Not What You Seem

by Lena Maye

  “I’ll get a second wind,” she mumbles, her breath warm on my neck.

  I smile and turn to see her eyes flutter shut. “You said that before.”

  I lean over her to turn off the light. As much as I want to look at her for a while longer, I don’t want to leave it on too long. The battery is probably already getting low, and I don’t want to have to run the generator. The would mean getting out of my bed, and I have no intention of doing that anytime soon. When I lay back down, she settles into me again.

  “Just wait…” she mumbles, each word quieter than the last—fading into the darkness that surrounds us. “Wait until my second wind. Then maybe you’ll let me…”

  I let out a low laugh. “Let you what?”

  “The question I had to ask…”

  I have to lean close to hear her. “What’s the question?”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  “I already answered that one. You can always—” I cut myself off when I realize she’s still talking.

  “—tie you up. And I want to…” The words turn incoherent, and her breathing becomes steady and even.

  Did she just say she wanted to tie me up?

  No.

  Maybe.

  I think she did. I stare up at the ceiling, Ella wrapped around me. She’s in my arms and in my bed and letting me call her things like baby. I didn’t think I could be any more turned on than I already was.

  Turns out I was wrong.

  And now I’m really fucking awake.

  Hours later, and I’m still awake.

  The boat isn’t exactly soundproof, so I listen to footsteps stumbling around. Then voices in the galley. And finally pounding feet to Sebastian’s room.

  Then female laughter.

  It took me a few minutes to figure out that Sebastian must have given his room to Jean and Kepler. And, apparently, they waste no time using it.

  I close my eyes, trying to ignore female giggles and moans. But it’s kind of hard not to hear. Especially considering that I’m lying with Ella still wrapped around me and thinking of what she might sound like. And now there are other thoughts stacked on top too. If she really said what I think she said. The feel of her breasts smashed into my side and moving with every breath.

  It gets worse when I hear female begging from next door. Please, please, please. And I’m in this really weird state of feeling completely turned on, completely creeped out by myself, and also completely unable not to listen.

  I slip out from under Ella and sneak around the bed and to the bathroom, shutting the door. I’m relieved to discover it muffles the sounds from the other room. I flick on the light and flinch from the brightness. Cold water spurts out of the faucet, and the coin from my necklace hits the bottom of the sink as I lean down. I tuck it under my shirt, slap some water on my face and try to ignore how freaking hard I am.

  It would be a lie to pretend like I didn’t have a few thoughts about how I could take care of the situation. Because to make matters worse, I haven’t exactly been taking care of things that much since meeting Ella. Usually interest in a woman doesn’t have much of an impact, but with Ella, she’s the only one I want to think about right now. However, I haven’t been sure if she’d want me to think about her. So I tried thinking about other women. Which obviously only made me think about her more, and the whole thing has been fucking with my head.

  Tonight’s earlier events have only made the situation worse. So what do I do? Rub one out in the bathroom so I can get a few hours’ sleep?

  Except she’s in the next room. I’d basically be jerking off to a sleeping woman, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to be that guy. But damn, my hand itches to solve the problem. Just thinking about her in there—lying in my bed. The way she kissed me earlier with those little moans rising from her throat….

  No. Stop.

  I flex my fist a few times, trying to get the blood to move there, and then flick off the light. My vision is all black as I open the door. I listen for a moment, and don’t hear any activities from the neighbors. Good.

  I blink my eyes, willing them to adjust.

  Wait… “Ella?”

  31

  Ella

  I don’t wait for him to speak, I take him. I was drunk before, and I might be drunk still, but I know what I want.

  I wanted it before tonight. This pulsing, warm feeling that’s only satisfied with one thing: touch. It’s blinding need that hums in me. Something hot and eager that can’t be sedated. He opened me up earlier, his hands gripping my waist, his erection hard against my thigh. I want to feel that desire again.

