Chapter 14
Charli
There’s something raw in Sawyer’s eyes, a hunger I’ve not seen before, and it makes my stomach flip in a way that’s both thrilling and unsettling. The yacht’s gentle sway beneath us feels like a mockery of the storm brewing inside me.
The room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn, casting long moonlit shadows across the plush carpet. Before I can protest further, he pulls me inside; the door clicking shut behind us.
The sudden darkness disorients me for a moment, but then my eyes adjust. He stands close, his presence dominating the small space.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts.
I can feel the heat radiating off him, a tangible force that pulls me in despite my better judgement.
The air smells of salt and something distinctly him–musk and a hint of cologne.
“What’s going on between us?” I ask, my voice softer now, the nervousness fading as I take in the raw emotion on his face.
He doesn’t answer, just reaches out, his fingers brushing my cheek, his touch both gentle and demanding.
My skin tingles where he touches me, a spark igniting deep within me.
I’m torn between wanting to pull away and taking it slow and wanting to press closer.
“Sawyer,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He leans in, his lips brushing against mine, a fleeting touch that leaves me breathless.
I close my eyes, my body responding instinctively, tilting my head to deepen the kiss.
But he pulls back, just enough to keep me wanting more.
His breath is hot against my lips, and I can taste the hint of the wine from dinner on his tongue.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost desperate.
His hands move to my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine.
I can feel the hardness of his chest, the strength in his arms, and it sends a shiver down my spine.
His scent envelops me, and I’m drowning in it, in him.
“I—” I start to say, but he cuts me off, his lips crashing down on mine in a kiss that’s anything but gentle.
It’s fierce, hungry, his tongue demanding entry as his hands roam over my body.
I melt into him, my hands tangling in his hair, my nails scraping his scalp as I pull him closer.
His stubble scratches my chin, and I don’t care—I want more.
The kiss deepens, our breaths mingling, our bodies moving in sync.
His hands slide down to my hips, lifting me effortlessly, pressing me against the wall.
I wrap my legs around his waist, my heart pounding in my chest as he grinds against me, his erection pressing insistently against my core.
The friction sends a jolt of heat through me, and I moan into his mouth, my hips instinctively rocking against him.
“Sawyer,” I gasp, my voice breaking as pleasure coils low in my belly.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire, his lips swollen from our kiss.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps, his breath hot against my skin.
His hands move to the hem of my dress, pulling it up slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of my thigh.
I shiver, my skin hypersensitive to his touch, every nerve ending screaming for more.
“What are you doing?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
He doesn’t respond, just continues his slow exploration, his fingers inching higher, brushing the edge of my panties.
My breath hitches, my body arching into his touch, craving more.
I’m wet, so wet, and the thought of him knowing it makes me even hotter.
“Sawyer,” I moan, my voice pleading. With a devilish grin and a dangerous glint in his eyes, his mouth is on my neck, his lips and teeth grazing my skin as his hands slide beneath my panties.
I gasp, my head falling back against the wall as his fingers find their target, slipping between my folds, already slick with desire.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. His fingers circle my clit, teasing, tormenting, before sliding inside me, filling me with a heat that makes me whimper. “Sawyer, please,” I beg, my body trembling on the edge of release. I’m desperate for it, for him, for everything.
He chuckles, a dark, possessive sound, and then his mouth is on mine again, his kisses fierce and demanding.
His fingers move faster, his touch relentless, pushing me closer to the edge.
I can feel the tension building, my muscles tightening, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
The room spins, and all I can think about is how much I need to come, need him to make me come.
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice a husky whisper against my lips.
His fingers press deeper, his thumb rubbing my clit in firm, insistent circles.
I cry out, my body arching as the orgasm crashes over me, waves of pleasure washing through me, leaving me trembling and boneless in his arms. My channel clenches around his fingers, and I’m screaming his name, my voice hoarse and raw.
He holds me up, his grip steady, his breath hot against my ear as I ride out the climax. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine, Charli. All mine.”
His words send a jolt through me, a mix of desire and something else—something darker, more primal.
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze, and see the raw hunger still burning in them.
My heart races, my mind spinning as I try to process the intensity of the moment.
He’s not just fucking me—he’s claiming me, and the thought makes my core ache all over again.
He lowers me to the floor, his hands never leaving my body, his touch possessive, almost desperate. I step back slightly, needing space to breathe, to think, but he follows, his presence overwhelming. The room feels smaller now, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
“Sawyer,” I start, my voice unsteady. He cuts me off, his lips pressing against mine in a kiss that’s both tender and demanding. I close my eyes, surrendering to the moment, letting the emotions wash over me. But as the kiss deepens, as his hands move to the buttons of my dress, I hesitate.
I push against his chest, gently at first, then firmer when he doesn’t immediately respond.
He pulls back, his brow furrowed, his eyes searching mine.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice laced with confusion.
His breath is heavy, and I can see the desire still raging in him, but there’s a hint of vulnerability too.
I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “I—I don’t know,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot. It’s just…” I trail off, my gaze dropping to the floor. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, and I’m not sure I’m ready for what it implies.
