Look at me, girl. Uh-oh, I see someone forgot their tear-proof mascara today. And why do these black streaks running down your perfect, pale cheeks make me want to come, Blaze?
I had absolutely no interest in drawing out my pleasure. My orgasm was going to hit like an unexpected traffic accident. Hard and violent. And no matter what I did to try to change course, I couldn’t stop it.
You are so fucking perfect. No…
And then I must have groaned aloud, in real time to match the one in my imagination because the sound that bounced around the small shower stall actually startled me that I chuckled.
I’m not going to fuck you today, baby. All you get is my dick down your throat. Yesssss! Squeeze my balls while you do that. Naughty girl. Look at you, perfectly naughty girl. I fucking love this perfect mouth…this perfect cunt. Touch yourself for me. Oh, hell yes. Yes! Yes, baby! I love everything about you, girl. I just—
“…love you.”
I stopped suddenly. But not for long. As soon as the words—those crazy, unthinkable words—hit the air they bounced around the small stall like a bullet in an old, empty steel drum.
But they weren’t errors.
Not by a goddamned long shot.
The mantra repeated in my mind as I rubbed out the orgasm with furious pumps and a couple of guttural groans. It didn’t take long to milk myself dry. It never did when my gorgeous Blaze was the star of my private peep show.
My eyes were squeezed shut so tight, I saw a rainbow of pinpoint lights dance across the backs of my eyelids when I snapped out of my fantasy. My neck had a terrible cramp on one side, but the orgasm felt so fucking good, it was completely worth it. I was a Rio Gibson junkie and had no interest in getting sober.
Or so I told myself before reaching for my shampoo on the ledge of the shower stall. And lifting my gaze to where Rio stood, framed by the bathroom doorway.
Holy mother of God.
“Rio.”
“Grant?” Though her tone was reasonably light, swatches of light and dark pink were scattered across her face. Was she horrified? Aroused? Both? If so, what was that ratio? What the hell was she feeling? Thinking? Concluding?
“How long have you been standing there?” More exigently, how much of the damn fantasy did I actually say out loud? Had I really mentioned I loved her?
No. Of course not. If I had, she’d have already high-tailed it out of the bathroom, the cabin, and off the damn boat. If anyone could walk on fucking water all the way back to California, it was this intrepid fireball—but she seemed content to push a toe at a few tiny puddles on the floor as she remained right where she was, eyeing me like an impish voyeur.
At last she offered, “That’s some impressive wrist and forearm action you have there, Twombley.” She jerked her chin in my direction while not moving from the doorway.
“Why didn’t you say something? Then I wouldn’t have had to handle it myself.”
“And miss that display of epic sexual prowess?” She shook her head back and forth slowly. “No way.”
I was still baffled as fuck—but I refused to endure it dripping wet. I shut the water off abruptly and snapped the towel off the top of the shower stall. Rio jumped back at the cracking sound the cotton sheet made when I shook it out before wrapping it around my waist. I flung the stall door open and didn’t pause to drip dry on the bathmat. My intention was way more important.
I stalked straight for her, not stopping until I backed her up all the way across the room and the backs of her knees hit the bed. The momentum caused her balance to fail. As she began to topple, she reached for my forearm for purchase. But I used the moment to twist at the waist, meaning she grabbed at thin air. Her butt hit the mattress with a thump, and I leaned in above her.
“Blaze.” I growled her nickname and held her brandy stare with the thunderstorm version of mine. “Do you need a demonstration of my—oh, how did you just describe it? Sexual prowess? I’d be happy to stay right here in this bed, Rio. All. Day. Long. And show you just how epic my prowess can be. Over. And over. And over.”
With each enunciated word during that finish, I invaded her personal space with more and more force. By the time I finished my threat—or promise, depending on which end of the conversation was winning here—she was flat on her back, and I was once more on top of her.
Funny how we kept ending up in this position.
With one hand, I cuffed her wrists high above her head and circled my towel-covered erection into her core. Instinct and need seemed to drive her actions, though. Her glassy-eyed stare and rich, throaty moan antagonized my aggressive behavior even further.
“Christ, you’re killing me,” I said. “I could go again. Right now.”
“Well? What are you waiting for? The Blue Angels to fly overhead and sky write an invitation for you?”
Holy shit. What I wouldn’t give for a chance to go at this sassy girl’s ass with a proper wooden paddle. And there was a damn troubling revelation. The challenge in her comeback was tempting a side of me she hadn’t made contact with yet. I wasn’t sure she was ready now, either.
No. That was more bullshit. I really was sure. She absolutely wasn’t ready.
Nor was she as ramped up as I’d given myself credit for. I sank my teeth into her breast, right through the T-shirt and bra she had put on for the day, and she yelped in surprise, though the cry was quickly replaced by a guttural sound of pleasure. The same way I flipped my mien back to efficiency mode.
“Let’s go have some breakfast. I’m starving.”
“Grant—” she gasped. I’d expected that part. I just hadn’t expected her to be so flustered. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I am. You know I don’t joke about food, woman.”
“Not that, damn it.” She huffed. “Are you really going to just leave me like this?”
“Like what?” I tried to play dumb but ended up grinning instead as soon as she growled and flung a pillow at me. It hit me in the ass as I walked across the room to pull out some clean clothes for the day.
We decided to eat breakfast on the aft deck. During the meal, a stunning repast with Polynesian omelets as the central entrée, we talked with the boat’s captain about how much longer he thought our journey would take. The man told us that if sea conditions stayed favorable, we would be in Honolulu in a day and a half. In short, we were right on schedule.
In return for the captain’s update, I gave him a pleased nod. Rio’s reaction was drastically different. As the conversation went on, she continued dropping her stare to her plate, becoming fascinated with the scraps of scrambled eggs. By the time the guy walked away, she didn’t even notice.
Well, shit.
What was it now? Or what wasn’t it? Despite what she blatantly assumed about my mind-reading skills, they weren’t all that—especially when she flipped temperatures like this for no apparent reason.
“Are you still hungry?” I finally asked. “Do you want some more fruit, maybe?” But her stretch of silence highlighted how completely she had withdrawn. “Blaze?” I tried again.
After a few more moments, she looked across the small table and met my waiting stare. Okay, so she definitely wasn’t mad. But shit, I’d seen that fiery glare enough times to recognize it. On the other hand, there weren’t any unshed tears in her eyes, so I wasn’t automatically guessing sadness had settled in, either.