  To feel him again. Maybe to prove that I can do this—have a normal relationship, prove I don’t have to spend the rest of my life alone, prove that I can heal. Even if I have to fight with every breath not to fall into those wrong thoughts. I can refuse to act on them. Ignore the echo. I have to. Because I don’t know what else to do. This hot-edged feeling I have for Dean won’t be satisfied any other way.

  I want him.

  I grip onto his shirt and pull him down to me.

  “Ella.” My name is a twist of emotion. Desire and warmth, but it’s also mixed with hesitation.

  I force my hand to release his shirt and step back. The room is nearly dark, and all I can see are the edges of him. Muscled shoulders that run down into strong forearms. Hair tousled—probably from my hands. I can hear his breath, feel his presence. Feel his need. It’s almost sharper than my own.

  “Ella,” he says my name again, softer this time. “What’s forty-eight minus twelve?”

  “Thirty-six.” I reach out and smooth my fingers down his shirt, trying my best not to grab it this time. Maybe I was a bit too... demanding. “Why are we doing math?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice deepens at my touch. “I thought it might clue me in to your state of mind.”

  I step closer, my hand on his chest as my guide to where he stands. I want to see him, but the dark gives me confidence too.

  “You mean if I’m drunk or not?” I find the bottom of his shirt and slide my hand underneath. He jumps at my touch, my fingers following the lines of his abs. And the dusting of hair across them. He’s so strong and steady, like how he stood balanced on the gunwale. As if there is nothing in the world that can knock him off his feet.

  “That and other things.” He lets out a weighted breath as I trace up his stomach, flattening my hand against his sternum. I spread my fingers, feeling the muscles of his pecs against my thumb and pinky. His heart beating against my palm. The coin on his necklace rests on the back of my hand. He stands so still, as if waiting.

  I know what I want. And I can control the voices inside of me. They’ve been under control all night, and I can keep them there.

  “I-I want to try something.” I pull up his shirt, bringing it up until he takes it from me. He slips it off, throwing it to the side. I reach up and run my hands along the tops of his shoulders, stopping where his collarbone cuts across like the spine of a kite. “Will you let me?”

  “Yes.” His voice is low and certain, and my whole body lights at the word.

  “Step back?” I shake my head. I didn’t want it as a question, but that’s how it came out. Maybe because I’m nervous, and slightly confused with my thoughts bouncing around so much.

  But he steps back, guided by my hand pushing against his chest. I push him back to the wall, and let out a breath.

  “Put your palms flat against the wall on either side of you.”

  His chest moves as his forearms turn. The outlines of him remain so still—except for those deep breaths. My eyes have started to adjust to the dark, and I can see more and more of him with each passing moment. The coin glints in the low light. I trace the tattooed rope that winds over his shoulder. It meanders over his heart and then drops along his side to end in an anchor that covers his ribcage. I trace the pattern, and he lets out a low groan that lights another round of desire in me, heating my core, and I react. I step forward and tipt
oe to press my lips hard against his.

  One of his hands moves to my hip, and I take his wrist and push his palm against the wall.

  “No,” I order. “Don’t take your hands off the wall.”

  Oh. No. Did I just say that?

  I squint at Dean, trying to read his expression. His lips are slightly parted, and his eyes flash. But not with anger. With something else. The same thing that flashed when I was kissing him earlier.

  He’s taut, restrained. He’s taller and stronger than me. He could push off from the wall and step around me. I wouldn’t stop him. But he doesn’t. He stays locked, staring down at me with that heated gaze, and I have the desire to reward him. It’s the strangest thing—it pulses through me, this desire to reward.

  I crash into him, tasting the edge of his jaw, my mouth simmering down his neck and across that collarbone to his sternum. His breathing is erratic, a groan winding out as I lick across his chest, my hand moving from flesh to fabric, rubbing over his erection. He’s hard against my palm, and his hips pitch forward. I stroke him through his pants—hard and quick, and his head knocks back against the wall.

