by Imani King
“That man does need a haircut,” I mumble to myself. Meanwhile, my fickle heart takes over again and sends signals of warmth and electricity through my body. It’s so good to see him—so good to be validated, to have that worry and anticipation evaporate as he pulls into dock. Granted, he’s a showoff and a half, but I could have guessed that in all the years I’ve gotten to know his amazing, beautiful, and thoroughly extra biological daughter. I smile despite myself, mostly because I can’t help thinking how much Trixie would love that damn boat.
I watch as he expertly docks and ties down the boat, the muscles of his arms defined in the dimming light. His tall body casts a shadow over the water, and then his blue eyes look up to meet mine. The electricity buzzing through my veins takes over, sending a white-hot bolt of arousal through my center and down between my legs.
This is dangerous, I think as he disembarks. This is very dangerous. Still, the thoughts circling through my head and the inevitable and deeply biological reactions in my body don’t dispel as he walks toward me. My brain can’t decide whether my heart is correct—but my body already knows what we’re heading for tonight. There’s no doubt about what she wants, about what she’s wanted and been denied for what feels like so long.
After one glass of anything alcoholic, and any reason I might have had will be gone, gone, gone.
And maybe that’s a good thing.
I don’t have time to complete my thought before Saint comes up and touches me on the shoulder.
“You ready?” He whispers in my ear, breath hot against my skin, and before I can think of a properly snarky response, he kisses me on the cheek, spreading the lighting-like need through the very marrow of my bones.
I’m a mess of mumbles and stutters when I respond. “R-ready for w-what exactly?”
He smirks, but thankfully he doesn’t point out that it’s not like me to melt in his presence. Instead, he takes my arm and walks me down to the water. “For a boat ride. And a catered meal from the finest chef in Santa Barbara.”
My knees are weak. I thought we’d be together in a restaurant before we made the adult, rational decision to spend some time alone. Instead, we’re going to be out on a boat, miles away from anyone. And out there, anything could happen. But I walk on because the night is headed this way, and I have to admit that this is something I want. Something I very, desperately want.
“I don’t think I can do the boat, Saint.” Even as I say it, he’s already dragging my sorry ass to the dock. This man is clearly determined as hell to do his date his way, and I’m the one who’s marching along. Of course I’ll get on the boat—because Saint wants me to. And deep down, I know that every fiber of my being wants what this man wants. It’s not that I want to be someone different or anything like that. It’s more that I don’t want to miss a moment with him.
For me, that feels like a dangerous notion to have.
There’s a leap of uncertainty that I feel in my body, viscerally and completely. But I still find myself walking beside him, the locus of my desire focused on where my skin touches his. I wonder, even then, if he’ll strip down my clothes and fuck me on the boat. That particular thought strips away my anxiety and replaces it with a delicious thrill instead.
“You’re doing the boat. My chef prepared dinner, and I have champagne. And I intend to prove to you that you’re not a booty call or a hook-up—and that I’m serious about every word I’ve been saying.” He turns my body toward his at the end of the dock where his boat is parked. He takes me in his arms and kisses me, lips melting against mine, our bodies impossibly close, so close that I can feel his heart beating. When he pulls away, my lips feel puffy, and I can feel the mark of his slight stubble on my chin. A hot bolt of arousal sears through me, and then, I know I’m ready. His kiss communicated so much more than words could have. Still he brushes my hair behind my ear and leans in to whisper. “And then I’m going to take you back to your apartment and fuck you until your legs are numb. I’ll stay the night and do it again in the morning and again before I leave. I’ll taste you and feel you and then you’ll be mine, and you won’t be able to deny it anymore.”
I should protest, but instead, I nod faintly. There aren’t words to respond to what he just said. Only actions. I follow him onto the boat and let him hold me close as he disembarks, the yacht going off into the harbor.
Here we are, I think as I step onto the boat, my body still on fire from that kiss. Tonight is the night where it all starts to come together, whether or not it’s a good idea for me and my daughter. Is it? Saint assures me that he’s for real, that he knows what he wants, and he knows what he’s doing. It certainly seems that he cares for us. And this man is nothing if not honest—even if he’s spent most of his adult life being a professional manwhore.
Before I can do any more thinking, he starts the engine on the boat and takes off. I lurch to one side, heart beating fast, and I hold on to one of the handholds on the edge of the ship’s bow, taking the opportunity to sink down into one of the leather seats. It even feels expensive as I take my seat, the leather lush and soft against my skin.
“Take this,” Saint says, handing me a glass of champagne as he takes the ship’s steering wheel. How did he even have time to pour it? I think to myself. I didn’t even see him uncork the damp thing it’s like he had it shoved down his pants or something. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I take a long swig to quiet the remainder of the anxiety lingering in my brain. The taste of it is light and fragrant. Like chocolate and honey on a warm fall afternoon in Santa Barbara.
“That’s a local champagne from one of my vineyards up north of Solvang.”
I nearly spit the whole thing out of my mouth and drop the glass as the boat continues on out toward the Channel Islands. “You have a vineyard?”
