15. Clive
Clive
I lift my head to look at her face, my heart thundering against my ribs. Becca's eyes are luminous in the dim light of the cabin, her skin still flushed from our earlier passion. Something primal stirs in me again.
"I'm not done with you yet," I whisper, rougher than intended.
Her lips part slightly, and I capture them with mine, tasting the sea salt still lingering on her skin. My hand slides up her bare thigh, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. The yacht rocks beneath us, mimicking the rhythm my body desperately wants to find with hers again.
"Clive," she breathes against my mouth, and hearing my name on her lips drives me mad.
I roll her beneath me, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while the other explores the soft curves of her body. She arches against me, seeking more contact, more pressure. I give her what she wants, trailing kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, lower still until she's gasping.
"Please," she begs, writhing against the sheets.
"Tell me what you need," I demand, my control slipping as her legs wrap around my waist.
"You. Just you."
Those three words snap something inside like a taut string breaking under pressure. I release Becca's wrists, and she immediately threads her fingers through my hair, pulling me upward into a fervent, desperate kiss. Our bodies collide with an intense urgency, all tenderness cast aside as we chase something raw and essential, a primal need that cannot be ignored. In a heated frenzy, I thrust into her welcoming warmth, our bodies moving together in a fervent, harmonious rhythm that obliterates everything else.
The yacht pitches with a larger wave, sending us sliding across the sheets. I brace one arm against the headboard, using the motion to drive deeper into Becca. She cries out, her nails scoring lines down my back that I'll wear proudly tomorrow.
"You’re so wet, baby, and I’m about to make you so much wetter," I groan, my voice a deep rumble as I plunge deeper, harder, faster, feeling my heart pounding like a wild drum, threatening to burst through my chest. The tension coils tighter within me, a storm on the verge of breaking. "Do you want that? Do you want me to fill you up?" I ask, my words laced with urgency.
"Yes, please. Don't stop," Becca pants, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. Her eyes are locked with mine, wide and pleading like a sea of desire pulling me under. "Please, please, please don't ever stop," she whispers, each word a soft insistence, a melody of longing that echoes in the charged air between us.
I couldn't even if I wanted to. Not with Becca. Not now. Our bodies entwine feverishly, the tender caresses of earlier morphing into a raw, primal dance. I study her face intently as waves of ecstasy ripple through her, committing to memory each lustful expression and every intoxicating moan she releases.
When we finally collapse together, our bodies slick and heaving, I gather her close again, pressing my forehead to hers. The cabin feels too small to contain the explosive fuck we just shared. I can still feel the way her body gripped mine as I poured my release into her, the primal rhythm of our hips finally slowing.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" I whisper, my voice laced with sudden concern as the reality of my earlier loss of control sinks in.
Her laugh escapes in a breathless, genuine burst of sound, filling the air between us. "God, no. That was..." She shakes her head, a soft, bemused smile playing on her lips as she searches for words that seem to elude her.
I lean in to kiss her gently now––the tender brush of my lips starkly contrasts the frenzied passion we shared just moments ago. "I know," I murmur softly against her lips, our breaths mingling in the intimate space between us. "I know exactly."
As we lie comfortably tangled, the rhythmic sound of water gently lapping against the hull creates a soothing backdrop. In that serene moment, a profound clarity washes over me—I am unwavering in my resolve. I will never let her return to Jack. Becca Jamison is meant to be mine, whatever it takes, whatever sacrifices I must make.
The weight of that thought settles over me as Becca's breathing grows deeper, more rhythmic. She's drifting to sleep in my arms, curling trustingly against mine. The fierce possessiveness should alarm me, but it doesn't. It feels right, as natural as breathing.
I trace lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my fingertips. The cabin is quiet except for the gentle creaking of the yacht and the distant lapping of waves. Everything smells of salt, sex, and her perfume—a heady combination that makes me want to wake her for another round.
"Mmm," she murmurs, shifting slightly. Her eyes flutter open, dark and dreamy. "What time is it?"
I glance at my watch on the nightstand. "Just after five. The sun will be setting soon."
"We should probably go back," she says but makes no move to leave the warm nest of tangled sheets.
"Probably," I agree, equally reluctant. The thought of returning to the beach house, to Kay's calculating eyes and Jack's possessive pawing, makes something dark twist in my gut. "Or we could stay here tonight."
Becca props herself up on one elbow, her hair falling in a curtain around her face. "Can we do that?"
"It's my yacht," I remind her with a small smile. "We can do whatever we want."
Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and I'm immediately distracted by the gesture. "Will we be okay?"
"I’ll protect you." I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing across her swollen lips. "Besides, I like having you all to myself out here."
My phone buzzes angrily from somewhere on the floor, cutting through the moment. Becca startles, then laughs nervously.
I ignore the phone, leaning in to kiss her again. Slower this time, deeper. I pour everything I can't yet say into that kiss, willing her to understand. When I pull back, her eyes remain closed momentarily, her lips slightly parted.
"I should get that," I say reluctantly. "It might be important."
She nods, pulling the sheet up to cover herself as I slide out of bed. I find my discarded shorts and fish out the phone, grimacing when I see Jack's name on the screen. Ten missed calls and twice as many texts from Jack. I scroll through them quickly, each message more desperate than the last.
Where the hell is Becca?
Miguel says you took the yacht out.
Is she with you?
ANSWER ME
The last one came in just seconds ago. I glance back at Becca, sitting up now, the sheet tucked demurely under her arms, though I've memorized every inch of what lies beneath.
"It's Jack," I say, keeping my voice neutral.
A shadow crosses her face. "I don’t want to speak to Jack. He probably wants to know when I’m coming home."
