* * *
Amy
I expected the question of sex to come up at some point. What I didn’t expect was Marcus to take my breath away the moment I arrived.
He'd stood on the deck of that beautiful cruiser in only loose white drawstring pants and a light blazer. No sho
es, no shirt, full-service. The breeze pushed the thin fabric away from his lined torso, and I could see a string of ink rising over his hipbone. Words I couldn't quite read followed the line of the muscular V on his left pelvis. Heat flooded every part of my body at the sight, and I was ready to get the pictures taken and get below—so I did.
Now he lifts the grey Henley over my head, the light touch of his fingers against my skin causing my breath to catch. Standing before him in my bikini top and denim shorts, the old anxieties try to creep back into my mind.
He’s too close. I’m not in control when I’m with him. It’s dangerous. The boat rocks. My body tenses. I shouldn’t let him consume all of my thoughts and desires this way. My freedom...
“What are you thinking right now?” His eyes hold mine, and I know he sees.
“Nothing,” I lie.
“You’re tense.” Warm hands move to my shoulders. The low vibration of his voice wrestles with my fears. “You’ve been tense since you got onboard. Why?”
I don’t want to say what’s on my mind. He’ll argue. He’s a fucking lawyer. His entire career is built on arguing, and I know from this past week at work, he’s used to winning.
“I can’t seem to relax.” I’ll give him that much.
He watches me for a moment. We face each other blinking. The boat rocks again, and I hold his arms for balance, but he steps back. The sight of his semi tenting the thin pants almost tips the scale to forgetting, letting go.
“I have an idea.” Turning away, I hear him digging in a drawer. When he returns, he’s holding a cloth napkin folded long-ways.
“What are you doing?” I don’t really have to ask.
“Blindfolding you.” One knee on the bed, he wraps the cloth around my eyes, pulling it tight behind my head. “Hmm...” I flinch when his beard scuffs my face. He’s right at my temple, speaking against my skin flooding my bikini bottoms with heat. “Looks better than I expected.”
Anticipating the light touch of his hand, I inhale sharply when he roughly cups my breast without warning, teasing and pinching my nipple the same way he did on deck moments ago. From there, his hand moves to my hips, and he grasps them firmly, giving me a tug.
“Easy—I can’t see.” I whisper.
“Don’t overthink it, beautiful.”
The wooden bed frame is at the back of my calves, and I bend my knees to sit. He’s right beside me, directing me to the center. I lie back on the soft sheets in darkness, waiting. All the thoughts warring in my mind are quiet. Everything in me is focused on where he is, what he might do next.
“Stay here while I get something.” He kisses the top of my shoulder, and I feel him leave the mattress. The sounds of drawers opening and closing, the scoop of ice in a cup, I’m on edge, listening to every noise in darkness, until I feel the indentation at the foot of the bed again. He doesn’t come closer, though. He stays at my feet, and my nerves tighten as I wait for what's next.
“Do you trust me?”
I can’t move. I can barely breathe. His voice is too direct, asking the very question I can’t answer.
“Amy?” It’s gentler now. A warm hand slides over the top of my knee, behind it, bending my leg. His lips touch the inside of my calf, and electricity snakes up to my core.
“Oh,” I gasp as he moves my knee over his shoulder. My other leg vibrates in anticipation until at last he touches it, sliding a finger up my inner thigh to the crotch of my shorts.
I’m spread in front of him, and that finger weaves under the cloth, past the elastic of my bikini bottoms, into me. I can’t help a small whimper. In the darkness of the blindfold, every sensation is heightened, my back arches.
“Hmm,” he rumbles. “Nice and wet.” That luscious finger makes a slow circle then leaves, moving to the front of my shorts. “We’ll get these off soon enough.”
He lowers my leg, and goes away. I’m confused until I feel him touching my bikini top. It’s a network of strings, and he shoves the triangles of fabric covering my breasts to the sides. I gasp. My breasts are exposed, but the string is still tight around my ribs.
I feel him right above me. “So beautiful,” he whispers, his breath tickling across my skin.
“Marcus...” My voice is so tight it cracks, then turns into a cry when the freezing shock of ice touches my nipple. Again my back arches up and wetness floods my pants. “Oh, god!”