“Hm,” he says, nodding, steering toward the sun, orange and red in the dusky sky. “I had been thinking of buying a house up that way, maybe. Or here in town. I need to keep a better eye on those grapes after all. I’m no vintner, but I do love a good champagne. Or a nice, rich red wine. And I think I’m at the point where I could focus more on the things I love and less on the things that simply make me money.”
He puts emphasis on the word “love,” but I try to wipe it out of my mind as soon as I hear it. That’s not something that could be truly real, not something that makes sense in my mind. The last person to say that to me... well, he’s the last person I ever want to think about again. Saint sets the boat to steer itself and comes to sit next to me, placing a hand casually on my thigh. Every cell in my body seems to light up, all centered on that one touch. Heart rate climbing, shivers running up and down my spine, arousal pooling darkly between my legs, threatening to take me over, I shudder.
“What’s the matter, Hel? You cold?” His other arm snakes around my shoulder, and I inadvertently whimper.
He sighs and pulls me in closer. “That little noise you just made. It’s the single sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” A finger reaches up and brushes against my cheek. The boat rocks side to side, and the sun sinks lower in the sky. “I know I need to get out that dinner before it gets cold, but I can’t fathom not taking advantage of our little situation here.”
“And what situation is that?”
“Being completely and utterly alone. And me, sitting here next to you, thinking about all the things that could keep you making that sound all night long.”
“Oh God—I—” I purse my lips and stop. I’m sick of hearing my own self arguing against the inevitable with this man, sick of stopping and thinking so much, too much. Instead, I watch him as he sets anchor and comes back to me, body lithe and lean beneath his signature t-shirt and jeans. Like in a dream, he sits back down next to me and lifts my skirt. And finally, giving in, I spread my legs for him, whimpering and sighing as his fingers climb over my skin, my hair standing on end. After what seems like an eternity, his fingers tug at the waistline of my panties. Instinctively, I put my hand over my belly, where my stre
tch marks are—the pieces of myself I don’t want him to see. My protective gesture doesn’t deter him, and he yanks my panties down and throws them to the side of the boat.
“I’d toss them in the ocean to make a point, but I don’t want to alarm any unsuspecting dolphins. It wouldn’t be good if one of them got a pair of lacy panties stuck on his fin.”
“What’s the point you’d be making?” The words come out fast, almost in a jumble. The boat rocks from side to side, and the wine makes the edges of the world seem to fade together in the most wonderful way. Saint’s hand creeps higher, toward my sex. The heat between my legs intensifies, and I feel myself growing wet, slickness taking over that space. His fingers hover over my warmth, and it’s almost like electricity is sparking between his skin and mine, sending tiny sparks to my pulsing, eager flower.
I moan and try to squirm closer, but Saint grabs me by the waist and keeps me steady.
“The point is that you should never be wearing panties when you’re around me, Helena. Because after I have you tonight, I’m going to want you all the time.”
“Oh my God.” It’s all I can manage to say. And that comes out in a jumble too. I don’t mention the obvious things—like it’s probably not convenient for me to be going panty-less all the time, that I’m a grown woman with a job, that it’s inappropriate to even suggest such a thing. Instead, I whimper like I did before as his fingers move toward me with agonizing slowness, hovering over my clit for what seems like forever. I close my eyes then and let the sway of the boat rock us, spreading my legs wider and inviting him in. I feel him then, his fingers finally brushing against my clit and sending trills of pleasure through my body.
“Oh, mmm, yes.” My pleasure outweighs everything else even though his fingers are touching me only ever so lightly, moving in circles over my clit. I arch my back, my skin flushing hot, nearly so hot I can’t handle it. “Make me... Oh God... Make me come.”
“Is that what you want? I think I’ll be doing that all night long, if you’ll let me. This is just an appetizer compared to what’s coming my way.” He presses his thumb against my clit, and he leans in close, kissing me again and making my breath grow short. Gooseflesh rises over my skin as he begins to circle my clit in earnest. The image of this moment—sun setting in the distance over the islands, birds crying overhead, pleasure circling through my body in distinct waves, centered on the place where this man is touching me—is searing into my memory even now.
“Please,” I moan again. “Please let me...” My voice trails off. Saint slips two fingers inside of me and presses his palm against my clit, rocking it back and forth over my slippery hotness. My breath catches in my throat, and I let forth a soft, long moan. My mind wanders, neurons firing and creating new energy in my mind and body as he brings me closer and closer to the edge of reality. “Holy hell,” I sigh. “Oh God.”
I can’t help but push down against his hand, my sex tightening and clenching against him as the orgasm starts to rise through me. My back arches away from the plush leather chair, and my whole body shudders as I come hard, mind tipping into oblivion and for a moment, pure darkness.
There’s no escaping Saint Corbett now. A line has been crossed. And there’s no going back.
Later, after the electricity and energy start to fade from my body, Saint readjusts my skirt and brings out the food he’s been talking about. He doesn’t mention any more about what transpired between us, or his proclamation that I should no longer wear any undergarments. And there’s no mention of me doing anything for him—though as the night passes, it’s something I want more and more. Instead, we drink wine and eat bruschetta and tenderly prepared pasta, followed by a mouth-watering flourless chocolate cake that somehow makes the champagne taste even better.
