Ashlei #3
My eyes scan the massive spread, complete with what looks like a full raw bar of oysters and crab legs.
There is more champagne waiting where our plates are set up, and a bowl of fruit large enough to feed ten easily makes my mouth water.
I eye the juicy watermelon, the bright strawberries, the crisp grapes.
“I love how surprised you are by all of this,” he says, moving past me to the table. He pulls one chair out, holding out a hand to help me sit. “Sometimes I feel like I take it for granted.”
“I don’t think I ever could,” I say, still amazed as I take my seat, eyeing the rest of the table.
“You think that, but even when you come from humble beginnings, it’s easy to get used to this kind of life.
If you don’t take the time to appreciate it, that is.
” Brandon sits across from me, unfolding his napkin onto his lap.
“I’m glad you came out here with me. Makes me slow down and really take it all in, the way I used to. ”
“What was it like the first time you set foot on this monster?” I ask.
I go to lay my own napkin out, but it feels strange setting it across my bare thighs. Marietta seems to pick up on my discomfort, and she exits her post at the far corner of the dining area, returning quickly with a plush, beige robe.
“Oh, thank you,” I tell her as she helps me put the robe on. Brandon watches every move of my body with a tense jaw, not speaking until I’m seated again.
“The first time I set foot on this, I was twenty-seven,” he says. “Single, on top of the world — at least, it felt like it.”
“Did you have a big yacht party with all your friends?”
He smirks, plucking a grape from the bowl between us. “Not really my style.”
“You’re telling me you came out on this thing all by yourself?”
He nods. “I did. We took it to… Bimini, I want to say?”
“The Bahamas,” Marietta corrects from her corner. “Bimini was our second trip.”
“Ah, that’s right.”
I shake my head, using the tongs to fish out a collection of fruit onto my own plate. I pop a strawberry between my lips, trying to imagine his life.
“Do you ever have anyone else out here?”
Brandon shifts. “I have. Clients, mostly. But, there have been friends, too.”
“Female friends?” I pry.
He doesn’t answer, just sips his champagne as if he knows better than I do that I don’t want to hear his response to that.
My cheeks flame, and I follow his guide, sipping from my own glass. “Well, thank you for inviting me out today. This is… incredible.”
And it is. I truly am thankful to be spending the day with him, especially after the week I’ve had.
But as we talk through lunch and make our way back out to the top deck, I can’t help but wonder what changed.
Why the sudden friendliness, the sudden olive branch?
And does it only exist here, or will he be friendly in the office, too?
More than that, can I handle being only friends with Brandon?
This, the laughter and stories on a beautiful yacht, it almost hurts worse than him shrugging me off in the office. At least there, I can put him in a box. The Mr. Church box. My boss, my CEO — not my friend, and certainly nothing more.
But now?
My mind is spinning with the confusion of it a few hours after lunch when Brandon asks if I’d like a tour.
“We’re heading back toward shore, but it will take a while. We’ll probably get to see the sun set over Miami before we dock,” he explains as I wrap my robe around me again, following him inside the yacht. “I guess I should have started with this tour, huh?”
“It’s okay, I’ve enjoyed just lounging on the deck.”
“Me, too.”
He slides his sunglasses up onto his head with those words, his dark eyes finding mine as we cross the threshold inside. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to hold his gaze but finding it impossible to do so without leaning up to kiss him.
God, I want to kiss him.
I can feel his lips on mine like they were just there, only seconds ago.
I remember the firm, yet soft press of them against mine.
I remember the way he smells after sex, the way a thin sheen of sweat always gathers on his chest and abdomen after we finish.
I remember the way he feels inside me, when he stretches me open.
Clenching my thighs, I tear my eyes away from his, blinking away the very not-safe-for-work thoughts.
“So, where do we start?”
Brandon takes his time, weaving us in and out of the yacht.
He takes me through the entertainment areas — both dining and gaming — and out to each of the two decks I hadn’t visited yet.
One of them hosts the pool, while the other is a mostly-shaded bar and lounging area similar to the top deck, but with more seating.
Inside, we tour the back kitchen, the captain’s post, and the crew quarters. Then, Brandon takes me through the meeting space he had designed for clients, the various bedrooms and bathrooms, and then, at the end of the tour, we’re back in the first room I entered when we boarded.
