14. Becca
Becca
W e take our time, learning each other's bodies in the gentle rolling of the anchored yacht. Clive's touch is confident but tender, finding places that make me gasp and arch against him. When his lips trace down my neck to my collarbone, I feel like I'm dissolving into pure sensation. Each touch is deliberate and worshipful. It isn't the rushed, mechanical intimacy I've grown accustomed to with Jack. This is something else entirely—something that makes me feel both vulnerable and powerful at once.
"Clive," I whisper as his hands slide down my sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
He looks up at me, his blue eyes dark with desire, but he still questions, making sure. "Yes?"
"I want you," I say, the words falling from my lips without hesitation. "All of you."
His answering smile is almost predatory, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "You have me, Rebecca. You've had me from the moment I first saw you."
His mouth travels down my body, trailing hot kisses across my stomach. My breath catches as he reaches the edge of my bikini bottoms, his fingers hooking under the fabric. He looks up at me, waiting for permission, and I nod, lifting my hips slightly to help him slide them off.
The cool air makes me shiver—or maybe it's how Clive looks at me like I'm a revelation. His hands caress my thighs, gently urging them apart.
"I've dreamed about this," he confesses. "About tasting you."
My heart hammers against my ribs as he positions himself between my legs. The first touch of his tongue sends a jolt through my entire body. I gasp, fingers clutching at the sheets.
"Oh god," I whisper, unprepared for the intensity.
Clive chuckles against me, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. "Just relax," he murmurs. "Let me make you feel good."
And he does. Oh, he does. His mouth is masterful, alternating between soft, teasing licks and more focused attention that makes my toes curl. His hands grip my thighs, keeping me open to him as I begin to squirm under his ministrations.
I've never experienced anything like this—this focused, relentless pleasure. Jack always treated this as a perfunctory step, if he bothered at all. But Clive... Clive worships me with his mouth like he has all the time in the world like my pleasure is the only thing that matters.
When he slides one finger inside me, curling it just so while his tongue continues its sweet torture, I cry out, unable to contain myself. The yacht rocks gently beneath us, the rhythm of the waves adding to the building pressure inside me.
"That's it," Clive encourages, his blue eyes watching my face as he adds a second finger. "Let go for me, Rebecca."
The use of my full name, spoken in that commanding voice while he's between my thighs, pushes me closer to the edge. My hips move of their own accord now, seeking more of the exquisite sensation he's creating.
"I can't—I'm going to—" My words dissolve into incoherent sounds as the pressure builds almost unbearable.
"Come for me," he commands, his fingers finding that perfect spot inside me while his tongue flicks rapidly against me. "Let me feel you."
The orgasm crashes over me like a wave, powerful and all-consuming. My back arches off the bed as pleasure radiates through every cell of my body. I'm vaguely aware of crying out his name, of my thighs trembling against his shoulders, of his approving groan as he feels my body pulsing around his fingers.
He doesn't stop drawing out my pleasure until I'm gasping, oversensitive, and trembling. Only then does he ease back, placing gentle kisses on my inner thighs before moving up my body. His beard is damp from me, and the sight makes me flush with embarrassment and pride.
"You're magnificent when you come," he says, voice thick with arousal as he hovers above me. "I could watch you all day."
I'm still catching my breath, my body humming with aftershocks. "That was... I've never..." I struggle to find words.
His expression shifts to something between surprise and anger. "Never?"
I shake my head, suddenly self-conscious. "Not like that. Not even close."
A flash of possessive satisfaction crosses his face. "Then we have a lot of lost time to make up for."
His kiss is deep and hungry, and I can taste myself on his lips. It's unexpectedly erotic. My hands slide down his still-wet body, tracing the contours of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen. When I reach the waistband of his swim shorts, I feel his hardness straining against the fabric.
"May I?" I ask, tugging gently at the elastic.
His eyes darken. "You don't have to?—"
"I want to," I cut him off. "I want to make you feel good too."
The reverence in his gaze as I pull his swim shorts down makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced before. His body is magnificent—strong and solid, bearing the marks of his years in a way that only enhances his appeal. He's much larger than I expected, and for a moment, I feel a flutter of nervousness.
"We don't have to do anything more," he says, reading my expression. "This—" he gestures between us, "—is already perfect."
The fact that he would be satisfied with just giving me pleasure makes me want him even more. I wrap my hand around him, watching his face as his breath catches.
"I want everything with you," I tell him honestly.
I shift down his body, my confidence growing with each appreciative sound he makes. Settling between his powerful thighs, I take a moment to appreciate him fully—thick and hard, yet the skin impossibly soft under my fingers. My heart pounds with anticipation as I lower my head.
"Rebecca," he breathes, his voice strained as I take him into my mouth.
I start slowly, exploring what makes his breath hitch, what draws those deep groans from his chest. His hands tangle gently in my hair, not pushing or controlling, just connecting. I look up to find his eyes locked on mine, the intensity in his gaze making heat pool between my legs again.
"You're incredible," he murmurs, his thumb brushing my cheek as I hollow them around him.
I take him deeper, loving his weight on my tongue and the taste of salt and musk. His thighs tense under my palms as I establish a rhythm, using my hand to complement what my mouth can't reach. The yacht rocks gently beneath us, the motion adding to our shared cadence.
When I swirl my tongue around the sensitive tip, Clive groans my name like a prayer. His restraint is palpable—hips barely moving, letting me set the pace. It's so different from what I'm used to, this respect for my comfort even in the throes of passion.
"Rebecca—I'm close," he warns, his fingers tightening slightly in my hair, allowing me to pull away.
Instead, I increase my pace, looking up at him through my lashes. The sight of him—head thrown back, muscles taut, completely undone because of me—is intoxicating. I want to be the one who makes this powerful man lose control.
"God—Rebecca—" His voice breaks as his release hits him. I stay with him through it, accepting everything he gives, feeling triumphant at bringing him this pleasure.
When I finally pull away, he immediately draws me up his body, kissing me deeply. There's something profoundly intimate about it—no shame, no hesitation, just raw connection.
"Come here," he murmurs, gathering me against his chest.
I curl into him, listening to his heartbeat gradually slow beneath my ear. His fingers trace patterns on my back as the cabin fills with the sound of our steadying breaths. The gentle rocking of the yacht and the warmth of his body make me feel safe in a way I've rarely experienced.
"What are you thinking?" he asks softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
I trace a fingertip along the line of his collarbone, considering. "That I've never felt this way before," I admit. "This... free. This present."
His arms tighten around me. "You deserve to feel this way all the time."
"With you, I think I could.”