by Nina Hatch
“I want this,” I say, louder this time.
Jake groans, and hearing his response floods me with desire. He finds the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head, his strong hands running over my shoulders and down my back.
When he pulls me roughly against him, I can feel the outline of his hard cock under his jeans and I moan, letting my hands trace over his muscular back.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about fucking you, Liv.”
His voice is deep with need, and when he undoes the clasp of my bra with one hand, he brushes across my nipple with the rough fingers of the other, thumbing the tender skin, softly at first, and then pinching, hard.
I cry out as he follows with his tongue, hungry and firm, flicking over and over until I’m aching with need.
Jake hooks into the waist of my skirt and yanks, pulling it over my hips with such force that I’m afraid it might tear.
I fumble for the zipper of his jeans but he brushes me away, instead sliding a single finger over the fabric of my cotton panties. “Fuck,” he growls, “you’re so wet. I knew you would be.”
Jake cocks an eyebrow at me and stares right into my eyes as he continues to tease me, stroking me through the thin fabric. He wants to watch me come undone.
It feels so dirty, so intimate. I try to look away but he turns my chin back toward him, holding me in place while he rubs faster, circling my clit, my panties no longer damp, but soaked.
He’s teasing me.
All I want is to feel him inside of me, my body pleading for it, but he’s not going to give it to me.
Not until I beg.
Jake pulls his fingers away and I’m terrified that he’s going to stop. But instead, he lifts me around the waist and sets me on top of the washing machine.
The shock of the cool metal against my almost bare ass makes me gasp, and the vibrations of the machine instantly amplify my ache, pressing the need I feel for him even deeper into my core. Jake eyes me with a predatory gaze and I feel completely exposed to him.
Forcing my thighs apart, he slides the fabric of my panties to the side, and I whimper when his fingers finally touch my bare flesh. Then I moan louder, leaning my head back. It’s so much better than I imagined.
“Tell me you wanted me to fuck you, that night when I held you on the dance floor,” he says, his deft fingers circling my clit. He doesn’t thrust his fingers inside me. Not yet. He pauses mercilessly, waiting for my answer.
I can’t even think straight. All I can think about is how much I want him inside me. I want him to bend me over right now and bury his cock in me. I try to reach for his zipper again, but he denies my attempt.
“Yes,” I breathe, finally. “I wanted you to fuck me.”
The single dimple on his face deepens as he smiles, sending a shiver up my body. “I know you did, Liv.”
Then he stops teasing.
All at once, Jake thrusts two fingers inside me, palming my clit. I’ve never felt my body respond so deeply before. His fingers are huge, but I’m so wet for him. No one has ever touched me like this, and even I’m surprised by how loud I moan. I feel his fingers curl inside me in response.
I want him even deeper, I need his cock, I need to wrap my legs around him as he thrusts into me. I slide my hand again to the waist of his pants, but he shakes his head and takes me in a deep kiss while his fingers stroke me inside, slow and repetitive. Feeling the hardness of his dick through the denim makes my pussy tighten around his fingers, and I know he can feel my need for him.
His voice is low in my ear. “Have you touched yourself like this thinking of my cock?” he asks, pressing his fingers against where I’m most sensitive, taking me even deeper.
I can only nod my head and whimper as a response, I need to come so badly.
“I’ve had to jerk off every night thinking about you. I haven’t been able to sleep, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,” he tells me in a gravelly whisper.
Jake’s filthy words spoken hotly across my neck and collarbone and the image of him jacking off while he thinks about me make me come so fast, so intensely, that I feel like I’m going to black out.
I scream out as my orgasm ricochets through my body, Jake thumbing my swollen clit to the rhythm of the vibrating washing machine as my pussy throbs around his fingers. I’m still coming when he covers my mouth with his, sweeping me up into the ecstasy of his kiss.
Chapter Nine
Olivia
I’m still floating by the time I get back to my room, my body shimmering with bliss.
What the hell just happened? And why has no one ever told me it was possible to feel this fucking good?
It’s like coming alive, maybe for the first time in my life. I can still smell the scent of Jake on my skin, the cedary saltiness of his sweat on my fingertips from pressing into his back, begging him for more.
My revelry is cut short, however, when I open the door to the cabin I share with Claire. The air feels stagnant, and Claire is curled up in the corner of her top bunk, looking as pale as the sheets she’s shivering in, her mouth open, nose red.
“Hiy Olibia,” she says in greeting.
“Oh, honey. What happened? Is it the flu?” She looks miserable.
“I’b fide. Jusd restig for a bidit,” she says, before strenuously blowing her nose — and likely part of her frontal lobe — into a tissue.
“Ooof. That does not sound good. I think you might need to take the night off,” I tell her. “What do you have tonight? I can cover for you.” After all Claire’s done for me, it’s the least I can do.
“Doh, you dod’t have to do thadt,” she coughs, but I rip the checklist she made for herself out from under her pillow in her weakened state. No way am I letting her go to work like this.
When I see what’s on her checklist for tonight, though, I want to take back my offer. With a panicky feeling rising in my chest, I see that tonight is the official bachelorette party — the central event of this entire charter. And from the lack of checkmarks, Claire hasn’t made much progress.
