28. Lourdes
Lourdes
Ares waits for me in the Land Rover, his hair soft and free of any styling gel to keep it in place. Gold-rimmed shades sit low on his nose, like he uses them to reveal his eyes only when he wants to make a point.
Or a death threat to someone, I assume.
The drive to the boat dock is down a road with olive trees. The apricot scent they leave behind is sweet. But it doesn’t loosen the tightness in my chest.
The sea below glimmers like diamonds under the mid-morning sun.
Ares turns into his private marina. Men dressed in uniforms of white linen pants and short-sleeved shirts are already prepping the boat. One of them is there at the Land Rover to open his door, another to open mine. I catch gold embroidery on the shirt pocket: Zervas.
They walk on eggshells around him, their respectful nods balanced with stiff and nervous movements. I’m sure seeing me, they’re hoping he’ll settle down, get laid regularly, and stop being a bastard.
Considering this is their lives, set in the backdrop of beauty, I don’t pity them. I’m the one who’ll be returning to a dark and cold reality in New York. Until I get out cleanly to be with Sandrine.
I shake all that away, and I take in the boat. It’s sleek, white, and immaculate. Like everything in Ares’s world. It stretches long and low in the water with polished chrome details and cushioned seating at the stern. The lines along the fiberglass skin make it look fast even standing still.
Curious, I step around to see the boat’s name. You can tell a lot about a man by what he chooses.
Ananke
Greek, of course.
“It means destiny. Inevitability,” Ares says in my ear.
Inevitability…
I think about that before I respond. Looking up at him, I ask, “Did you feel it was inevitable that you would lead your family to a stable peace after your brother’s death?”
With a faint blush, he says, “Yes. But that meant my brother had to die.”
I nod and then glance at the yacht docked further down the marina. I smile seeing that name.
Helena.
Pointing, I say, “You said you’re not close with your aunt.”
Ares glances and says, “I’m not. Alexander bought that for her. She visits here with my cousins more than I do. They use her boat to take extended trips around the island, to Crete or Capri.”
“Sounds exciting,” I respond, unsure of what else to say to something that I’ve never nor will I ever experience.
Once again, I feel so out of my element here. It’s one thing to have a fantasy with a dash of hope that it might turn into a reality. But I’m not made for this world.
Ares helps me aboard the Ananke, his hand steady at my waist. Once we’re both on board, he gives commands in Greek to the dockhands, and the thick white anchor lines are uncoiled from the cleats.
Before settling into the helm, Ares shows me around. “There’s a cabin below,” he says, gesturing to narrow stairs leading downward. “Galley, sleeping, storage.”
Storage… I picture dead bodies being brought out to the middle of the Mediterranean and dumped in the dead of the night.
From where we stand, I can see walls in warm wood paneling and cream leather benches. The galley has a marble countertop with a bar sink, a wine fridge, and a microwave.
“Looks like my first apartment,” I say to lighten the mood and keep it real.
I don’t want a man giving me a world I can’t manage, a bank account with so many zeroes that it’s pressure to think about how to spend it.
We make our way to the helm, and once seated in a white leather ribbed captain’s chair, Ares starts the engine.
The powerful motor roars to life, and with his firm hand on the throttle, the boat begins to move.
A rumbling sounds out from behind me. I turn to see three massive, glossy black outboard engines.
To an onlooker, such visible horsepower declares Ares’s dominance.
I settle into the seat beside him, the wind already lifting my hair as we coast out of the marina. Despite the boat’s capabilities, Ares glides from the dock and into the open water at a relaxed speed.
“Come here,” he says after a moment.
I look over. “Where?”
“In front of me.” He widens his legs and pats the seat between them. “I’ll show you how to drive the boat.”
My stomach flips, but I stand and situate myself between his arms and legs. His thighs close around mine, his chest pressed firmly against my back.
He positions my hands on the wheel. “Like this.”
“I have a driver’s license,” I remark over my shoulder. “I know how to steer.”
“A boat doesn’t steer like a car,” he says, his nose in my hair. “And when was the last time you drove? You don’t even have a car, little storm.”
I slip my eyes closed, knowing he can’t see me. My license is still Illinois-issued. “I don’t need one.”
