Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
TAKIRA
I glance up to see who is coming down the hall as I open the door to my cabin.
“Naz!” I practically screech, pressing both hands to my chest like I’m guarding my heart.
Maybe I am because that traitorous organ started a riot behind my rib cage as soon as Naz strode into view.
I clutch the doorknob, searching for something to anchor me.
So much for my plan to play it cool and indifferent, but I thought I wouldn’t see him until dinner.
He’s here before I’ve even made it inside my cabin, leaving me no time to prepare.
To marshal my defenses against this man.
But there is no defense for fine as fuck, not when it comes swaggering up the hall looking like a whole-ass snack.
“Takira,” Naz says, his deep voice pouring over me like hot oil, raising my goose bumps and then singeing them. “I didn’t know you were here already. I’m glad you came.”
He looks down at me from his great height, nearly a foot above.
The breadth of his shoulders blocks out everything behind him, and he’s literally the only thing I can see.
His scent—clean and woodsy and masculine and uniquely him—floods my senses, my nostrils flaring as I breathe him in.
Everything about this man screams dominance and confidence, but when his dark eyes latch on to mine, I read a line of uncertainty.
We haven’t spoken since the after-party, though his wishes, his very clear intentions, are what brought me here.
“This is a pretty elaborate scheme to see me again.” I gesture to a porthole in the narrow passageway that flaunts a view of the jewel-like sea. “You could have just asked me out.”
“Pretty sure I did and you turned me down.”
“And you always get what you want?”
“Usually, yes.” A rakish grin crooks one side of his sinfully full lips. “And based on that kiss at Lotus’s party, seems like you want me back.”
Touché, my brother.
“Well, now that you have me here,” I say, allowing a hint of challenge to enter my voice, “do you even know what you want to do with me?”
My words, the taunt erases any tinge of doubt in his stare, and he invades my space, crowding me against the half-open door.
Does he realize I lured him this close? That he’s exactly where I want him?
I’ve been around athletes, directors, actors, musicians, powerful men a lot.
Men who like to chase and catch. Big, intimidating, commanding—Naz is no different, yet he’s like no man I’ve been with before.
He’s not even like the Naz I knew before.
“I know exactly what I want to do with you.” He closes in until his scent and heat curl around me. “You should be asking yourself if you can take it.”
My mind and my eyes drift inevitably to the it in question, the lengthened steel between his legs, an obvious erection within seconds of being in my presence.
A dirty reply waits on my tongue, but when I look back up at him, my breath stalls at his expression.
Yes, a devouring hunger roils behind his eyes, and his huge hands curl into fists at his sides like he’s two seconds from snatching me up, bending me over the nearest rail, and fucking me senseless.
That’s all expected, but there’s something else.
Something tender that I’m not sure what to do with.
It has no place in a two-week fling, which is all this can be.
I stare up at him, blinking in both confusion and understanding.
I’m a romantic at heart. I wouldn’t keep trying every dating app known to man if I didn’t believe in love—didn’t believe there was someone out there for everyone.
But even I, horny, heart-y romantic that I am, never imagined a man orchestrating a situation like this just to see me again.
And the longer we stand here staring at each other, saying so much without words, the higher the stakes of this thing seem to climb.
“I want to be very clear,” I tell him, holding the heated stare that hasn’t left my face. “I’m only here for…”
I should say I’m here for the food, the good times, the free trip through the Mediterranean, and to make new famous friends.
Hell, I could even say I’m only here for the dick.
I could say all of that, but it’s not true.
At least, it’s not the whole truth. I don’t completely understand the magnetic pull that sprang up between us when we met all those years ago—don’t fully grasp how it endured.
I do know it’s stronger than anything I’ve felt with anyone else.
It’s sharp and deep and quick, like a knife tossed to the bottom of a barrel.
It’s real, and in a sea of catfish profiles, dead-end dates, and unsolicited dick pics… something real feels like a miracle.
“You were saying you’re here for…?” He takes another step forward, urging me farther back.
I don’t speak but bite my lip and glance down at the floor between us.
I’ve always got something to say, am ready with a comeback, but there are no words for the way he’s invaded my thoughts since the fashion show.
All the dreams, fantasies this man has spurred are secrets, and I can’t bring myself to say any of them out loud.
“How about if I tell you why I brought you here?” he asks, taking another step that backs me over the threshold and into my cabin.
“That’s a good idea,” I whisper, never breaking our stare. “Tell me.”
“Because,” he says, kicking the door closed. His wide, warm palm cups my face, and his long fingers brush the nape of my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“You mean since the fashion show?”
He bends until our foreheads touch, his insanely long lashes flicking up to show me the full measure of heat in his eyes. “Longer.”
He tips my chin back with his thumb and lowers his head, hovering over my lips. “I’m glad you came.”
Some invisible thread pulls me up on my toes, straining to close the tiny bit of space left between our lips. Mere millimeters from his mouth, I say, “So am I.”
He grips my nape and slams our lips together.
This is no uncertain kiss or tentative touch.
Naz plunges his tongue into my mouth, licking at me with possessive sweeps, sliding his hands over my shoulders and molding my back with his palms. His hands pause at the cinch of my waist, at the swell of my hips.
