by Piper Denna
“Yeah, that’s a one-time thing, usually with a stranger they’ll never see again.”
He shrugged. “So we’ll do it once. The night before we return to port. Then we’ll never see him again.”
“And you plan to…what? Groom him until then, and spring the idea on him?”
He smiled and shook his head. “We’ll get to know him, of course. And cultivate that attraction toward you.”
And you? Would Britt be attracted to David in six days too?
Britt swaggered off to the bathroom for his morning ritual, completely oblivious to her wicked plan.
She stretched along the sheets, yawning, breathing in the smells of them, of their lovemaking. Life was good. For years, she’d believed Luke had been the only true love for her, that since he’d died, she’d live out the rest of life alone. But she’d been wrong. Britt was another true love, another truly necessary person in her life. The thought of losing him terrified her at odd times, times when she felt happiest. But she had to power through, and trust. Fear would not mess up this wonderfulness for her.
A knock at the door made her jump.
Shit. David. She’d get Britt for this.
The only thing close at hand for her to put on was the thick white terry robe. She tightened the belt on the way to the door. A peephole glance confirmed it was David.
She opened the door and he smiled, chewing his lower lip.
“Hey.” He shrugged and lifted his duffel a little higher. That incognito facial hair was really filling in, but he’d trimmed it into a neat strip along his jawline. Today he wore black athletic shorts and a red tank, along with another pair of sneakers, same brand as… Yep, there were his shoes. Next to hers.
“Hi. You left your shoes last night, by the way.” She shut the door behind him, and attempted to smooth her circus hair down.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I spend so much time without shoes, I’m kinda used to being barefoot.”
Damn, why couldn’t Britt have been the one out here getting the door? She had to look terrible with no makeup, and damn the hair, she couldn’t even get it all behind her ears, and…
“You look fine.” His voice had lowered, and she’d almost walked into him.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he wasn’t just looking at the uncontrollable hair she tried to push back; he was reaching for it. His fingers caught a curl close to her face and slid along the corkscrew, stopping just short of the end. He stared at his hand. What was it with guys and her disasterized hair? Those blue eyes. Damn. They raised to meet hers. Holy hell, they could hypnotize her into anything. She turned her cheek toward his fingers, brushed against them. Warm.
He exhaled and stepped back.
“Sorry,” they both mumbled at the same time.
He’d pressed his fist up to his mouth. Was he that mortified?
“Why did you invite me here last night?” he blurted.
Wow, her heart was racing. How had she not noticed? “Um.” She wouldn’t look at him, but she needed to get this out, clear the air. “Maybe it was the twin thing, one in the spotlight and the other not, that made me feel connected to you. I’m not sure. But when I realized you’d registered for the cruise, I wanted to meet you.” His cheeks were red–she managed to look that far up, at least. “Then when we saw you boarding yesterday, we wondered how you snuck on, and decided to invite you to dinner.” That was really all she could share at this point. “Britt and I know a lot of people, but we don’t have many friends. We…know how it is to be dogged by reporters and have every action watched. Guess we felt like kindred spirits. I hope I didn’t ruin everything.” …by rubbing my face against your hand. God. Maybe she’d fall overboard or something.
He shook his head and gave her a hesitant smile. “I don’t think anything is ruined. But I should probably hit the water.”
“Sure.” She clutched the robe tighter to her chest. “Um. I’m gonna order some breakfast. Would you like something for when you’re done?”
He chewed his lip again.
“Britt will be out here by then.” Maybe that would make him feel more at ease. Did he think she wanted to seduce him into an affair?
“Sure, yeah. How about an omelet? Five eggs. With, like…anything.”
* * * *
Victoria emerged from the master suite, showered, dressed, made up, and with her hair in a French twist. By now she should have missed all of David’s workout, which was for the best. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her ogling him while he swam, after what she’d done earlier.
Ah, breakfast had arrived. The cart still sat in the living room, and the servers had long since left. She wheeled it out the French doors, where Britt and David were making an unholy noise, whooping and yelling. What the hell?
