I check the size on pants and hold them up to myself. “No, I think these are okay. What about shoes?”
That turns out not to be a problem, either, as Megan has left both flip-flops and canvas skids in the closet. They’re a tiny bit too big, but not enough that it’ll be a problem. “I guess I’m all set,” I say.
“Good. Because all I want to do right now is get the boat out of the marina, put her on autopilot, and make love to you on the deck.”
“Well,” I say, delighted. “I really can’t argue with that.”
I follow him back onto the deck, then watch, feeling slightly useless, as he unties the ropes holding the boat in the slip, then carefully maneuvers her out of the marina.
When we’re in the open water, he offers the captain’s chair to me.
“Seriously?”
“It’s just like driving a car,” he says, and though that’s not entirely accurate, it’s close enough. For that matter, it’s a little bit easier, because I only have to go forward. Staying within the lines really isn’t an issue.
He stands behind me, his hands on my shoulders, his lips brushing my hair as I maneuver the yacht and try to focus on what I’m doing. “You know you’re distracting me, right?”
“And yet I’m unconcerned about collisions.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why was Megan mad? At the screening, I mean.”
His hands halt. “Because I’d done a stupid thing.”
I tilt my head so that I can see him. “And have you fixed it?”
“Yes,” he says. “I think I have.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t press. Instead, I let him put the boat on autopilot, then take me to the other side of the top deck with the huge mattress and low tables for snacks and drinks.
“Sunset’s soon,” he says. “I’ll go get some wine.”
I watch him descend, feeling the sun beat down on me. The air is cool, but the way the boat is constructed puts this deck in a small depression so that I’m not chilled by the rush of the wind as the boat moves across the water.
Still, Jackson’s well prepared, because I find both blankets and pillows in a small wooden chest, and I pull them out and lay them over the mattress, making a small nest for us to snuggle down in.
And then, because I’m feeling just a bit wild and I want him to know it, I peel off the dress and slide under one of the blankets.
“Well, now. This is very interesting.” He’s returned with the wine, and is looking at me with the kind of heat that makes me very glad I’ve already abandoned my pesky clothes. His eyes flick up to where I’ve left the dress draped over a chair, and then back down to where I am propped up against some pillows, the blanket pulled just high enough to cover my breasts. “Very interesting indeed.”
He leans over and flicks a switch on a trunk-sized gray box that sits a few feet away. “Deck heater,” he says in response to my questioning glance. “I intend to pull that blanket down, and I’d hate for you to get a chill.”
I grin. “How very thoughtful of you. And what do you intend to do once you’ve rid me of my blanket?”
“Many things.”
I hesitate, then try to keep my voice casual as I say, “The kinds of things you talked about in the car?”
He slants a glance my way as he lowers himself on the mattress next to me. “Is that what you want?” He trails a finger over the top edge of the blanket. Just the lightest of touches, but the sparks from the contact ricochet through me, driving me a little bit crazy. “To go a little bit wild? A little bit kinky?”
His voice has gotten softer even as his tone has become more commanding. It’s an intense combination, and I feel my sex clenching in response to nothing more than his words. “Are you longing to submit completely, trusting me to give you what you need? To take you where we both know you want to go?”
I nod, not sure I can handle speech at the moment. His smile is slow and sexy and victorious. He leans over and brushes a kiss over my lips. “Good. I want that, too.” His finger hooks the top of the blanket and he pulls it down slowly to reveal all of me. My breasts, my waist, my hips, my sex. I hear the low noise he makes in his throat and feel the pleasure that comes with knowing he wants me. Then I shiver as he tugs the blanket the rest of the way down, exposing my legs, my feet, my toes.
“Beautiful.” His voice holds wonder, as if he has just discovered treasure, and I tremble with delight knowing that it is me that has filled his senses.
He bends down, then draws my big toe into his mouth, sucking gently. I arch up at the unexpected sensation—the sensual sparks that race up my inner thighs to my already throbbing sex. “Oh, god.”
“Do you like that?” he asks, stretching out beside me, still fully clothed.
“Not in the least,” I say.
“There are punishments for lying.”
“Really?” I drag my teeth over my lower lip. “That’s very interesting information.” I’ve never been spanked—that was not the kind of activity that fit with my previous approach to sex—but in this moment, with this man, I’m all about exploring the possibilities.
He laughs, then kisses me. “Someone’s feeling naughty.”
“Must be the sea air.”
“Must be.” He traces his fingertip over my breast, his touch gentle, though my reaction is wild. “I still don’t know the stories behind all of these.”
“Why don’t you guess?”
He sits up and pours us each a glass of wine. “What do I get if I’m right?”
“A kiss.”
“How can I turn down that challenge?” He makes a spinning motion with his finger. “Over.”
I comply, and as soon as I’m on my stomach his fingers start dancing over my skin, teasing me, tracing my tats. Then he finger-walks up my spine to land at the small symbol right between my shoulder blades. “This one.”
“That’s a hard one,” I say.
“It’s easy enough to see what it is. The arrows for rewind, fast forward, and play. The square for stop and the split square for pause. It’s a control panel for a digital recorder.”
“Clever boy. But the hard question is what does it mean?”
“I have no idea,” he admits. “But I’m curious enough to sacrifice that kiss.”
“I cut my hair,” I say. “It used to hit right there. And when—” I take a deep breath and start over. “Bob liked my hair. Used to make a big deal out of it. And so when it was all over, I cut it. And that’s what Cass put there.”
“Control,” he says in a musing tone. “You control it. How long. How short. What color.”
I roll over, then prop myself up on my elbow and give him a kiss, long and deep, and when I pull away I let my teeth drag over his lower lip. “You’re very good at this game.”
“I think I’d like to play again,” he says, and I take satisfaction from the need that fills his voice.