Chapter 19
The yacht eased out of the marina, the gentle hum of the engines vibrating through the deck beneath my feet.
I watched as the coastline grew smaller, the familiar sights of land slipping away, replaced by the endless expanse of the sea.
The sky was a brilliant blue, with only a few wisps of clouds, and the sun glinted off the water like scattered diamonds.
It was beautiful, but the further we moved from shore, the more trapped I felt.
Colson kept a firm grip on my hand as we strolled around the deck, his demeanor relaxed, almost affectionate.
He pointed out various features of the yacht—the sun deck, the hot tub, the dining area—speaking with the pride of a man who owned everything within sight.
His voice was smooth, practiced, but I could sense the tension beneath it, the calculated intent behind every word.
When we reached the outdoor lounge area, he paused, gesturing to the plush couches with a smile. “Let’s sit here,” he said, guiding me to the largest of the couches.
I sank into the soft cushions, the luxurious fabric cool against my skin. Colson sat close beside me, so close that our thighs pressed together. The proximity made me uneasy, but I forced myself to remain still, to play along with whatever he had planned.
For a moment, we just sat there, the sound of the waves lapping against the hull filling the silence. But then, without warning, he turned to me, his eyes dark dangerously. Before I could react, his lips crashed against mine, his kiss demanding and relentless.
I stiffened at the suddenness of it, but Colson didn’t give me time to resist. His hands were on me, roaming over my body with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. He was rougher than usual, his fingers digging into my hips, my waist, as if trying to claim me all over again.
“Colson—” I started to protest, but he swallowed my words with another kiss, his tongue pushing past my lips with a hunger that sent a chill down my spine.
His hand slid up my thigh, slipping under the skirt of my dress, and I could feel the tension in his grip as he reached the waistband of my thong.
“Don’t fight me, Josephine,” he murmured against my lips, his voice low and thick with desire. His fingers tugged at the delicate fabric of my thong, the movement possessive, almost cruel.
I tried to keep my breathing steady, but my heart was pounding in my chest. He was up to something; I could feel it in the way he touched me, in the intensity of his kiss.
There was an edge to his movements, something that went beyond mere lust. He was testing me, pushing my limits, seeing how far he could go before I broke.
“Colson,” I managed to say, pulling back just enough to catch my breath. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer right away, his eyes locked on mine as he tugged my thong down, the fabric sliding over my skin with a slow, deliberate motion. There was a smug satisfaction in his gaze, as if he was enjoying my discomfort, my fear.
“I’m reminding you who you belong to,” he finally said, his voice dangerously soft. His hand slipped between my thighs, and I tensed, the cold realization of his power washing over me.
I wanted to pull away, to tell him to stop, but I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Colson wasn’t the kind of man who took no for an answer. Instead, I focused on keeping my expression neutral, on hiding the fear that was clawing at my insides.
“You don’t need to remind me,” I said, my voice steady despite the rapid beat of my heart. “I haven’t forgotten.”
He smirked, his hand still moving with cruel intent. “Good,” he said, his tone filled with dark satisfaction. “I wouldn’t want you to.”
His fingers traced a path along the inside of my thigh, and I bit down on my lip to keep from reacting, to keep from giving him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he was affecting me. Colson thrived on power and I refused to let him see how much he was getting to me.
He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. “You’re going to be a good fiancée for me, aren’t you, Josephine?” he whispered, his voice a velvet threat.
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. I could feel his smile against my skin, the triumphant curl of his lips as he pressed a kiss to my neck.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand withdrawing just as suddenly as it had intruded. He pulled back, his expression smug, satisfied, as if he had proven some point.
He flipped my skirt up, leaving me exposed from the waist down as he slipped off my sandals and pulled my thong off, shoving it into his pocket. My eyes darted around, looking for the crew but no one was in sight.
Colson bit into my inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make his point. I stayed still as his hot breath feathered over my bare skin and then he slipped a finger inside me as he clamped his lips over my clit, sucking hard. I chewed my bottom lip to keep from crying out.
“Let me hear you, Josephine.”
I gave him what he wanted, moaning his name. He added another finger, crooking them inside me. I couldn’t stop what was about to happen. I grabbed a handful of his hair to hold him to me. He flicked his tongue over my swollen nub and I arched my back, letting go of his hair. But then he stopped.
“Who’s in control, Josephine?” he asked.
“Colson, please,” I cried. I was so close.
“Tell me and I’ll give you what you want,” he said gruffly.
I gave in because I was a slave to my impending orgasm. I wanted it so badly. “You. You’re always in control.”
