by Vonna Harper
“I’m going to put things into neutral and secure the wheel,” Reeve said. “Eventually the tide will bring us back to shore, and since we’re the only ones around, we’re not in danger of running into anyone.”
They were alone, truly alone. Thanks to the newly emerged nearly full moon and countless stars, she had no trouble determining that. “You don’t have to keep on entertaining me. Anytime you’re ready to take me back to land’s fine.”
“I’m not in any hurry.” Although he no longer needed to, he kept his hands on the wheel. His eyes were on the horizon.
She thought he’d ask about her schedule, but he didn’t. She’d made her peace with his extended silences while they were moving through the water, telling herself he needed to concentrate on what he was doing. That excuse no longer carried any weight.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. Perhaps three feet separated them. At the same time it wasn’t nearly enough and a vast distance. “You haven’t said that much; I’ve done most of the talking. You haven’t told me much about yourself, nothing that would make me think you wanted me to get to know you.” When he made no indication he’d heard her let alone had a reaction, she went on. “Are you always like this? You use silence to force people to open up about themselves?”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Don’t. Don’t answer a question with another one.”
“I’ll try not to. As for my motives, I thought I’d already made it clear that I wanted to fix you dinner.”
“And that’s all, a meal? If that’s the case, why haven’t we called it a night?”
For the first time since taking the boat out, he looked over at her. The moon did amazing things to him, painting his dark hair with silver highlights and casting his features in shadow and light so she could barely make out the real man. His body seemed as one with the ocean, flowing with it. He’d changed into something he called seaworthy before they took off, and his faded, loose-fitting T-shirt proclaimed his loyalty to the L.A. Dodgers. The breeze occasionally caused the garment to hug his body. Every time that happened, she was struck anew by how physically toned he appeared. His simple brown shorts covered maybe half of his thighs, giving her a clear view of taut legs and a right knee that had felt a surgeon’s knife.
This wasn’t a businessman’s body, damn it!
Then who was he?
Belatedly remembering that he hadn’t answered her question, she took a backward step. She might have taken another if not for the heat in his eyes and her body’s humming. “What do you want from me?” she demanded.
More than you’ll ever understand.
Telling herself he couldn’t possibly have said or thought that, she concentrated on bringing air into her lungs. “Am I going to regret saying yes to your invitation?”
“I can’t answer that for you, only you can.”
A response with layers of meaning, damn it. “At least give me a hint so I can make that decision.”
He was still studying her, and although she’d been looked at by countless men, this felt different. Certainly he was aware of her physical form; that was a given. But he was also looking beneath the surface, maybe as deep as her soul. The question she had to answer was whether she wanted him to.
Yes, her body fairly shouted. Hell yes!
Maybe not, her heart whispered.
“I’d like to ask you something,” he said just when she’d reconciled herself to his silence. “The way you make your living, the way you handle your sexuality, have you ever wished it was different?”
“Different? How?”
“Now you’re the one answering a question with one.”
“If I am, it’s because I don’t know where this is going.”
He wanted to touch her. Damn it, she felt the wanting throughout his body. But maybe he knew he risked a knee to his gonads if she so much as thought he was jumping her.
“Is that sex drive you told me about something you can turn on or off depending on the situation? It more than comes in handy at work, but if the situation calls for the opposite, can you plug into nun mode?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Humor me.”
Hell, no, this wasn’t about humoring him. She didn’t owe him anything, damn it. A thank-you for the meal and cruise was all that was called for, and just because she’d thought he was genuinely interested in her family story didn’t mean she was expected to dump everything, right?
Right, yes. And yet—
“To rehash,” she said with her senses reaching out for him and her sex heating. “I matured early sexually. By the time I was eleven I needed a bra, but it was more than just my body developing curves. Even before the bra went on, I wanted something I couldn’t put words to. It was as if I’d put my finger into a light socket.” She paused, debated, plunged ahead. “My mother caught me masturbating when I was ten, but instead of jumping down my throat, she sat next to me and helped me explore why I needed to handle myself that way. Her acceptance allowed me to be free.”
She glanced down at her legs, then into his eyes again. “If I have any sexual hang-ups, I’m not aware of them. As long as it’s safe and fun and legal, I’ll explore it. If my parents had disapproved, I would have taken my needs underground, but they’d still exist. Now, does that answer your question?”
Instead of the yes or no she expected, he leaned toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You had incredible parents. Wise. So wise.”
What was that note, envy? Sorrow maybe?
Fighting her reaction to the pressure on her shoulders, she ran her hands along his side. “Yours weren’t like that?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What? I—”
“I mean it. I’m not going there.”
On the brink of pushing his limits, she reconsidered. He didn’t want to bring up the past; only a dead woman wouldn’t understand that and she was far from dead. Neither did he want to deal with an ignorant “I’m sorry.”
“All right, for now,” she whispered.