“That might change.” His hands settle over mine, guiding me.
The salt in the air and his cologne is such a pleasant mix, I can cry.
“Feel the water,” Ares murmurs into my ear. “You got it.” His lips brush the back of my neck. “You smell like my soap. I like that.”
“Your jet’s shower had impressively good water pressure. For a plane. The one in your bedroom felt a lot better,” I reply.
“I hope you’ll let me wash you with it next time. Clean you everywhere. Touch you everywhere.”
Heat pools low in my belly, and a rush of warmth between my legs has me shaking. “Do you want us to crash?”
He reaches under my sundress, his hand resting on my outer thigh. “Crash into what? There’s nothing around.”
“There’s you.”
“Ah… Yes. Crash into me. Please.”
“I think I already have.”
His second hand joins the first, both wandering to my hips, as Ares kisses my neck. I try to concentrate on steering the boat. The sun, the wind, the salt, and this man’s lips don’t remove the danger and the awareness that we’re not alone, even if I can’t see his guards.
“You’re doing so well,” he says softly.
Just as his hands are about to slide into my bikini bottoms where he’ll find me wet, something beeps on the console, and he lifts his head. “We’re close to the shelf. Let me steer for a while.”
“I’ll move.”
“Don’t you dare.” He keeps me in front of him and presses his stiff erection against my ass.
“Yes, boss,” I say, since he is technically my boss.
And I notice all the guards call him that, too. And not just because he employs them.
He is the mafia boss.
Ares directs us to a quiet, calm stretch of water. Cliffs look hazy in the distance, and the clear blue around us is postcard-worthy.
I want to take pictures of everything. Once I’m back in New York facing everything surrounding David, the pictures and the memory of this place will be the only joy in my life.
I want to remember how this feels. Store it somewhere safe.
Whatever this is, it isn’t meant to last. I can live another life in the realm of my memories with Ares when I’m far, far away in Chicago.
Ares leans forward to monitor something on the digital screen above the throttle. His focus on the water is so damn sexy. The Greeks are legendary shipping moguls and seem to have an inherent knowledge of boats and water.
“This is the area I need to check,” he says and cuts the engine.
The sudden silence, with just soft waves lapping against the boat, feels intimate. The anchor dropping with its metallic clinking breaks that quiet.
I look overboard. “Check where?”
“Below,” he responds, toeing off his boat shoes.
“Below, as in the water?” I lean over the side. “How deep is it?”
“Not that deep. I’ve dived in darker waters.” He deftly unbuttons and removes his shirt.
With it gone, shirtless Ares is the image I might whip out my phone for to keep forever.
He smirks cockily at my dropped jaw. “Keep looking. I like it.”
“If you say so,” I say and rest my face in my hand to ogle him.
“I can say more.” He slides off his pants, and that man’s swimsuit should come with a warning label.
It’s not a speedo. It’s a skintight swim short that professional divers wear. His cock is a teasing visible bulge below the waistband.
He moves closer and hovers his lips over my mouth. “Like what you see?”
“Very much.” I have no need to lie, to fight the attraction between us any longer. I’m going to let him take me sooner or later.
As his lips flutter over mine, I’m desperate for it to be sooner.
“I’ll show you more. Later, if you let me.” He walks to the stern of the boat and pushes open a door to descend to the swimming platform.
A response is coming together on my tongue, but seeing him lean over the railing to dive, I say, “You’re checking the shelf without any gear?”
Removing his watch, he says, “Correct. I can hold my breath long enough. Keep this for me.”
He tosses his Rolex, and I catch it, trying not to act gob-smacked at its worth.
“Be careful down there,” I call out.
“Without breathing gear, I can’t stay down there long enough for anything to happen to me. Regardless, I wouldn’t keep you waiting here alone that long even if I had a full tank of oxygen.” After giving me a devilish smile, Ares dives smoothly into the glass surface of the water.
I exhale and sit on the back bench. I look down at the watch and notice he’s set the timer. It reads forty seconds. How long can he hold his breath? My heart starts pounding. He confirmed by radar that this was the spot he needed to check.
