I start to roll back to my stomach, but he stops me. “No. This one,” he says, pointing at the female symbol twined with a rose on my breast.
I have to force myself not to squirm, because that is the one for Cass, and I’m not sure I want to tell him about that. But I’m the one who started this game, and I don’t think there’s a graceful way out. And the truth is that I have kept enough secrets from him. I don’t need to hold on to this one.
“All right,” I say. “But you won’t guess. A shame, since I was looking forward to administering your prize.”
“You have very little faith.”
“On the contrary, I’m quite certain.”
“Give me a moment.” He moves to straddle me. He is still fully clothed, and his jeans brush against my bare skin in a way that shouldn’t be provocative, but really is. He puts his hands on my waist, then strokes up until he reaches my breasts. He cups the right one, teasing it and playing with my nipple even as his other hand dances lightly over the tattoo.
“You’re just stalling.” I’m a little breathless. Not only from the magic he’s working on my breast, but because he’s sitting right over my sex, and though I am not supporting all of his weight, I can feel his heat and the brush of denim against my sex. And, frankly, it’s making me crazy.
“Maybe a little,” he says. “I thought you might enjoy the delay.”
He’s got that right.
I force myself to ignore the way my body is craving more than this slight touch and begin humming the theme from Jeopardy!
He laughs. “Fair enough.” He meets my eyes. “This is the one for when you slept with Cass.”
I am certain my face registers complete shock. “How did you get that simply from a tattoo?”
“Not just a tattoo. That tattoo. And I got it because I know you. And once you told me she was gay it just made sense.”
I’m still a little flabbergasted. I’m also a little relieved. If my best friend were a guy, the question would naturally come up. Have you two slept together, and then we’d deal with it. But despite political correctness, no boyfriend ever asks a girl if she’s slept with her best female friend. And despite being weirdly embarrassed about something I’m not the least bit ashamed of, I’m glad it’s out. I don’t want to be at the center of secrets between the people who are closest to me.
I sigh, struck suddenly by how important Jackson is to me, and how quickly he’s filled my world.
Then again, considering all the wasted time, it hasn’t really been quickly at all.
He is studying my face. “Are you upset I asked?”
“No. In fact, I was thinking that I’m relieved.”
“So did you two date?”
“No—no, it was just once, and we were both a little drunk. And she made a pass and I guess you could say I caught it.” I shrug. “We had fun. It was nice. Fine. I mean, I liked it, you know. But I’m not gay, although I guess maybe I was wishing I was. With the way I get, maybe I thought it would be easier. At any rate, she didn’t have any expectations, and it really was never even weird after.” I shrug again. “She’s my best friend and I love her, but we’re really just friends.”
He’s watching me, his expression intense. “You trust her.”
“Of course I do.”
“That’s why it was fine.”
He moves off me, and I take the opportunity to pull the blanket up, feeling suddenly strangely exposed.
“She was in control, Syl. She was the one who had the power. But you were fine. No nightmares. And you liked it.”
I nod slowly. I’d never thought of it like that.
He takes my hand, then raises it to his lips. “You can trust me, too.”
“I know I can,” I say, but I see the truth in his eyes. We’re not talking generically. He’s talking about my past. About the things I’ve held back.
He’s talking about Bob.
I manage a smile and reach for my wine. “I trust you,” I say, my voice airy. “Although I’m not sure why. You’re not keeping your promises, after all.”
“No?”
“You promised me earlier today that I’d get kink,” I say. “Wasn’t that the plan you outlined on the way to Damien’s? Instead, all I’ve gotten is talk, talk, talk.” I let my head fall back into the pillows as if bored.
“You do have a point,” he says. “But with a boat on autopilot the kinds of things I have in mind may not be on the coast guard approved list of safe activities. But as soon as we’re tied up at the dock …”
He lets his voice trail off as he bends over me, then brushes his lips over my belly. “In the meantime, you tell me if it looks like we’re going to hit a whale or an island.”
His lips blaze a trail of kisses down my belly, making my muscles quiver and my body fire. When he reaches my pubis, he moves between my legs, then closes his mouth over my sex, teasing me with his tongue as his hands grip my hips to keep me steady against this onslaught of pleasure that is rising so fast because I have been so damn close all day.
Except I don’t want it yet. Because I’ve decided what I want to tell him later. Not all of it. But most. Because I do trust him. And I want him to understand me.
And so I will hold back my release as an enticement. My reward for sharing a secret.
“Jackson,” I say, as he brings me so very close. “Stop.” I twine my fingers in his hair and pull him up.
He looks at me with a question in those heat-filled eyes.
“I want to stay here. On the edge. I like it. I don’t want to go over yet.”
“Don’t you? I’ll remember that.”
I swallow, wondering what sort of sensual door I’ve just opened.
“The thing is,” I continue, “you never got your kiss for tattoo number two. And since I don’t think I’m qualified to keep an eye on the ship, I think you need to go sit in the captain’s chair.”
“Do I?”
I just smile innocently.
He laughs, but complies, and I follow him a moment later to the top deck. The chair is upholstered and reminds me of the bucket seats in luxury SUVs, with armrests that rise and descend. It’s on a swivel base, and right now, it is facing forward and Jackson’s hand rests on the wheel. The lights of Catalina are behind us, and I can see Santa Cortez getting bigger in the distance.
“How much longer?”
“About half an hour,” he says.
“Good,” I say, then shift his chair. I get on my knees and press my hand against his crotch, my face tilted up to his. I want to tell him that he makes me feel safe. That I trust him. But the words don’t come.
I hope that he will understand from my actions.
I drop my gaze and concentrate on his jeans. Slowly, I unbutton his fly, then free his cock. He’s hard and huge, and I want this. Want to taste him. Want to feel his excitement building. I need to give this to him, this man who has given me so much already.
I need to give him this pleasure before I give him the harsh reality of my secrets.