The tide rocked them, pushing them to the left and then the right, forcing her to widen her stance to keep her balance and increasing her hold on him. In the distance a foghorn wailed its lonely cry. The warm breeze stroked her cheeks, throat, arms, and legs.
And then his legs brushed hers.
Ah shit, gone. Just like that, lost.
Arching her back, she ran her breasts over his rib cage. His hold on her shoulders tightened, and the message couldn’t have been any clearer. Whatever he wanted of her, he could get; he was that much stronger.
Didn’t matter.
Because she wanted the same thing.
With her breasts still pressed against him, she slid her hands down and around so she could cup his buttocks. At the same time, she moved closer and tilted her pelvis at him. On a hissed breath, he released her shoulders but only so he could spread his much-larger hands over her ass cheeks.
Yes, his cock, grinding against her belly with a message she’d heeded for as long as she could remember. Depending on what was called for at work, at times like this she’d either call up memories of all the cocks she’d encountered or convince herself that the cock of the moment was the one, a massive member belonging to the one man she’d forsake all others for.
But that had always been fantasy because she couldn’t remember when she’d last been in love or even if what she’d felt at seventeen or eighteen truly qualified as love.
Not tonight, she ordered as heat chased along her spine. She wasn’t going to pretend or fantasize or recall or even wish. She’d live in the moment. With the man who called himself Reeve.
“I didn’t want this,” he muttered, his breath warming her forehead. Still gripping her buttocks with iron strength, he pushed at her, withdrew a little, pushed again.
“You—why not?”
No answer, but then she hadn’t expected any, and even if he’d handed it to her, would she have been able to m
ake sense of whatever he said?
Probably not, because her arms were now around his neck and she was standing on her toes, and the too-familiar demanding ache gripped her.
Given the right circumstances and even some that were less than perfect, she could climax before the average man did. In an attempt to level the playing field, she’d developed a number of strategies. Granted, most of them took place once clothes were no longer an issue, but something told her she shouldn’t wait until then.
Teeth clenched against another kind of clenching in another part of her anatomy, she tilted her head so she could rake her teeth over the side of his neck. His response—predictable—was to release her left cheek so he could grip her hair and haul her head off him.
“What the hell?”
“What’s the matter? Can’t you take it?” she challenged. “It’s called foreplay.”
“If you’ve drawn blood—”
“Then I’ll pay for a transfusion.” The grip on her hair held her head immobile, but then she was used to being restrained and knew how to use helplessness to feed her libido. “I didn’t take you for a weakling.”
“Are you always this aggressive?”
“When I want something, yes.”
“You want then?”
No more words, action. With her head still forced to a less-than-comfortable angle, she rocked her lower body forward. His cock fought back, a length of hot lumber more than ready to accomplish what she needed it to. No question about it, this man was built for sex. Oh, she might have encountered a larger cock, not that she was into making comparisons, but it was obviously capable of fulfilling its assigned task.
And then?
No, damn it, she wasn’t going to let that question intrude tonight! She hated the part of her that insisted on looking beyond the moment, that needed a future.
Sex was good. Sex was tonight’s goal.
Nothing else.
Still, as she rolled her pelvis from one side to the other, she didn’t entirely succeed in staying in the moment. This man, this gift from the sex gods, was nothing more than another in a long list of prime candidates, and yet he could be.
Maybe.
Releasing her hair, he pressed his fist against the small of her back as if trying to reach her womb. He had to know how close he was, how quickly the pressure had claimed her attention. If he thought he was going to gain control over her this way, he was mistaken. Damn him, mistaken! She wasn’t that easy.
Or was she?
Rising onto her toes, she again touched her mouth to his neck, this time sheathing her teeth with her lips. And if her tongue dampened the soft skin there, that was his problem. His sensation to deal with.
When he jerked and tensed, she smiled a secret knowing smile and sucked in a deep breath. Her breasts still pressed against his chest, but the contact was now tentative instead of possessive, a tease and a promise.
The air had a wild smell to it. That coupled with the lonely horn took her far from brightly lit sets and cameramen. There was no director here, no need to pause while some prop was rearranged, no clamping down on carnal hunger until the lens was in position. This was real, real. Sex for sex’s sake.
Suddenly unnerved, she acknowledged that it had been so long since everything had been about her and a man that she’d nearly forgotten sex could be this simple. Honest. Uncomplicated.
And yet was anything more complicated than fucking a stranger?
Acknowledging the danger and adventure inherent in the act, she dove into the dark current.
There was just the two of them and a craft she had no knowledge of. She couldn’t even remember where shore was. If something happened to him and she had to take the wheel, could she get them back to safety or would they wind up in the middle of the ocean?
Didn’t matter.
Now.
Giving herself a mental shake, she leaned away and brought Reeve back into focus. If anything he looked more formidable than he had earlier. Where before civilization had cloaked him, she sensed that what they were about had penetrated his protective outer layer to mix with his wild nature. This was no oiled-skin dom, no leather clad, whip-wielding master. He was man. Simply man.
