NautiCal (Forever Wilde 8)

When Worth finally pulled away, he stared down at me. This was probably the moment when he would gently admit what a mistake we’d made by hooking up.

“I just came harder than I have in months, and yet… I still want to fuck you like a damned animal.”

I blinked at him. That was unexpected.

“Okay?” I did a mental survey of my anatomy to assess my preparedness. Oh, who was I kidding? I was game at the drop of a hat. This hot daddy could have me whenever and wherever he wanted. “That was supposed to be, ‘okay.’ Statement, not question,” I clarified.

The laugh lines deepened next to his eyes, making him impossibly more handsome. “Good to know. But this time I really am going to insist you rest.”

“But you’d like to add a rain check to that statement? Okay. I accept.”

Worth leaned down and kissed me again, softly this time. I cupped his face and held him there, afraid that he’d pull back and end my lazy exploration of his mouth too soon.

“I can’t get enough,” he whispered.

“Keep trying,” I teased. We continued making out until I finally drifted off to sleep with my face on his chest and his fingers dragging up and down my spine.

When I woke up a little while later, Worth was on his computer again.

“That’s a buzzkill,” I said before I could stop myself.

He swiveled in the chair and looked me over as if searching for a health status meter like the kind on video game characters. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Did you and the twins have your meeting while we were gone?”

“What? Oh, yes. Fine. But, listen, I was doing some research about concussions and wanted to ask if you have ringing in your ears, blurry vision…”

As he continued to name other symptoms, I stared at him in disbelief and a strange kind of dawning horror.

I liked him. Like… really, really liked him. Troublesome levels of like.

My brother’s words pinged around in the distance behind the roaring in my ears.

If you never listen to another word I ever say, at least remember this: never trust a rich older man trying to get into your pants. They’re manipulators and users.

Surely he didn’t mean Worth though. Right?

“It’s happening, isn’t it?” Worth asked, crinkling his forehead in concern.

Yes. Yes, it was happening. I was falling for a rich older man against my better judgment. And if he wanted in my pants, I wasn’t sure I cared why.

He stood up. “The ringing in your ears. I’m going to tell Vin to take us to Tortola. Hang tight.”

It took me a second to realize what he was saying. I squawked, “No! No ringing. I promise.”

“Okay, but… you kind of look like something’s wrong in your head.”

If he only knew.

“Maybe,” I admitted. “But it’s not a concussion. I promise.”

He studied me for a beat before blowing out a breath. “Okay. We’ll keep observing you. The websites all said symptoms can occur in the first seven to ten days.”

“I wasn’t hit hard enough for a concussion.”

“You have a horrible bruise on your cheek. You were hit square on the face.”

The little divot of worry between his eyes made me irrationally happy. He cared. About me.

“I promise. Can we get back to the part where you had your hands and mouth on my dick, please?”

Jonathan Worthington blushed. “That was nice.”

I barked out a laugh. “That’s like saying this multimillion-dollar ship is nice.”

His expression turned to one of teasing as he came closer. “It is though, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “Yep. Super nice. Really nice.”

He leaned over and kissed me. My lips were raw from all of the kissing we’d already done as well as the scrape of his stubble, but I wasn’t about to let it stop me from getting more of his kisses.

“It’s getting close to dinnertime. Do you want to eat with everyone upstairs or stay in our room?”

Was it silly that I kind of loved hearing him call it our room? Maybe I had a Cinderella complex of some kind, but that was okay. I’d allow myself to live the fantasy for the rest of this week without second-guessing it too much.

“Let’s go upstairs. I don’t want everyone to think I’m worse than I am.” I shot him a pointed look, and he scoffed.

“Fine. But no alcohol.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said. And I enjoyed every bit of the growl he gave me in response.

“I’m just saying, it’s awfully convenient that—” Pres stopped talking as soon as I appeared at the top of the stairs. He and Lucas sat at the dining room table while Julo bustled around behind the galley counter.

Lucas’s face lit up when he saw me. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.”

Worth moved around me to pull out a seat at the table. I noticed this time he didn’t choose to seat me near Prescott. Instead, he put me right next to his own seat and immediately took my hand in his when he sat down.