My admission was good enough from him and he worked double time to bring me to where I was when he stopped. I screamed his name as a powerful orgasm tore through me and he was right there with me, sucking and nibbling until I went limp, throwing my arm over my eyes.
I sat there, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of his touch, my mind racing to catch up with what had just happened. Colson’s hand found mine again, but this time it was different— gentler, as if the moment of dominance had passed and he was back to being the attentive fiancé.
The breeze played with the hem of my dress as we strolled along the deck, the fabric fluttering against my legs, teasing the bare skin underneath.
Without my thong, which Colson had casually pocketed after our earlier encounter, I felt both exposed and oddly liberated.
The cool air caressed my most intimate parts, a stark contrast to the heat of Colson’s touch just moments before.
We reached the outdoor dining area, a secluded nook on the deck shaded by a large, cream-colored awning.
The table was already set, adorned with fine china and gleaming silverware.
A vase of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and delicate sprigs of lavender—sat in the center, their fragrance mingling with the salty tang of the sea air.
The yacht moved smoothly through the open water, the gentle sway barely noticeable.
A sumptuous spread awaited us, each dish arranged with meticulous care.
There were delicate smoked salmon blinis topped with crème fra?che and a sprinkling of caviar, a chilled avocado soup garnished with a swirl of lime cream and microgreens, and a platter of fresh fruit—juicy strawberries, perfectly ripe peaches, and slices of sweet melon.
A basket of warm croissants and pain au chocolat sat beside a dish of whipped butter and a jar of apricot preserves.
Everything was light, elegant, perfect for a summer brunch at sea.
Colson pulled out a chair for me, his hand lingering on my lower back as I sat down. I could feel his eyes on me, watching my every move as he took the seat across from me.
“You look beautiful, Josephine,” he said, his voice smooth and composed, as if nothing had happened earlier. As if he hadn’t just taken control in a way that still made my skin tingle.
“Thank you,” I replied, reaching for a croissant. The flaky pastry melted in my mouth, its buttery richness a small comfort against the tension that lingered between us.
Colson’s gaze was intense, almost predatory, as he selected a blini, his movements slow and deliberate. “I hope you’re enjoying the yacht,” he said, his tone conversational, but I could sense the underlying currents in his words.
“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, glancing around at the luxurious surroundings. The polished wood of the deck gleamed in the sunlight. Everything about the yacht was designed for comfort and indulgence, a floating palace on the water.
“I thought you might like it,” he said, taking a bite of the blini. His eyes never left mine, even as he chewed. “I wanted to show you that our life together will be filled with pleasures like this.”
The words were meant to reassure, to entice, but there was something in his tone that made me uneasy. I took a sip of the sparkling water that had been poured for me, the bubbles tickling my throat as I swallowed.
“It’s almost freeing,” I said quietly, surprising myself with the admission. Colson raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Freeing?”
“Being out here, away from everything,” I clarified, though that wasn’t entirely what I meant. It was freeing, in a way, to be without my thong, to feel the breeze and the sense of exposure it brought. But I couldn’t tell Colson that. Not directly.
A slow smile spread across his face, and he leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with my response. “I’m glad you feel that way. I want you to be free with me, Josephine.”
The way he said it made my heart skip a beat, but not in a good way. There was a possessiveness in his words, a claim that was as inescapable as the open water surrounding us. I picked at the fruit on my plate, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on me.
As we ate, Colson kept the conversation light, asking about my thoughts on the wedding, the honeymoon, the future he envisioned for us.
I answered carefully, choosing my words with the precision of someone navigating a minefield.
Each response was measured, designed to keep him satisfied, to avoid any flicker of the darkness I knew lurked beneath his charming facade.
But despite the casual tone of our conversation, I couldn’t shake the tension coiled tightly in my chest. The feeling of being watched, of being judged, never left me.
And when Colson reached across the table to take my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a seemingly affectionate gesture, I couldn’t help but flinch.
“Relax, Josephine,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. But the command was clear.
I forced myself to smile, to act the part of the obedient fiancée he wanted me to be. “I am relaxed,” I lied, though we both knew the truth.
Colson’s smile widened, and he squeezed my hand before letting it go. “Good. I want this to be enjoyable for you. Everything I do, I do for us.”
There was a finality in his words that sent a shiver down my spine, and I suddenly felt more exposed than ever. The sun was warm, the food was delicious, but none of it mattered. Not when I was trapped on this yacht, in this life, with a man who held all the power.
I took a sip of water, trying to steady myself. The breeze lifted the hem of my dress again, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat simmering between us. It was freeing, yes—but it was also a reminder. I might be without my thong, but Colson still held every other piece of me in his grasp.
And I had no idea how to break free, to find my own way in the Ashworth family.