“I want to touch your ass,” he says, his voice low and hoarse against my lips.
Breathless at his words, at the thought, I laugh. “Do you always ask first?”
“It feels like I should…with you.” His hands tighten at my waist. “It’s like…I’ve known you a long time, but not really. And I’ve kissed you before, touched you before, but it feels like that was a different world. Like maybe we’re different people now.”
“The person I am now wants you to touch my ass.” I slide my hand down his stomach, over the taut muscles evident even through his shirt until I reach the dense curve of his butt. “As long as you don’t expect me to ask before I touch yours.”
His lids hang heavy over a hunter’s gaze.
If I’m his prey, he may not realize it, but he’s caught me.
Any reservation and every hesitation I had about coming and being with him, if only for two weeks, melts beneath the steam rising between us.
He takes my ass in two big handfuls and squeezes, maintaining eye contact.
The tight squeeze sends a jolt straight to my core, and I slide my hands up over mountainous shoulders, linking my hands behind his neck.
I’ve never been a shy bitch. Neevah once joked that raunchy was my middle name and bold was my first. I may not be able to keep him, but I can have him for now—can temporarily block out the one huge reason this can’t go beyond two weeks on the high seas.
“I’ve thought about you, too,” I confess, the words so low I’m not sure at first I said them aloud.
“What did you think about?”
I trail my fingers back down his chest and place my hands over his where they still rest on my ass. “I was thinking about these hands. These fingers.”
“What about them?” His eyes darken, and the incongruously long lashes lower to half-mast.
I tip up on my toes and draw his ear down so I can reach. “How they’d feel inside me.”
I lower to my feet, pull back to watch his response. One corner of his wide, full mouth quirks up, but there’s no laughter in his eyes. Only lust and need.
“You came all this way,” he murmurs, gliding his hands over the curve of my ass to the hem of the loose, short dress I traveled in. “Shame for you not to find out.”
“I agree. It would be—”
My words die a quick death on a harsh breath when the blunt tips of his fingers skim the skin inside my thighs. He charts a steady path toward my panties and, without hesitation, pushes them aside and strokes one rough finger over my clit.
“Jesus,” I gasp, closing my eyes and dropping my head to his chest.
His breath mists the skin at my temple as he rubs slowly, adding pressure before urging my legs a little wider and inserting three fingers.
My thoughts scatter. I’ve had dicks smaller than these three fingers.
He pushes in and out, in and out, using the other hand to lift my chin and force the intimacy of our eyes connecting.
“Do they feel like you thought they would?” he asks.
I try to answer, but his thumb caresses my clit while his fingers are still occupied with burning me from the inside out.
“Y-yes,” I stutter. “Better.”
Words leave us, and the only sound is the sloppy wet mess he’s making between my legs as he works me over.
I go limp against him and grip his forearm so I can keep standing.
My hips pump in rhythm with his fingers, and short, sharp breaths saw over my lips the closer I get.
I’m at the precipice, about to fall over and into the orgasm of a lifetime.
I can feel it. Sensation zings down my spine.
The muscles in my stomach contract, preparing for release.
And then he stops.
“No!” The word erupts from me before I consider decorum or patience or any other virtue. “I’m close. I’m—”
“Not coming yet.” His fingers leave me, and I want to sob. I want to punch him in the face for denying me. “You know what I’ve been thinking about, Kira?”
I glare up at him, ignoring the flutters winging in my belly from the way he shortens my name. “What?”
Extracting his fingers from between my legs, he holds my stare, bringing his hand up between us. “How you taste.”
He shoves the wet, shiny fingers into his mouth, and I’ll be damned if it isn’t as sexy as him fingering me.
It affects me that profoundly, seeing him lick his fingers clean and close his eyes like he’s savoring a rare dish.
He lifts his fingers to his nose, gathering my essence in on a ragged breath.
“I want your scent on me all night,” he says, reaching down between us, under my dress, to caress the edge of my panties. “And don’t you change these. I want you wearing them through dinner and thinking about how I didn’t let you come.”
“But you will tonight?” I ask, hating that I can’t bite the question back, but damn, I need it now. He knows I do.
“If you’re a good girl.” He chuckles, starting to pull away, but I reach between us and seize his erection, hard and long, into my hands through the expensive material of his pants. God, this man could bust me open. My thighs clench in anticipation.
“And you don’t touch this dick.” I lean into him, rasping out my own terms, never letting his eyes go. “Don’t you dare jerk off before dinner. Don’t adjust it. Don’t hide it. I want everyone to know what I do to you.”
He pulls my panties by the edge and releases them, letting them pop against my pussy.
Even that tiny contact makes me clench. Makes that aching, needing hole clamp around air, seeking him.
He could have me now before dinner. We could leave his friends on the upper deck waiting while he fucks me in the position of his choice.
The knowledge simmers between us, and the muscle in his jaw flexes as his famous discipline kicks in.
He doesn’t reply but rests one hand at my hip, taps my butt, and drops a kiss at my temple before he goes, closing the door with a controlled snick behind him.