wet.” He gave her one deep, slow stroke for every word.
Jordan could do nothing but arch and gasp, raising her hips to meet him with every movement he made. He worked at her steadily, filling her and withdrawing slowly so she could feel every bit of his thickness and length. The heat built inside her; the last of her inhibitions spiraled away.
Davis kept up a steady rhythm, but though Jordan hung on the tantalizing edge of ecstasy, she could get no closer. Finally he shifted, pulling back, allowing more space between their two striving bodies.
Rock the Boat: A Griffin Bay Novel Page 8