Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Chloe
Past
I’m floating somewhere between sleep and sun-drenched bliss, everything soft and hazy, like clouds slipping through fingers.
The yacht rolls gently beneath me, each splash of water against the hull syncing with the steady thump of the heart beating inside the bare chest I’m curled up on. Z’s chest. Solid. Warm. Rhythmic.
The heat from the sun cloaks me in silk, slow-baking me in SPF and sweat.
My Audrey Hepburn hat shields half my face, oversized sunglasses covering the rest. It must be mid-morning, judging by the sting of the sun.
Hard to tell through the haze of last night—cosmos, skinny-dipping, sex.
A highlight reel of hedonism. Worth every headache this hangover’s gifting me.
After two Bloody Marys and a breakfast fit for royalty, we scattered across the deck like lazy cats. Z and I staked out a patch of sun and haven’t moved since. Just dozing and touching.
I lift my head from his chest, stretching with a quiet yawn. No need to wake him. He’s still asleep—arms tucked behind his head, chest rising and falling in slow, steady waves.
I trail a fingertip across one nipple, watching it tighten under my touch. He doesn’t stir. Just a flicker of his lashes, then stillness again.
I smile.
Watching him, relaxed and unaware, does things to my heart.
“Mmm, where you goin’?” His voice is deep, scratchy, and scares the absolute shit out of me.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasp, hand flying to my chest. “Every time I think you’re asleep, you open your mouth and try to kill me.”
He chuckles and pulls me into him, arms and legs wrapping around me like a human octopus.
“How do you stay so still when you’re awake? It’s creepy.”
He grins against my ear. “Meditation. Slows the brain. Sometimes better than sleep.” He nuzzles my neck. “You should try it.”
“I can guarantee my scattered ass can’t sit still for that long.”
He laughs lazily. Silence drapes over us again, easy and unforced.
Lying here with Z, tangled up in warmth and skin, doesn’t feel like a role I’m playing. Doesn’t feel like a performance. It feels… like me.
My thoughts drift back to last night: the laughter, the drinks, the nudity, the insanity. Carter. I still can’t believe Carter fucking Ashford had his dick inside me. My teenage self would faint.
I loved listening to the guys swapping stories and teasing each other like brothers. Carter’s virginity story? Comedy gold.
“You’re smirking,” Z notices.
“Huh?”
“That look. What’s going on in that gorgeous brain?”
I laugh. “Just remembered how Carter lost his virginity.”
He snorts. “Yeah… poor bastard. That can’t have been a good experience.”
“Speaking of… how did you lose yours?”
He pauses. “High school girlfriend. First love, I guess.” His tone shifts, stiffens.
“You don’t want to talk about it?” I ask gently.
“Nope.”
Got it.
But now I’m curious as hell.
“What about you?” he asks, redirecting.
I shrug. “Eden.”
He turns toward me and blinks. “Seriously? How old were you?”
“Nineteen.” I laugh. “Relax.”
His eyebrows go north.
“I missed all the teen milestones. No dates, no awkward dances or first kisses. My priorities were… different.”
“You weren’t in a cult, were you?”
I snort. “Why the hell is that your first thought?”
“In my line of work, I’ve seen it all.”
Now I really want to know what his line of work is.
“By the time I hit nineteen, romance wasn’t on the radar. I just wanted to be fucked. Get it over with. No flowers, no candlelight, just dick.”
He huffs a quiet chuckle, but stays silent, giving me the space to share.
“I basically blackmailed Madame Anna. She said I was too young and inexperienced. I told her I’d find someone off the street, get it over with, and come back.” I grin. “She caved. Offered a safer option—with a client.”
There’s a moment of silence.
“Do you regret it?” he asks softly.
“Hell no.” I shake my head. “I wasn’t really going to fuck someone off the street, I’m not stupid.
I wanted to work there, and it ended up being on my terms. I had a list of kinks I wanted to try.
Eden was safer than one-night stands. Plus, I had no time for dating or hookups, not with my studies and everything else going on in my life. ”
He’s quiet for a moment.
“Have you ever had sex without being paid for it? A real relationship?”
It’s a simple question. But loaded.
I blink. I’m paid for sex for so many reasons: power, control, curiosity, and pleasure. But never for love.
In my rush to chase pleasure, have I screwed myself emotionally?
What if I’ve trained my brain to perform, not connect?
With clients, I always find something: a trait I can admire, something in their personality I can anchor to.
I look for a feature I can latch on to, a sliver of humanity to make it feel real.
But that’s not a true emotional connection. That’s strategy.
And yet… with Z, I don’t have to search. I don’t have to pretend. It’s just there. Natural. Unfiltered. All-consuming. I feel it everywhere—in my body, mind, and chest.
“No,” I whisper.