Britt was in the pool with David, playing some sort of water volleyball, minus a net. Or maybe they played catch. Dodgeball? Hard to say–it didn’t seem to have rules, other than to have fun and make noise. Poor Mia and Ron probably hadn’t been able to get their attention, so had given up and left the cart.
Men. Dorky, utterly impulsive and sexy as all hell. She could whistle and get their attention. Or…maybe she’d sit down and watch them while she ate.
First try, she found her domed platter and carried it to the outdoor table. Lucky day. She filled herself a glass of orange juice and carried the carafe to the table too. Ah. Breakfast with entertainment. Good to hear grown men laughing. Wonderful to hear Britt cut loose and have so much fun. He deserved it. His recreation usually involved vacations with her, and the occasional golf game with Mark. God knew she’d never played like that with him, and though he loved golf, she doubted this type of fun happened on the courses they played. He sounded like a kid in the pool. Maybe David would be good for them.
“What’s this, Vic?” The splashing ceased. “Eating without us? That’s not very bloody civil.”
Both men heaved themselves from the pool, Britt in his usual boardshorts–God, she loved seeing his naked abs. He might have to work at keeping big biceps, but his washboard abs always stuck around. And David. David had on very low, very snug swim gear. Oolala. If only he’d have a wardrobe malfunction. Better keep her eyes fixed higher. Without the benefit of clothes, David’s body had a more exaggerated V shape–his shoulders and chest were crazy big.
They toweled themselves on the way to the table and sat down, a couple of dripping, panting, shirtless men.
What an uncivilized, wonderful way to start the day.
“Sorry for kicking your ass, chap.” Britt relaxed back in his chair. “Hope you’ll be man enough to come back for more.”
David snickered. On the way to the cart for his food, he called over his shoulder, “There was asskicking, but I think you were on the other side of it.” He sat back down and opened his food, while Britt went for his. “Man. I haven’t fucked around in a pool like that in forever.”
Britt elbowed him on the way back. “The pool is my workplace.” He laughed. “You could have that as the title for your biography. And hey, Vic and I know just the chap could write it for you, don’t we, love?” He stopped and planted a chlorine-y kiss on her lips.
“I have yet to see his work and judge it for myself, so we’ll see. But I’ll be avoiding that guy like the plague,” she answered.
David raised his brows, the only appropriate means of communication with so much food going into his mouth at such a fast pace.
“Yeah, watch out for him around the ship,” she warned. “He’s a Hispanic guy, about mid-twenties. Miguel, but he goes by Mick. Acting like a passenger, but he’s writing a travelogue about the cruise. I think. Maybe he’ll just sell all the secrets he’s learning, when he gets back to land.”
“I’ll eat that shrimp and spit him out in court, if he so much as thinks of it,” Britt growled. “No worries, though. He’s on the up and up, journalistically. Vic gets the willies around him, because he’s a thing for her.”
David grinned. “Do you think the thing is har
d and throbbing and covered in veins?”
“Oh yuck.” She punched his arm. “That’s an image I could have lived without.”
Britt hadn’t stopped laughing.
Well, the joke might be tasteless, but seeing Britt like this was totally worth it.
“Imagine, if you will…” Britt wiped the corners of his eyes. “A caricature of a great throbbing cock, perhaps listing to one side a bit, eh? Pen in one hand and a notepad in the other.”
David paused between bites. “I’ll keep my eye out for him. He should be easy to spot.”
Inside the suite, the phone rang. Victoria put her napkin down and stood.
“No, love, I’ll get it,” Britt said. “You stay here and eat.”
She sat back down and watched his back muscles flex as he disappeared into the darkened doorway.
“So what’s on your schedule for today?” David asked.
“Hmm. Let’s see. Every day at high noon there’s some sort of contest in the Fascinations Lounge. I’m judging most of them. Today I get to judge a Body Art Exhibition Contest.”
He cleared his throat. “Like what body art? Tattoos and piercings?”
