11. A Force To Be Reckoned With （Ryan） #3
“I should be thanking you for it!” Melissa laughed. “Holy sheesh. The shish taouk. What was that? I haven’t had barbeque like that before in my life.”
“I think that’s Arabic.”
“Thank you, Ryan,” she said. “I needed this. Ever since I’ve been out on the yacht, my mind hasn’t receded into the abyss. I haven’t thought about…the things…you know that I am grateful for it.”
Now that Pierre and the waitstaff had made themselves scarce, leaving us with a cup of coffee each, I reached across the table and held her hands. I had been wanting to do that for the past hour.
“I am glad that I could help,” I muttered. “But the night is far from over.”
“There’s more?” Melissa yelped.
“Well, one more thing…”
“What is it?” Melissa asked.
“It depends on how much you liked the Titanic. Or the second Avatar movie,” I said, building up to it.
“No way,” she gasped.
“Way, way,” I grinned.
“Where? I practically ran the entire length of the yacht. Where?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” I said, taking the last sip from my coffee. As eager as I was to show her, I decided to wait for her to finish her coffee. This gave me time to reflect on how the night had been so far.
We had sailed out of the harbor and were out in the open sea, the city of New York looking like a distant mirage of lights on the horizon.
We had sailed far enough that the stars, in all their splendor, were visible in the sky.
The way the crescent moon hung low in the sky made it seem that at any moment, a wave would rise and swallow it into the depths of the sea.
Thankfully, the sea had been still tonight, the water barely rippling, the air cool and nascent, and the night charged with possibilities.
“Before we do what I think we’re about to do, I’m going to ask something,” Melissa said, putting down her cup. “Is this where you bring all the ladies?”
“What ladies?” I asked.
“Right. What ladies. Am I to assume that you haven’t been on dates? Come on, Ryan,” she said.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve never brought anyone on this yacht before,” I said.
“Really?”
“I promise.”
“Wait, you don’t have like some secret wife that you have in Jersey or something like that? Oh, God, am I the mistress?”
I didn’t laugh. This was not the time to take her lightly. I leaned forward, my eyes never wavering from hers. I spoke with sincerity and an unflinching intensity.
“I was never married. Never really had a girlfriend either. As bizarre as it may seem, that’s the truth. You know what they say, it’s lonely at the top. I am the living embodiment of that statement.”
“And what about family?”
“That,” I said, my lips pressed, “is a topic for another day. It’s not something that I like to discuss.”
“Oh, come on, you were practically my dad’s best friend as far as I can tell, and I don’t know the first thing about your family.
Isn’t this what people do on first dates?
Get to know about each other?” As much as I admired her adamance, it was unnerving me right now, making my mind go to places that I had locked up and thrown away the key of.
I was not ready. Not now. Maybe not ever.
“Melissa, I would appreciate it if we didn’t talk about it tonight,” I said.
“Well, in that case, that only leaves one more order of business for the night, I guess,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“Uh, the submarine thing you’ve been building up to all night!” she said. I was deeply grateful that she had let go of the topic upon request. Maybe someday I will share it. Then she would never see me the same again.
“Right, the submarine thing. All right then, follow along,” I said, really feeling the buzz from the whiskey and the wine as I got up and headed downstairs.
Maybe somewhere along the way, we both realized that we weren’t really talking about the submarine. One of us slowly nudged a door open and guided the other inside. I could not remember. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her.
All I could remember was how warm it was…how comforting it felt to be with her, miles away from land, cradled in this cocoonlike room in my yacht. Our clothes gone and now our hands exploring each other’s bodies in the intimate blue light of the moon and the sea breeze coming through the windows.
A part I remembered well: her slippery, wet hand on my cock, stroking it awake, tugging it till it was hard, long, and throbbing.
Her mouth, first kissing my chest, then slowly going down, licking along the grooves of my abs, then gently nuzzling my inner thighs, and finally settling around my penis.
I had both hands on the back of her head, my fingers entwined in her hair, gently pulling her close. I could feel her tongue slide along the underside of my shaft, then pushing her back and feeling her lips clasp around my tip. I could have come there and then, but that would have been selfish.
I could also remember laying her down on the bed and parting her legs, feeling rather unhindered and overeager as I saw her pink, wet pussy. I licked it first, then kissed its clefts before wedging my tongue and seeing how far I could go.
Now it was her hands in my hair, her fingers pulling my head closer, making me press down my lips on her clit, my tongue going deeper, and my warm breath making her already warm vulva even warmer.
The yacht’s gentle bobbing rhythm added to the fun rather than took away from it.
She laid me down on the bed and straddled me, my hands on her tits, my hands everywhere — exploring the small of her back, squeezing her butt, grabbing her shoulders to bring her down so I could kiss her…
then holding her close to my body as I thrust from below and came inside her.
The last thing that I could remember was lying naked in each other’s arms, kissing, muttering sweet nothings, letting our drunken selves get the better of us, and then drifting off to sleep.
The next morning when I woke up, I felt a little disconcerted when I looked around and saw her next to me.
The confusion gave away as my hangover cleared, and the sight of the sea greeted me from the round porthole window.
I could remember it all. The laughing, the dancing, the drinking, the talking. I was never going to forget any of it.