He nods slowly. “Fucking someone you love… it’s different. Like breathing underwater. Everything changes.”
His voice is low. Not bitter. But… knowing. The way someone sounds when they’ve been wrecked and rebuilt by life. Someone who’s been burned and is still carrying the scars.
I don’t answer.
I have nothing to compare it to.
But I wonder—who did he love? And is he still in love with her?
It stings.
Swallowing the pain, I offer a smile instead. “I’ll take your word for it.”
He shifts beside me, the moment folding into something lighter. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow, grateful for the change in current. “You know I love surprises.”
His thumb drags across my nipple, and it tightens instantly. “I brought my kit.”
“Your kit?”
“These gorgeous nipples are begging to be pierced.”
Oh, fuck.
My body lights up. I’ve always wanted this—for me. But for him, too. The way he looks at me, like I’m his canvas.
His to mark. His to claim.
I’m already dripping.
“Do you want to?” His thumb circles again, winding me tighter with every pass.
“I do. But… is it safe?”
I mean, I’m going to be a doctor. I know what could go wrong. Infection. Rejection. I know how to care for them, too. But still…
“I’m trained. Everything’s sterile. I’d never risk your health, Gigi. Not for anything.”
I believe him. I trust him with my life. “Let’s do it.”
He kisses me—deep, slow, and intense. Then pulls away. “Stay here. I’ll get the kit.” He pecks my lips, untangles himself, and disappears below deck.
Excitement buzzes through me, making the fine hairs on my arms stand up. By the time he returns with the black case and settles beside me, I’m practically vibrating.
“Kneel,” he instructs, jutting his chin to the space between his thighs.
I drop down without hesitation, settling between his legs. He opens the case and snaps on a pair of gloves. The sound alone sends a jolt straight to my clit.
Oh fuck. Medical kink? No. No, no—too close to home.
But the look in his eyes—focused and in control—I’m melting.
“I’m going to rub your needy little clit and get you nice and ready.” His gloved fingers slide between my folds, gathering slick and circling my clit. It’s clinical, but holy fuck, it’s hot.
When I’m trembling on the edge, he pulls away. “Ready,” he says simply.
I bite my lip, aching for more.
He changes gloves, then disinfects my nipple with an alcohol swab.
“Hold still.” He pulls out a surgical marker and dots the entry and exit points. “I want it to be perfect.”
I peek down to inspect his work.
Not bad, Z.
He clamps my nipple gently with forceps, then coats the needle in sterile lube. I don’t need to touch it to know it’s cold as ice. Then, he pushes the 14-gauge needle through.
White-hot pain.
I gasp—sharp, shocked—but it passes quickly. He replaces the needle with a bar, and screws on the ball, securing it in place.
I knew it would hurt. My nipples are overly sensitive on a good day—but goddamn, this is next level.
I look down.
It’s beautiful.
Two tiny silver spheres gleam against the tender skin. The sting lingers, softened by the heat still thrumming through my veins.
“You okay, little one?” he asks, stripping off his gloves, fingers drifting over my clit once more.
A moan slips past my lips. The pain fuses with pleasure, twisting hot together, turning it molten.
“Yeah… good.” I breathe, my lids fluttering as my body bows into his touch.
“Can you come for me?”
I nod, but it’s shaky. The ache is still there, pulsing behind the pleasure, and I’m close, but not quite there.
“I need more,” I whisper.
“I’ve got you.”
He presses deeper, fingers curling where I need them most. His other hand slides up to my chest, palm flat over my heart.
“Come for me, baby. Let go.”
The pain dulls, the pressure snaps, and I splinter—shaking and panting.
“That’s it.”
My nipple throbs in time with my clit, and I ride it out, trembling, soaked and completely under his control.
“Good girl, Gigi.” He cradles my face with both hands and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Let’s take a break before we do the other one.”
He strips off his shorts, kicks them aside, and guides my head to his lap. I don’t need to say a word. He knows I need comfort.
I take him in my mouth and suckle gently, eyes burning, chest full. I don’t know why I’m overwhelmed—but he does. Z gets me on a level I didn’t think was possible with anyone. No judgment, completely in tune with me and my needs. He gives me space without asking.
I stay there, wrapped around him, breathing through it. Letting the pressure ease. Letting him hold me, without actually holding me.
His cock stirs, slowly thickening against my tongue. I keep going, easing into the motion until he pulses, his release warm and thick. I make sure to lick him clean, pouring every ounce of gratitude into the act.
“Stunning,” he exhales, eyes locked on mine. “Absolutely fucking stunning.” He reaches out and brushes his thumb carefully over the new piercing. “Just imagine all the fun we’ll have with these.”
A shiver races down my spine.
He snaps on a fresh pair of gloves.
I draw in a breath and brace myself for the next one.
I’m ready.