Too stressed to keep watching the spot where Ares dove, I glance further out and notice the boats off in the distance. And more on the other side. Standing up, I see we’re surrounded by them. Spotting a pair of binoculars hanging on a hook, I grab them to get a closer look.
I gasp, seeing a man in one of the boats holding a rifle. But he’s facing the other way. Then there’s another one. They’re forming a perimeter.
Guards.
This beauty comes with bars you can’t see.
If Ares needed this many men to keep me safe, does he think David or his boss can reach me here? Or is someone else hunting me?
What if this was a setup? What if those aren’t his men and they are just securing a perimeter for his enemy to motorboat up to the Ananke and take it?
Take…me.
What if…
My thoughts are cut off by a huge splash as Ares hops back up onto the swimming platform. I want to ask him about the guards, but I’m distracted. All wet with seawater sluicing down his tawny skin, he’s a freaking calendar model.
“How long?” he asks, climbing back to the stern seating area.
“What?”
“The timer?”
I look down. “Oh… Three minutes!”
He pounds his chest. “Felt like five.”
“And?” I hand him the watch. “What did you see?”
“An anchor dragged across a volcanic shelf. It tore through a seagrass bed and disrupted the underwater filtration. That’s a breeding ground for half the fish in these waters. If it keeps happening, the population drops. When the fish go, everything shifts.” He hands me a piece of cracked stone.
Already dry, it flakes in my palm.
Ares cups my hand underneath. “That pale sediment dust suggests how fragile the ecosystem is.”
“And you care about fragile things.”
“I protect fragile things.” He lifts my chin. “But you’re not fragile, are you?”
“I don’t feel fragile with you. Yet you’re ten times more dangerous than my husband. How is that possible?”
“I’m man enough to empower you.” He moves in close. “Pigs like your husband overpower.”
I can’t help but feel that calling David a pig is some kind of poor reflection on me. I want to tell Ares about the pregnancy and that David wasn’t this awful when we married in Chicago. But then I have to give away secrets I need to keep for my sister’s sake.
So, I let it go.
He looks about ready to say more, but then he narrows his eyes on my shoulders. “You’re starting to burn.”
That’s an understatement.
“I didn’t bring any sunscreen.”
Ares confidently reaches into a cubby and takes out a pale blue bottle of SPF 50. Like he already decided this would happen.
Inevitability…
His warm hands smooth lotion along my shoulders around the straps of the halter sundress, slow and deliberate.
Not rushed. Not unsure.
He rubs the lotion into my skin, the pleasant scent of coconut and lime permeating the air between us.
“You’re tense,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along the back of my neck.
“You have that effect on me.” I slip my eyes closed.
“Tense isn’t what I’m going for, but at least I know my endeavors are affecting you.”
“I’m getting there,” I whisper.
“Face me,” he says in a different tone.
He’s going to put lotion on my chest. Good God.
“Take that dress off.” His steely voice sends quivers through me.
There I am, taking off the dress.
With more lotion on his hands, he rubs them across my chest, along the hem of my bikini top, between my breasts. His hands are so big I don’t know if he intended it, but a finger has slid under the fabric and rubs a hard nipple.
A moan nearly breaks from my chest.
“Don’t hold back your pleasure from me, Lourdes. Say my name when you moan for me,” he whispers, continuing to flick my hardened nipple. “Say it.”
My clit throbs, and I’m ready to let him fuck me. God, this is dangerous. I shouldn’t want this. “Ares...”
He pulls his hand away, water still dripping from his body, muscles defined and gleaming in the sun. He looks carved from marble. His eyes hold mine as the wind whips around us. I think something sweet will come out of his mouth, but he grips my throat, the squeeze more tense than I expect.
“Swallow for me, little storm. Work your muscles. Show me how tight your throat will be when your lips are wrapped around my cock, drinking down my hot cum.”
Again, I do as I’m told and swallow. His hand around my throat is an odd comfort given what I’ve been through. But I trust Ares.
“Your pupils are blown wide,” he whispers against my lips. “If I slide my finger into your cunt, you’d be drenched. Am I right?”
Smiling, I pry his fingers from my neck and step back.
I skim the edge of my bikini bottoms. “Come taste me and find out.”