Chapter 15 #2
Bri’s eyes widen like twin moons as her jaw slackens at my announcement.
I’m certain we covered my love for sailing when I found out she was a long-distance swimmer.
Perhaps I am mistaken? We’re at the marina, readying to take out a Swan 45 high-performance cruiser for a day of viewing the island from a different point of view.
When I said sailing, Bri thought we would be part of a mass of tourists on some rusted, seaworthy ferry.
I shot that idea down. The Swan is like my own Swan 60, a high-performance ocean racer gifted to me on my eighteenth birthday by my grandparents.
More from Marin specifically, the yacht had been one she used to take me out on when I was six or seven.
I was the only Mercer to share her love of ocean waves and wind propulsion.
Magnus didn’t possess sea legs in any shape or form.
Michael favored more gentlemanly pursuits like rowing, polo, and poker.
Me, give me a face full of salt spray and an unfurling spinnaker any day of the week.
“So, if you’re the captain, where is the crew?”
She glances at the polo-shirted deckhands coiling ropes on neighboring vessels. I tug her forward, along the gangway, and step onto the bowsprit before beckoning her with an outstretched hand.
“Bri, come on, I’ve got you.”
Still eyeing me, she leaps forward onto the yacht deck, her momentum sending her into my waiting body. “Easy there, Gilligan.”
Her nervous giggle gives way to a full-face grin. One of youthful enthusiasm before any jaded adult negativity and caution hamper decision-making and execution.
“The crew, dear Sabrina… is you.”
She climbs aboard and awkwardly holds on to any rigging she can reach.
“Relax, we’re moored. Just wait until I get us out on the open ocean.”
The column of her throat works on a nervous swallow.
I’m obsessed with how beautiful she looks swallowing my cum with a tear-stained face.
Now, I can’t decide which look I prefer more.
I ease the vessel free from the marina, adhering to the channel marker buoys, and hoist both mainsail and genoa.
Bri squeals in delight as the wind whips the hair not in a ponytail around her face and neck.
Back in the captain’s chair, I ease us out further toward a bay I’d heard about during the reception.
Daniel Craig swore it had the bluest water he’d ever seen, and how many Bond shooting locations had he visited?
Around a headland and bypassing one inlet before reaching a cove, both sails are trimmed, and the anchor is dropped.
“Spectacular.”
Sand as white as the bride’s dress stretches on for miles, curving around the coast to meet each lapping azure wave.
“It is,” I agree. She’s been taking dozens of photos with her phone.
It’s about time she pointed it at the scenery and not at me.
“Take your clothes off and wait for me at the end of the bed in the main cabin. If it doesn’t have a main bed, find the largest one.
“Mason?”
“You heard me.” Bri disappears down the stairs after I swat her ass to get her moving.
I double-check that we are securely anchored and no pleasure craft is within sight or on the radar.
Perfect. Then I grab a coil of rope and follow downstairs to find a very naked, very nervous Bri sitting cross-legged, her sun-kissed skin glowing.
“I’ve never had sex on a boat before.”
“We won’t be having sex, Sabrina. I’m going to fuck you. On a yacht, not a boat.”
“Oh, there’s a difference?” Her manicured brow arches in challenge.
“There is. Arms up.” Bri raises her wrists above her head.
I make quick work of tying her with knots I could use blindfolded underwater.
“As much as I’d like to secure you to the mast and fuck you until you can’t speak, I can’t.
If anything happens to me, you will be stuck here until help arrives, or a summer storm rips the anchor and smashes us onto the rocks. ”
“Mason?” It’s an adorable squeak.
“Nothing will happen, Bri, don’t worry. All I’m saying is, the ropes need to have enough give to allow you to free yourself if you need to. But you will be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. Multiple orgasms aside.”
“Right,” she ventures, more hopeful than her last statement.
“Are you wet?” I slide a finger between her thighs and find her dripping. “Of course you are. Does getting tied up and fucked on a yacht make you want to fuck?”
“Yes!”
“You want my big dick filling you while you’re tied up and begging for cock?”
“Yes, Mason, please!”
I spring the button on my shorts and tug them down with my underwear.
I reach behind me and grasp the fabric in one hand; the shirt disappears next.
My hand returns to her slit and she is all but gushing.
Dirty fucking girl. “You are gushing. I bet I could slide home in one thrust and fuck you senseless. Is that what you want, dirty girl?”
“Yes, fuck me. Mason, please!”
My cock is already weeping. The crown glistens with generous pre-cum. Only Bri does this to me. With two firm strokes, I ease it toward her entrance. My fingers separate her easily, her body bowing under the groan and flex of the ropes. Three fingers are gobbled up by her wet heat.
“Stop teasing me. I’m ready. I’m ready now!”
“Mmmm. Yes, you are ready.” I push into her inch by inch until the head of my cock is swallowed up just as greedily. The way she stretches to accommodate me is pleasing.
“Ohhh.”
I thrust home. “Goddamn it.” She feels too good.
This feels too good. Her eyes flutter closed, depriving me of those pale blue pools.
Looking down at where our bodies are joined, I marvel at how well she takes me.
Withdrawing all but the tip, I surge forward again and again, a rhythm to match her rapid breathing and audible moans.
I’m learning what her body craves. What she needs and what makes her see stars.
Tied up and vulnerable, she’s so ready and pliant.
My tongue finds hers as her body trembles from the stimulation.
“That’s it, beautiful, come on my cock. Tied up on the open ocean, scream for me.
” She does. Her climax rips through her like a hurricane, mussing her hair and sending her restrained body into convulsions of bliss.
I ride the wave until I can’t anymore, and tip over just as her orgasm wanes.
The length and force of my own drags another one from Bri until we collapse, spent, sweaty, and satiated.