I’m always around to pitch in for dinner service, but more on the delivering and clearing plates side, or, if a guest asks me for something, I’m exceptional at locating help. Just like a human version of Lassie. But Claire’s job as second stew involves a lot more. Her daily tasks entail setting the table with precision, timing the cocktail hour correctly, bartending, socializing, keeping up with Mel’s exacting standards, and, above all, exceeding the elite expectations of the guests. Any tiny blip in service or timing could affect the final tip for the entire crew, especially for a special occasion like tonight.
Claire makes a grab for the list in my hand but I pull it away. She has to rest before she gets any worse. Tucking Claire in with some tea and her stuffed Hedwig owl, I take a deep breath and prepare to report in with Mel.
When I find her on the main deck, Mel is frantically preparing a charcuterie board, nestling figs and pear slices between a variety of cheeses and sausage for the impending cocktail hour. Her face falls when she sees me.
“Olivia. Right. Would you mind sending Claire up? I’m running round like a headless chicken up here,” she says, turning back to the platter.
“Claire is sick tonight, so I told her I’d fill in. What can I help with first?” I ask with trepidation.
Mel gives a stressed exhale through gritted teeth. The only thing that keeps her from boiling over at me is her realization that I’m the only help she’s got. “Right, then. I’ll see how Lucy is coming with dinner, and then I need to run the guests up to the observation deck for cocktails, but I haven’t even begun to prepare the dining room for dinner yet,” she says. “Can you handle the mise en place by yourself?”
“I think so,” I reply. I’d watched Claire lay the table a few times, but now that the job fell on me, I couldn’t remember where she told me the oyster fork went or where the Bordeaux glass goes in relation to the water goblet. I try to put a confident expression o
n my face though.
Mel does not seem convinced.
“Just…do your best,” she tells me, reaching out to pat my arm. I can see her shaking her head as she walks away, likely calculating how much the tip is going to plummet after this evening.
I look at Claire’s scrawly notes she wrote out on her checklist: ‘guests want an elegant and fun bachelorette party, featuring a five-course meal and signature cocktails. The primary’s favorite color is pink.’
Perfect. Even though I’ve done nothing but let Mel down, I know I can handle this. In a lot of ways, this is no different than the pressure of pulling together the student fashion shows we did during my freshmen year at design school.
I sprint back to my bunk to grab my sketchbook and the colored pencils that are still buried deep in my luggage, being careful not to wake Claire. I had thrown them in at the last minute when I was packing for my sister’s wedding, even though it’s been three years now since I’ve used them. I get to work right away, madly sketching out a concept and rifling through the yacht’s supply closet of linens, decorations, and place settings.
The hour flies by, and I’m just putting the finishing touches on the room when I hear Mel gasp behind me.
“Olivia, this is stunning,” she says, her voice dreamy.
I’d laid out a monochromatic display washing from pale pink to deep magenta, using the candles, chargers, crystal, and glass stones I found in the ship’s cupboards. I also decorated the focal wall of the dining room with enormous tissue paper poms and streamers. The effect is pretty dramatic, the entire room dressed in modern pink elegance. I even threw together a quick limoncello and rosé sangria to make sure the night gets off to a good start, just in case everything else I did was a complete disaster.
When the guests start to come down from their cocktail hour, I actually feel proud of myself as they ooh and aah and immediately go to take selfies in front of the decorations. Mel even loops my arm through hers and squeezes my hand tight — I feel like the coolest kid on the playground.
“I’ll get this lot settled in, you run down and see how plating is coming,” Mel says. “Just go on and bring up the first course when Lucy has it ready.”
I run down the stairs to the galley, twirling Lucy around in a hug when I see her. “I think I finally did something right,” I say, squeezing her tight. It feels good to finally be pulling my weight and helping to earn my crewmates a healthy tip at the end of this charter.
In a stroke of last-minute genius, I find Teddy and Kevin on deck and enlist their help to serve tonight’s dinner — shirtless. The bachelorettes go wild when they see our Venus deckhands, tan and muscular, bringing up their salads, and the guys show off too, flexing and strutting for the ladies. By the end of the night, the bachelorette heiresses go to their cabins singing, drunk with laughter. It’s one of the most successful dinners we’ve ever hosted.
Mel pulls me aside after the guests clear out, speaking earnestly. “You pulled this off tonight, Olivia. I didn’t think you could, but you impressed me.” I’m shocked by the words coming out of her mouth. “You have a good eye and pristine attention to detail. You could have a future in this if you liked.”
“Really? I thought you hated me,” I say, my voice shaky.
“Not at all. All I wanted was for you to care about trying to learn and trying to do better. That’s why I keep covering for you. I’ve made far worse mistakes than you when I first started on this job.”
Mel and I start to move about the room, blowing out candles and clearing napkins when she turns back to me. “I’ve never asked you before, but what are you hoping to get out of yachting?”
The question makes me pause for a moment. The answer used to be so easy — money. But the longer I’ve been onboard, the more complicated it’s becoming.