  He’s vibrating with tension. His hands locked on the wall at his sides. The sound of his desire falling from his lips. I tear at the top button on his pants, ripping it open and sliding my hands beneath the fabric. He’s warm in my hand—no boxers—just hard and thick, and I leave little bites down his chest and stomach, light bites that seem to harden him even more with each brush of my teeth, as I fall to my knees and tug down his pants.

  “Ella.” My name’s a mangled whisper. I look up to see him staring down at me, jaw clenched, gaze so hot that I can practically feel it. I can tell he wants to touch me, but I’m not done with him yet. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know,” I say. But my mouth waters for him. Him listening, flattening himself against the wall, trusting me. It’s woken feelings I didn’t even know that I had. Desires that were buried and forgotten. He brings my desires to life.

  He brings me to life.

  This confused girl who was always trying to fit into this box, but knowing that I never quite fit. Here, on my knees before him, I’ve never felt so solid and certain.

  I smile, and then still looking up to see the change in his expression, I lick a slow circle around his head, watching as his eyes widen and then drop to a half-hooded gaze.

  “That feels so good.” He’s forcing the words out, not breathing.

  Just when he starts to breathe out again, I take him into my mouth. Every part of him ripples, and his hands lift off the wall for a moment, but then they return. I taste him—feeling the weight of him against my tongue, and he groans, thrusting himself into my mouth so hard that I have to lean back.

  “Fuck,” he whispers as he slips from my mouth. “Sorry. Fuck.”

  But I smile because his eagerness only gives me more confidence, and I’m already taking him again. Worshiping the way he tastes, the way he moves with me. His groans as my hand comes up to wrap around his shaft because he’s too big to take all the way into my mouth. I build him up, and then slow him down. I make him wait, straining against the wall.

  I’m on my knees before him, but I’ve never been more in control of anyone. I control every breath, every groan. I tempt him with my rhythm. When he’s pressed to the end of his ability to take it—tension zapping through every muscle in his body, I give him what he wants. I increase my pace, responding to his thrusts. Taking him as deep as I can. Listening to every sound he makes, and I build him higher. His hands fly off the wall as he starts to come, but I don’t tell him to stop this time. He grabs the back of my head—but softly. Not as if he’s trying to get me to take him deeper, but just as if he wants to hold on to me. Then with a last grunt, he arches against the wall, breaking eye contact for only a moment before his blue eyes find mine again. He surges through me, and I take all of him, greedy for his taste and for the feel of his release. The abatement of his desire.

  But his gaze is still heated as I kiss up toward his stomach, licking across his abs and up to his chest. His breathing slowly returns to something more regular, but still deep. He’s twitching and still hard.

  I lean against him, my legs shaky. “You can move now,” I say into his neck.

  He clears his throat. “No, I’m pretty sure I can’t.”

  I settle my cheek against his shoulder and feel the rise and fall of his chest and the warm satisfaction of what we did. Which doesn’t make sense since he never even touched me. In the few times I’ve tried to be with guys in the past, I squeezed my eyes shut while they finished doing whatever they did so that I didn’t say or do the wrong thing. I’d never had this contentment sitting in me like I have right now.

  “I’ve never done that before,” I admit to his shoulder. Never let myself do it.

  He emits a surprised chuckle. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I know.” We’re both aware of that, but I like that he said the words. “I’d like to do it again sometime. A lot of sometimes, if you’ll let me.”

  “It’s going to be pretty difficult for me, but I guess I’ll let you do that again.” He laughs as his hands wrap around my waist, pulling me tight against the solid length of him.

  I peek up at him. “So, it was okay? I mean, what I told you to do. It was…”

  “Ella.” He tips my chin up toward him. “No one has ever done anything like that for me. It was sexy and surprising and exhilarating. And the only thing I really want right now is to put you on the bed and do the same.”