When we talk, he mostly wants to know the small details of Trixie’s life—and mine—the things he feels like he somehow missed, even though he was never supposed to be part of the equation. Her first laugh, the first time she crawled, the first time she took off and walked by herself. He listens to each word like it’s a treasure he may never hold again, like these fleeting, everyday moments are the most magical things he could hear. The boat stays anchored, and the sun sets so quickly we’re almost unaware of its passing. I suppose this night is no different from any other—that the sun didn’t actually set any faster. Instead, it was just that we were lost in each other, discovering small things we didn’t know before.
All the while, my panties sit on the bow of the boat, staring at me and making me think of all the possibilities to come.
I’m in this now, and it would seem there’s very little chance I’ll come to my senses.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The limo brings us back to the apartment, the first place where I rally learned who Helena was. The first place I saw Trixie. We hold hands on the way back like two blushing high school sweethearts, and in a way, it seems like that's what we are.
What if, all of our lives, we've been placing our needs and desires on hold so that we could end up together?
It's the sort of half-baked romantic bullshit my brother Rowan might say on one of his particularly sentimental days, but it seems to have some weight to it. There's something about it that rings true to me—like we've been waiting for each other all along.
Of course, I don't say it. Instead, I sit there, holding her sweet hand, those long fingers wrapped around mine. I never understood why my brothers’ lives started to revolve around women and family and children. At least, I never understood it until just now. Instead, I spent years ridiculing them in my head, knowing beyond a doubt that I was dead set in my ways. That I wouldn't settle down or get married or any of the rest of the things that they were slowly doing, one by one.
It just seemed to cause them all heartache—until now.
They fought so many battles with infidelity and death and fertility and loneliness. If I kept a revolving door of women, I'd never have to face that.
They were so vulnerable, it seemed. It took me this long to realize that they were, in fact, so much stronger than I ever was. They knew the paths that they wanted to take when they met the women that were right for them.
They became husbands and fathers and caretakers while I was busy being a bad boy and getting my ass out of debt. Now that my life has started to settle into something more mature, isn't it right that I want that same vulnerability, that same strength?
I think all of these things as I grip Helena's hand and pull it close to me. I want this woman more than I've wanted most things in my life, but it's not just her body I'm after. Her soul matters to me too. It matters that she's raised my daughter, that's she's smart and funny and hardworking. That she's persnickety and smart-mouthed and organized and nothing like me at all. Besides the smart-mouthed part, we're not alike—and yet, I already know that we fit so well together.
The limo pulls up in front of her apartment, and I pause for a moment before opening the door.
These are things you think about a woman you love. And do I? It’s been so short a time. I know there’s lust, but there’s more than that. Much more.
Do I tell her now? Or do I wait? What do I even say? I don’t even know if it’s true. And those words… those words are so binding. Not now, not now.
“Helena,” I start. The words stick in my throat.
Instead of responding, she pulls my hand and motions to the driver, and the car door opens. My heart leaps, and it strikes me that no other woman has given me the same feeling. Helena is the first.
I should tell her now, should tell her that … I care for her. So much.
But before I can speak, she’s pulling me out of the car door and leading me upstairs to her apartment. The way she turns and looks at me tells me she wants me as much as I want her, that she’s hoped and dreamed of this for a month now. She fumbles with the keys and opens her door, and we both spill inside, still tipsy from the wine and from being in each other’s presence. When we fall inside, I take her into my a
rms like I’ve wanted to for so long.
Her whole body shifts when she enters my embrace. I’ve noticed—the times I kissed her before, and the moment on the boat I claimed her body as mine—she changes utterly and completely when I touch her. Like I’m giving her permission to become this sexual being, the sensual woman she truly is.
I pick her up and take her over to her sofa, putting her down gently. Even though I’ve touched her before, this will be truly different. This will be the first time of many.
To my surprise, she straddles me, breasts pressed against my shirt. I can’t tell if she’s wet for me or if her nipples are already hard, but I really fucking hope they are. Our relationship has been tenuous until now, and my God, I want this woman more than anything.
Maybe she’s beginning to realize that too.
“Helena,” I sigh, pulling her face toward me and kissing those cherry red lips. She moans just a little when I bite down on her lower lip. And I lift the low cut shirt she wore on our date, pulling it off over her head before she has a chance to argue. And before she can even respond, I’ve unhooked her bra, and I grab a handful of her perfect, teardrop shaped breasts. Natural and warm and full, just like I imagined. My cock jumps, and I’m growing hard against her thigh. She moans softly, and I pinch each nipple between my thumb and forefingers, my tongue finding one and then the other, hungrily sucking her nipples into my mouth. When I try to undo her skirt, she resists, her hands flying to her waistband.
And I pause. “You want to slow down, Helena? Is what we’re doing too much for you.”
“No I just—Trixie just might get confused if she finds out we’re—we’re whatever we are—”
“She’s not here tonight,” I say, brushing her hair away from her shoulder. Streetlight filters in from outside. “And whatever happens, I’ll stay in your life however you want me to.” I lower my hand again, this time slower. And she catches my wrist.