The master bedroom.
Brandon pauses at the door as I wander the room, really taking it in this time around.
I note the gold and burgundy accents, the way the setting sun casts a soft, orange glow over the entire room.
The master bath is visible from the bed, the two rooms joined, no walls between them.
I eye the large tub, wondering what it’d be like to soak in it, wondering if he’s ever had another woman in it before me.
I spot a picture frame on a small dresser to the left of the bed, and I carefully pick it up, my fingers brushing over the photo inside it.
“Is this Darnell?” I ask, eyes flicking back and forth between a younger Brandon and a tall, strikingly handsome man with his arm around Brandon’s shoulders. I remember Darnell from his speech at the award banquet in Atlanta, the man who took Brandon under his wing as a young kid.
They look like brothers, their smiles wide, both of them dressed in basketball shorts and loose-fitting t-shirts. Brandon holds a basketball under one arm, the street court laid out in the background behind them.
“Yes.”
His voice is soft, and suddenly the vibe in the room changes. The air is sucked out with that word, leaving us in a hot, sticky vacuum where breaths are limited.
Gently placing the frame back on the dresser, I turn, pulling my robe tighter around me. There’s an entire room between us, yet I feel the warmth of Brandon’s breath like he’s only inches away.
“Why did you bring me out here today?” I finally ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“Because you were sad. Because you needed to get away.”
“Since when is my emotional state any of your concern?” I bite back, though my voice is still subdued. I shrug before adding, “It certainly hasn’t been since I came back to Okay, Cool.”
Brandon stands taller, his eyes never leaving mine, hands still casually tucked in his pockets. “I want you to be happy, Ashlei.”
I shiver at the sound of my name on his tongue, but close my eyes against the feel of it.
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” he implores, taking one step. It’s such a small movement, I almost question he took it at all. “I’ve always wanted that, from the moment I met you.”
“No.” I shake my head, opening my eyes again to find his boring into me from across the room. “If that were true, you wouldn’t ignore me. You wouldn’t treat me the way you do.” I swallow. “You reprimanded me like… like…”
“Like one of my employees who didn’t do her job correctly?”
I clench my jaw to keep it from popping open.
“I—”
“Don’t you understand?” he asks, cutting me off as he walks purposefully toward me.
“I have to do that, treat you like you’re just another employee.
It’s the only thing I can control. That office,” he says, pointing one hand back toward shore, “is the only goddamn place where I have any semblance of power over you.” He takes a larger step, and then another, until he’s only a few feet away.
“In every other place,” he says, chest heaving.
“In every other time — you consume me. You own me.”
I swallow, back hitting the curved glass of the window. My hands press into it for stability, but the next step Brandon takes puts us chest to chest. Breathing is impossible, and my knees are so weak they tremble under the weight of my body, ready to collapse.
“When I’m in my car, you’re in my head. When I’m at the gym, trying to sweat you out of my system, your eyes are all I see.
When I’m in my bed, I imagine your hair splayed over my pillows the way it fell over the pillows in Atlanta.
And when I give in? When I finally fuck myself, and let out all the tension you cause, it’s you I think of when I come.
Your mouth,” he says, reaching out to touch my lips with his fingers.
I gasp, opening them just enough to taste his skin.
“Your body, your tight, always-wet, always-ready pussy. It’s you I think of, Ashlei.
Always. Ever since I met you, and ever since I touched you, it’s only been worse. ”
He pulls his fingers away, running his hands down my shoulders until they hook behind my elbows. Pressing off the glass, I lean into him, pushing onto my toes so my whisper reaches his ear.
“Touch me again.”
He groans, letting his forehead drop to mine, our breaths heavy and heated between us. “This is dangerous. You know that. We talked about it — what people would say about you, if anyone found out.”
“Who said anyone has to know?” I ask, sliding my hands over his chest. I hook my fingertips in the band of his shorts, tugging him forward, our lips nearly touching as he groans again. “That toast earlier, it was to secret getaways, right?”
Brandon blows out a breath. “It can only be here. It can only be when we’re not at the office. We can’t have a relationship, Ashlei.”
He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes when he delivers his next blow.
“You won’t be mine,” he says. “And I can never be yours.”