“Those, and also body paint, sculptures… I’ve seen a girl mime fellatio, and it was like she was working with an invisible cock, or one only she could see. Very good.”
He grinned. “Nothing wrong with a good blow–even if it’s imaginary.”
Wow. He was just a normal guy after all. Although she had to agree–nothing wrong with being on the giving end of a good blow, either.
His eyebrows pulled together. “You don’t think there’ll be any of those guys who make balloon-shapes out of their junk, do ya?” He shuddered. “That freaks me out.”
“I’ve seen those too. Pretty entertaining. But no, I don’t think we’ve got any of those guys here. Hard to tell, though. It’s kinda one of those attend-at-your-own-risk events.”
He looked thoughtful while cutting up a sausage link. “Probably lots of nipple piercings.”
Did he like that sort of thing? Would she ever consider…no. Definitely not. She really didn’t mind seeing what other people chose to do to their bodies–much as she didn’t mind watching them do all sorts of crazy sex things at the Mountain–but she preferred bodies as nature intended. “Um. And then after the contest, the Fascinations Lounge becomes a classroom for the afternoon. All About Anal–your guide to who does it, why, how and how not-to.”
David choked. “It’s a class on anal sex?”
She nodded. “For men, women, gay, straight. Very informative. First a video, then a lecture and then classroom participation.”
“Are you a part of that class too?” His voice raised a couple notches.
“Oh, hell no.” God, no. She had no inclination to have something that big rammed up her–especially not with Britt. A guy his size would do damage.
“Well, that’s just fucking spectacular.” Britt returned with his laptop open. “That was Morty on the phone. Seems we’ve a possible security leak.”
Damn. “Like what type?”
“Like somebody’s blogging and feeding directly to your favorite internet tabloid, The Scoop.”
Blogging from the ship would be damn hard, with no cellphones allowed, or personal WiFi devices. And the computers in the cyber cafe downstairs were on a filtered network, so unless somebody could hack the network to get out on the server…
“Here’s the site. The blog is called Gritty Gossip Girl. URL is 3G dot blogland dot com.” Britt read,
“The maiden voyage of Fantasy Cruise Ship Aphrodite–FCSA–started out much like the launch of any other cruise on a sunny San Diego Wednesday afternoon. Until you walked onto the ship itself, highly decorated with statues of Greek and Roman sex gods and goddesses. Orchids and lilies are everywhere, along with orange roses–all symbols of sex and sex organs. Not to be forgotten, the proliferation of red, as in the red symbol for both men and women–a variation of pop star Prince’s temporary name a few years back. This red symbol, as anyone who has watched late night TV or cable knows, is the trademark of Lay-Techs condom manufacturer, a very obvious advertiser on this cruise. I’ve been told Lay-techs supplied over 55,000 condoms for this trip alone. “Don’t forget the Lay-Techs”–Trust me, I won’t. Ever.
A 1-line description of the first day on Aphrodite? A shipful of hot bodies and amped-up sex drives. Whew. I never knew there were so many kinky beautiful people! Might have to pull out the Gritty Teeth-Rattling “Massager” later.
On to the Gritty Gossip:
At the christening-slash-launch ceremony today, while his wife was busy wasting a perfectly good bottle of Cristal by pounding it across the bow of the boat, Brett Grant appeared ready to pound something else. And by something else, I mean someone else. Namely, Carmyn Fenton. He seemed more interested in whispering sweet nothings in her ear than watching his wife at work. Also, I saw him grab an enormous handful of Lay-Techs–can’t miss ’em in those bright red wrappers–from an Aphrodite statue’s basket, and shove them in his slacks pocket.
Which begs the question: Is he planning to be using those condoms in someone else’s basket? Perhaps Bond’s sexy nemesis? Do he and his wife participate in sex parties, despite their claims to the contrary? Or does he have some communicable disease–gasp!–he has to protect her from?
Gritty, gritty, gossip!
Until tomorrow,
G-G-girl.
They all sat in silence for a few moments.
“Somebody sure has it out for us,” she said.