He steps back, his hands falling to his sides, his expression unreadable. The air between us shifts, the tension easing slightly, but the question hangs there, unanswered. I feel exposed, like he’s seen too much, felt too much.
I look away, my gaze falling to the floor as I try to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. The moment is heavy, charged, and I’m not sure where to go from here. My heart is pounding, and my skin still feels electric from his touch.
Sawyer clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I—I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” he says, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “I just had to have you and I couldn’t seem to hold myself back.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze, and see the sincerity in his eyes. My heart softens, the tension easing further as I take in the raw honesty of his words. There’s a desperation in him, a need that mirrors my own, and it scares me.
“I want you too,” I admit, my voice quiet but steady. “But this is new, for both of us. We need to… we need to take it slow.”
He nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “You’re right,” he agrees, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to brush my cheek. His touch is gentle now, almost reverent. “We’ll take it slow. But know this, Charli—I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.”
His words send a shiver through me, a mix of desire and something deeper, something that makes my heart flutter.
I lean into his touch, my eyes closing as I savor the moment, the connection between us.
But beneath the warmth, there’s a current of fear—fear of losing myself in him, fear of what this could become.
The air in the stateroom feels lighter now, the tension replaced by a quiet understanding. But as I stand there, in Sawyer’s arms, I can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning—of something intense, something that will change everything between us.
The yacht continues to glide through the water, the world outside oblivious to the storm that’s brewing within these walls. And as Sawyer’s lips brush mine once more, gentle and promising, I know that whatever comes next, it’s going to be a wild ride.
We get back to the hotel just after midnight.
The island’s quiet, that perfect blend of still and warm, like even the stars are trying to eavesdrop.
I expect Sawyer to say goodnight outside my door, maybe with one of those slow, lingering kisses that makes my brain forget how to function.
But instead he shifts on his feet, scrubbing the back of his neck like a guilty teenager.
I arch a brow. “What?”
He clears his throat, glancing at the floor. “I’m just waiting for you to open the door so we can go to bed.”
I blink. “Like, and sleep?”
He nods. “Yeah. I mean—eventually, unless you don’t want to,” he adds quickly, then groans. “God, I’m bad at this. I’m not trying to push.” He strokes a thumb across my cheek, “But I have no plans to wake up tomorrow morning alone and tomorrow… I’m not pretending like tonight didn’t happen.”
Something soft unfolds in my chest. Vulnerable Sawyer? Yeah, that’s new. And dangerous.
I shift just enough to let him in, arching a brow. "Well, don’t just stand there. Get in before I remember how complicated this is getting."
His grin is boyish, unguarded. “Yes, ma’am.”
He follows me inside, setting his phone and wallet on the dresser while I kick off my sandals and stretch. “I need a shower,” I murmur, rubbing the back of my neck. “I smell like ocean and humidity.”
“Go ahead,” he says, already pulling out his phone. “I’ve got a few emails to knock out before I shut my brain off.”
I nod and duck into the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The hot water is a godsend, washing away the salt, sweat, and adrenaline from the day. But it doesn’t wash away the thoughts.
What are we even doing?
I lean my forehead against the cool tile and let the spray drum over my shoulders.
Sawyer Gallo is in my hotel room. Wants to sleep next to me. Wants me, period.
Is this just a vacation thing? A fling wrapped in sunshine and private jets? Or is this real—whatever this even is?
Because this man makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room when he looks at me. He makes me laugh. He listens. He actually listens. And the way he touched me earlier, the way he said “you’re mine”... that wasn’t just lust. That was something deeper. Scarier.
But what if I’m reading too much into it?
He acts like he’s been burned before. So have I. What if this crashes and burns and I’m left standing in the ash again?
But what if it doesn’t?
I wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes. What do I want?
I want to feel safe. Wanted. Chosen. And when I’m with him, I get this stupid, fluttery hope that maybe that’s possible.
When I finally shut the water off, I’m wrung out—physically, emotionally, all of it.
I towel off, slip into one of the soft hotel robes, and step out of the bathroom to find Sawyer still at the little desk, tapping away at his phone.
His brows are knit in concentration, but the second he sees me, his expression softens.
“All yours,” I mumble, toweling off my hair.
“Thanks,” he says, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to distract me for a half-second too long. “I’ll be quick.”
He brushes a kiss to my cheek as he passes, his hand briefly resting on my waist before he disappears into the bathroom.
I crawl onto the bed and flop face-first into the pillows. The sheets are cool and crisp, the mattress cloud-soft, and I didn’t realize just how tired I am until now. My muscles ache in that good, used way—from swimming, laughing, living.
But my brain? Still spinning.
This could go wrong in a hundred ways. He could wake up tomorrow, realize this is messy, and regret every second and then kick me to the curb, literally and figuratively. I could fall for him only to discover he’s not ready. Or worse—he is ready, and I’m not.
But it could also go right. It could be something worth the risk.
My eyes drift closed, his voice echoing in my memory. "I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever." And somehow, that terrifies me more than anything.
I fall asleep before he even gets out of the shower, still tangled in all the ways this could break me—or save me.