And she was woman. Hungry woman.
Growling, she kicked at the inside of his right leg, forcing him to increase his stance. That done, she reached for his cock. Her intention had been to see how much of it fit within the palm of her hand, but before she could do more than spread her fingers over the long thick mound, he clamped his hand around her wrist. “Not going to happen, Saree. These aren’t your shots to call.”
“Afraid I’m going to hurt you?”
“Not in this lifetime.”
Before she could come up with a reply, he forced her hand up and around to her back. Accustomed to such handling, she relaxed and held back the hint of panic that tried to invade her thoughts. Being in a strong man’s grip always triggered her libido, and although she sometimes worried that said libido would get in the way of the instinct for survival, the thought barely touched her before she shoved it away.
This was foreplay, fun.
“What’s up, big boy, you trying to duplicate what you see on your computer? Bring any handcuffs with you?”
“You love living on the edge, don’t you?”
Spinning her around toward him, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the rear of the boat. Although she ordered herself not to, she rested the side of her head against his chest and drank in his scent. He smelled of the sea and more, of male and arousal, of promise.
When he deposited her in what she now knew was called the fighting chair, she sank back in it and stared up at him. The seat had been designed for someone much larger than her and built to withstand a battle with a fish weighing more than the man or woman who’d hooked it. The chair and Reeve surrounded her, cradling and protecting and diminishing her. She was in Reeve’s world, a world of strength and battle.
Running her fingers over the wooden arms, she again studied the man who seemed an integral part of his surroundings. She had no doubt that if she so much as made a move to escape, he’d force her back down, but she didn’t want to leave.
Feeling small and feminine instead of the businesswoman she’d worked so hard to become, she extended a hand toward him. “What do you want?”
“You. Willingly.”
“You have it. You must know that.”
“I don’t know anything about you, Saree.” The look he gave her was beyond confusion, almost as if he was lost. “You’re not what I expected.”
“In what way?” Why wasn’t he taking her hand?
“You’re more complex.”
“And you’re not?”
“No. I’m not.” He ran his fingers between hers, spreading hers and infusing them with his strength and warmth. “What you went through with your parents was incredible. I never expected…”
“You thought I was some oversexed simple-minded bimbo? Instead I turned out to be a real human being?”
“Something like that.”
Understanding he didn’t want to reveal more than he already had, she contented herself with studying the contrast between his dark, competent fingers and her small, pale ones. Tonight she wasn’t playing a role. Nothing was expected of her—except honesty. And although he wasn’t giving her the same in return, she’d take what little he granted her.
Not sure what she had in mind, she brought their intertwined hands up to her mouth and planted a series of feathery kisses on his fingertips. The chair was on a riser above the deck floor. As a consequence, she and Reeve were nearly eye to eye. Just the same, she couldn’t shake the impact of his larger and stronger body.
Damn it, she was more accustomed to the male form than the majority of women. Certainly she’d had more experience exploring the naked male and should have a familiar if not jaded reaction and response to muscle and bone, but he was far from what she was accustomed to. No experienced dom or rigger, he nevertheless ex
uded an undeniable alpha air.
Was that it, he was alpha wolf and she his potential mate?
Silently laughing off the absurd notion, she sucked on his fingertips. As she did, she studied him, pleased to note that his self-control was in jeopardy. With a wink as warning, she straightened a leg and slid it between his. He remained in place, prompting her to lift her leg until her shin bone found his crotch.
“A warning,” he hissed. “Unless you’re ready to face the consequences, don’t.”
“I’m not teasing. Did you think I was?”
“I’m just telling you how it is.”
Smiling, she started rubbing her leg against him. “This is my answer.”
Although she could have sworn he was about to say something, only silence greeted her declaration. Grabbing her leg at the thigh, he pushed up, forcing her to bend her knee. At the same time, he backed away, causing her to lose contact with him. But instead of releasing her, he continued bending her knee until he’d anchored her foot on the edge of the chair. Holding her in place with a single hand, he flipped off her sandal. That done, he rolled her leg to the outside.
Far from fighting, she slid forward a little in wordless invitation. And although her vision blurred, she kept her eyes open as he ran a hand under her shorts. His rough finger pads on the inside of her thigh made her shiver. “You’re tickling—”
“That’s not tickling, Saree. If you want me to demonstrate—”
“No.” Sucking in sea air, she willed herself to relax. But although she managed to leave her leg in place, she couldn’t do anything about the way her nails dug into the chair arms. “I don’t want…”
Inch by inch, movement by movement, his assault on her thigh continued. Although there was no doubt of his destination, she focused on the journey as he slid toward her core. The sleek skin on her inner leg was so damn sensitive, fragile almost in contrast to other parts of her body. Adding to the unsettling and sensual sensation was the knowledge that she couldn’t easily break free. Oh, she could bury her nails in his flesh if fight came to fight, but what if he managed to shake off the pain while—while what?