"Let him wonder," I murmur, tossing the phone onto a chair.
I return to the bed, sitting on the edge next to her. Her skin glows in the golden light filtering through the porthole, making her look like something from a Renaissance painting. I can't resist touching her again, trailing my fingers along her collarbone.
"We could watch the sunset from the deck. "I have wine chilling."
“That sounds wonderful.”
I lean forward to kiss her forehead. "I'll grab us some clothes."
I find Becca a soft white button-down shirt that falls to mid-thigh on her and a pair of my shorts that she has to roll at the waist several times. She looks adorably rumpled and utterly sexy in my clothes.
We climb to the upper deck with a bottle of chilled Sancerre and two glasses. As the sun dips toward the horizon, the sky is already beginning to blush with pinks and oranges. I arrange cushions at the stern, creating a makeshift nest for us.
"It's beautiful," she whispers as I pour the wine.
"Yes, it is." But I'm not looking at the sunset.
She catches me staring and blushes, taking the glass I offer. "I've never done anything like this before."
"Like what? Watched a sunset?"
"You know what I mean." She takes a sip of wine. "Thrown caution to the wind and did precisely what I wanted to do.”
I settle beside her, our shoulders touching. "Does it feel good?"
Her smile is slow, a little wicked around the edges. "It feels incredible."
We sit in comfortable silence as the sky transforms, the clouds catching fire with gold and crimson. The water reflects it all, turning the sea into a liquid flame. My phone buzzes again from below deck, but it sounds distant and unimportant.
Neither of us acknowledges the intrusion. Instead, Becca shifts closer, her head finding the perfect spot on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, drawing her closer.
"I've never seen colors like this," she murmurs, sipping her wine. "It's like the sky is putting on a show just for us."
I press my lips to her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair. "Maybe it is."
The sun continues its descent, a molten orange fire sinking into the darkening sea. The first stars appear overhead, pinpricks of silver against the deepening blue. Out here, away from the city lights, they'll soon blanket the sky.
"Do you know the constellations?" she asks, tilting her face to the emerging stars.
"Some," I admit. "But I'd rather make up our own."
She laughs, the sound pure and unrestrained. "Like what?"
I point to a cluster of stars overhead. "That's clearly the Wine Glass. And there—" I trace another pattern with my finger, "—that's the Goddess, with her hair flowing behind her."
Becca squints up, trying to follow my imaginary lines. "I don't see it."
"Right there." I take her hand, guiding her finger to trace the shape. "That's her face, and her arm extends there..."
"Oh!" Her face lights up with childlike wonder. "I see it now!"
I lower our joined hands but don't release hers. Becca's fingers are small in mine, delicate yet strong. The contrast reminds me of everything about her that's captured me—her vulnerability, resilience, and softness hiding a steel core.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, her voice hushed in the growing darkness.
"How I've never wanted to protect someone the way I want to protect you," I answer honestly, the words slipping out before I can censor them.
She faces me fully, her expression serious in the fading light. "I don't need protecting, Clive."
"I know." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "That makes me want to do it all the more."
The last sliver of sun disappears, leaving us in the gentle glow of the yacht's ambient lighting and the strengthening starlight. I set aside my empty glass and take hers, placing it safely on the deck. Then I pull her onto my lap, her legs straddling mine.
"What I mean is," I continue, my hands settling on her hips, "I want to be the person you can lean on when you need to. Not because you can't stand on your own, but because sometimes it's nice not to have to."
Becca’s eyes search mine for something—sincerity, perhaps, or deception. I hold her gaze steadily, letting her see everything I'm not yet ready to put into words.
Her expression softens as she finds whatever she's looking for in my eyes. She cups my face in her hands, thumbs gently stroking my beard.
"I've spent so long being strong for everyone else," she whispers. "Trying to be what everyone needed me to be."
I turn my head slightly to kiss her palm. "And what do you need, Becca?"
The question hangs between us, weighty with possibility. Above us, the stars multiply by the minute, turning the sky into a glittering canvas.
"This," she finally says. "Just this. You. The stars. No expectations."
My heart swells almost painfully. I capture Becca's lips in a kiss that starts gently but quickly deepens. Her body melts against mine, soft and yielding yet somehow commanding at the same time. My hands slip beneath the borrowed shirt, finding the warm skin of her back.
"I want you again," I murmur against her throat. "Here, under the stars."
Her breath catches. "Someone could see."
I smile against her skin. "We're miles from shore. There's no one but us and the night sky."
She pulls back just enough to study my face, her eyes reflecting starlight. Then, with deliberate slowness, she begins unbuttoning the shirt. One button, then another, then another, until the fabric parts to reveal the gentle curves I've spent hours worshipping.
"You're magnificent," I breathe, unable to look away.
The shirt slides from her shoulders, catching at her elbows. The night air pebbles her skin, and I warm her with my hands and mouth. She gasps when I take a nipple between my lips, her fingers threading through my hair to hold me close.
I stand with her in my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist. Carefully, I lower us to the cushioned deck, laying her beneath me like an offering to the night. The stars watch us make love, our bodies moving in rhythm with the boat's rocking and the sea's eternal pulse.
Later, we lie wrapped in a blanket I've brought from below. Becca's head rests on my chest, her breathing deep and even. I trace constellations on her bare back, connecting the beauty marks scattered across her skin.
"I don't want to go back," she murmurs, her voice thick with approaching sleep.
"We don't have to," I say. "Not tonight."
"Not ever," she whispers so quietly I almost miss it.
The words send a surge of fierce joy through me. I tighten my arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"I’ll take you anywhere you want to go," I tell her. "Just say the word."