“I guess mostly just to seek out new opportunities,” I reply. “I kind of shot myself in the foot at my old job as an analyst at Glendon & Howe. I’m pretty sure I would have been promoted there by now if I could have just stuck it out. I’m planning to head back to New York after this season to find another position at one of the big firms.”
“Finance, hmm? But you’re clearly so creative. I was watching you tonight, you seemed truly happy.”
I pause to think. I guess I am pretty happy.
I don’t know if it’s from the orgasm earlier or from actually delivering on my job, but this was the most at peace I’ve ever felt, even though everything about my life is up in the air at the moment. “I’m happy in finance, too,” I say. I suddenly don’t know if I’m trying to convince her more or me.
“Alright then, if you’re certain,” Mel says, eying me skeptically. “My brother is pretty high up at the Manhattan branch of Thadmore, Boyle & Lake. I could get you an interview after the charter season finishes if you’re interested. Just keep your nose clean and keep up your work, and I might just write you a good recommendation,” she says with a wink. “Now, you take the rest of the night off, I’ll finish cleaning up here.”
I don’t wait around for her to change her mind. I skip down the stairs, positively glowing with the progress I’ve made.
I know I should seize the opportunity to start refreshing my résumé for Thadmore, Boyle & Lake, but I curl up with my sketchbook instead, ideas flowing freely from my long-neglected colored pencils.
Chapter Ten
Olivia
I wake up on my own for the first time in a long time the next morning, stretching my body in the morning light that streams through our porthole. Kevin is taking the bachelorette party ashore for a day of shopping in Capri, giving the rest of us on crew a chance to take a breath and catch up on cleaning and restocking before they come back tonight for dessert.
I’m about to gather my caddy of supplies to dig in for some quality scrubbing time when Claire pops around the corner to stop me, the color returned to her cheeks.
“Thanks for covering for me last night, Liv, the extra rest really helped me feel better,” she says. “Take the morning off, I owe you.”
“Claire, no, that’s not necessary. You know I’d help you out anytime.”
“I’m not taking no for an answer. I already talked to Mel and she said it’s fine. Please, go ashore. Take a walk, read a book, do whatever you want to do.”
A very vivid, very naked image of Jake pops into my mind when I think about what I want to do…
“Yeah, maybe I’ll read a book or something. Thanks, Claire!”
“Just be back by two, that’s when we have to leave to pull the boat around the island,” she says, scooping the cleaning caddy out of my arms.
After packing up my beach bag with a novel, my sketchbook, and a copy of my résumé to redline, I skip out the door of my cabin with the best of intentions to make some progress on my future — intentions that are thwarted the instant I pass the door to Guest Cabin E.
I can hear Jake in there. Adorably, it sounds like he must be singing to himself, some old Dean Martin song.
Move along now, no need to knock, I remind myself, still paused in front of the door.
I’d seen Jake all night in my dreams — aggravatingly confident, inappropriately charming, and ferociously sexy. It was all just confirmation of what I already knew: that Jake was trouble for me. He was the opposite of what would fit in with my future plans, the embodiment of everything I’d tried to avoid. He’d only be on the boat until tomorrow, so all I needed to do was keep away from him for one more day. And that was still what I wanted, right?
Only if that plan goes as well as it did yesterday…
Maybe Jake needs something from the mainland to finish up his work on the cabin project, I think, playing innocent with my conscience. Really, it would be rude not to ask.
I lift my fist to knock — this is playing with fire and I know it.
Jake opens the door right after my knuckles make contact, greeting me with a wide grin. His shirt is covered with fine, powdery sawdust, and he has a streak of wood stain smeared acr
oss his brow.
“Back for more, Princess?”
“Um, I was just wondering, do you need anything from the island? I’m on my way there now,” I say, feeling the heat rise to my chest, hoping it won’t give me away.
He takes a look behind him where he was working. The panels he has in place look stunning, maybe even better than the originals. I can see that he’s been working on the trim and seaming, manually carving ornamental scrolls and flourishes to precisely match the originals. I remember that Captain Todd told him he only needed to do minimal work, just enough to pass for the rest of the season, but what Jake has finished already looks incredible.
“Tell you what, let me brush another coat of varnish on these panels, and I’ll be out in a few.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to come with —”
“— Let’s just say what I want is very specific. The only way to get it is to show you,” he says, shooting me a wink that makes my stomach do a somersault. I gulp, not quite sure what I’ve gotten myself into.
Half an hour later, Jake is helping me off the Venus and we start picking our way across the sand of a small, relatively uncrowded beach.
“So, what is it that you need in Capri?” I ask.
“To teach you how to swim,” he says without hesitation.
I stumble over my sandals. “What? No. I’m not doing that.”
Jake laughs, a sound so hearty and full of life that I almost join him in spite of myself. I purse my lips, determined to stand my ground.
“Come on, I told your sister that I taught you. Don’t want to make a liar out of an honest man, now, do you?”
He takes my hand in his, his palm warm, his grip powerful, and leads me to where the coastline gets rocky, into the sheltering of a small cove where the water is calm. Pulling his shirt off, he tosses it on a jagged ridge and jumps into the water.
I’m still left on the pebbled beach, just staring. No, make that staring and drooling.