David shook his head. “More like somebody has it out for Brett.”
“The stuff in that blog–that was all in plain sight of the dock during the christening ceremony.” Maybe things weren’t so bad after all. “Hell, I think that scene was shot from several news cameras. It’s probably a hoax.” Yeah. What a relief. She hated going through that whole panicky thing.
“Just one problem, Vic. I was standing on the back side of the ceremony with Mark and Carmyn, hidden away from the dock. Only a person on the ship could have seen me speaking with Carmyn and pocketing those condoms. We’ve a genuine problem on board.”
“Fuck me to the moon.”
Chapter 8
Brett watched Vic pace the decking. He didn’t miss the way David’s eyes tracked her too. He was certainly an attractive bloke–no mistaking it, Vic knew how to choose a topnotch specimen. David was the sort other men could secretly envy for his good lucks, but not hold it against him. After all, he was undeniably a nice guy. Was nice a good quality, or bad, when considering sharing one’s wife? His cock twitched in answer. He’d worry about nice later. At least for now the idea of the man and Vic didn’t make him limp or want to throttle him, so he was a good choice. In any case, he’d made up his mind on the matter, and now the business needed his attention.
They had no way to find the device their onboard spy had used. Any sort of search would raise flags and cause an ensuing panic amongst the passengers. “We’ll just have to wait it out and see if that’s the last of it.”
“It won’t be the last of it,” Vic muttered. “Unless we can catch her–or him, if it’s some little gay guy who likes to call himself a girl. Unless we can find her, she’ll keep blogging.”
“It’s not all bad.” After all, it was publicity, and Vic had patently refused to Tweet during the cruise, though the publicity department had begged.
She whirled on him. “Which part is not bad? If we can’t assure our clients of confidentiality, then we’ve got nothing to offer them. For all we know, this person has a camera in the device, and next thing you know, there’ll be photos posted along with the blog. Not to mention, someone is back in the middle of our lives again. Trying to cause trouble between–wait just one minute. Andrea.” She folded her arms under her breasts, which caused a glorious fucking upheaval, pushing cleavage out over the top of her silky ivory sleeveless blouse.
“Erm. Andrea? You think this is her doing? So far as I know, Andre
a is living off some sugar daddy in the South of France.” She’d latched on to some billionaire and probably wouldn’t let go until she’d sucked every bit of life–and semen–from his unsuspecting, decrepit soul.
“How could somebody blog?” David asked. “A lot of sites are blocked on those computers downstairs. Do you think she did it there?”
“There’s an admin password to get past the filters,” Vic answered, flopping into her seat again. “The blogger either used that password, or got on the private network.” She stood again. “I need to call the tech guys and find out which.”
Her lovely silk knee-length slacks gave such a satisfying glimpse of her ass as she sauntered away. “Vic.”
She stopped and turned to face him. “What?”
“Smile. I love your suit–the fabric clings in all the right places.”
The full force of her fury flashed upon him. “Really?”
Mayhap he’d need some support here. “Doesn’t it, David?”
David turned red, his mouth hanging open, as he looked from him to Vic, and back to him. Poor man. “Um. I…” But his eyes betrayed him, because he obviously appreciated the silk clinging to her front as much as he had the back.
Vic stared him down for a moment, her cheeks and neck turning pink, then shook her head. “Really?” she repeated. “When faced with a new multimillion dollar business falling flat on its face, you choose to focus on my ass?” She gave them both a look that suggested if one of them said the wrong thing, she’d tear him a new one.
“Love, I’m sure this’ll all blow over. Let’s not get all overreactive and panicky.”
“And now I’m overreacting? You forget, I know what it is clients want, Britt. If people don’t feel like they can come to us and have their secrets safe, then we’ve got nothing to offer them. Nothing. They can go get their rocks off any time, any place. The reason they come to us, is because we can set it up confidentially. So, yeah, when faced with the prospect of losing everything, I tend to panic. And place a little more importance on that than making jokes about somebody’s pantsuit riding up their ass.”