  “I…” Nervous energy seems to come from nowhere and everywhere. I lick my lips, and I can still taste him. Then I hear myself. Crap, I’m humming one of those lullabies. I cut it off, but not before his gaze falls to my lips. His face shadowed in the dim light, his fingers press lightly under my chin, asking me to look up at him.

  This was a first step. A good first step. But I already want more. What if I push him too far? What if he gets up and walks out of this room?

  I don’t think I could handle that. I step away from him.

  “Hey.” He leans down to place a soft kiss against the corner of my mouth. “It’s probably three in the morning. Let’s just sleep.” He pulls me toward the bed and tucks me against him. Warm and solid and close. Like being tucked in one of those small spaces I like so much. And so, so safe.

  32

  Ella

  I wake with a start. The consequence of working the early shift at the bakery is that I rarely sleep past sunrise. Add in a slight vodka headache and the unfamiliar rock of the boat, and I doubt I’ll fall back asleep anytime soon.

  I peek at the man next to me. He snores lightly with his jaw relaxed. Bare-chested, but still in his chinos. The top button is undone and so low that I can see that V in his muscles—drawing my eyes lower still. A smile touches my lips. He’s too attractive even while sleeping. Especially now that I know how he kisses.

  I slap my hand over my face. I was all over him last night.

  What if he was drunk?

  What if he really didn’t want to kiss me?

  What if he didn’t really want me to touch him?

  I bite my lip and roll over, closing my eyes and trying to still my thoughts. But my brain works against me and keeps coming up with more questions.

  What if he wakes up and everything goes back to the way it was before? Where we stand inches from each other but neither of us reaches out.

  My stomach twists, and suddenly the air seems so stuffy in here—like it’s too heavy for my lungs.

  What if he wakes up and there’s doubt in his eyes?

  I slide out from under his green bedsheets and find my jeans and sweater folded on a chair in a nice, neat pile. He’s always so considerate.

  What if last night was just him being nice? He let me touch him because he was too kind to send me away.

  I pull on my clothes, slip into the hallway, and close the door softly behind me. I tiptoe past the other two cabins and the galley. Dev
’s asleep on the galley floor, wrapped in blankets and snoring loudly. It’s the only noise—otherwise the boat is quiet.

  I open the hatch, and a burst of cold morning air greets me. I suck in a breath, letting it fill my chest. The sky is a stretch of light-gray clouds that cover the sun and darken the water. I step out on deck and then stop. Sebastian.

  He turns and looks at me, eyebrows raised. He looks so much like Dean. He’s different too, but their similarities catch me right now. The same cleft chin, the same blue eyes.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I glance back down the hallway. “I didn’t know anyone else was up. I—”

  “Nah, come up.” He speaks quietly but gives me a lazy smile. That is one thing that’s different than Dean, who’s always got this half-grin like he’s thinking about teasing me. Maybe Dean is the evil one after all.

  I cross to where Sebastian stands, not quite sure what to say to him.

  “Want some water?” Sebastian nods toward the cooler. A Laura’s Bakery box sits on top. “Or a cock cake?”

  Oh, no. No. “Dean told you about that?” I want to bury my face in my sweater.

  “That one’s too good not to share.” He laughs softly. “Same with the cupcakes. I could live off those. Although I’ve been trying to even it out with something healthy every once in a while. Dean’s always buying these huge bags of spinach. Dude’s got some weird taste buds.”

  “I could make some lower-fat ones.” I pull my sweater tightly around me. “I didn’t think that twenty-something men would be overly worried about the calories.”

  “Never discount a man’s vanity.” He shrugs. “Actually, my mom was pretty strict when it came to that stuff. I can still hear her voice in my head when I fail to eat my daily vegetables.”

  “Hear her v-v-voice?” Crap. It’s been a while since I stammered. I swallow back the lullaby, but open up my throat, taking in a breath of cool, humid morning air.

  “Maybe that sounds odd,” Sebastian says. “It’s like she’s still here. Still looking out for us.”