“The Bahamas,” Marietta corrects from her corner. “Bimini was our second trip.”
“Ah, that’s right.”
I shake my head, using the tongs to fish out a collection of fruit onto my own plate. I pop a strawberry between my lips, trying to imagine his life.
“Do you ever have anyone else out here?”
Brandon shifts. “I have. Clients, mostly. But, there have been friends, too.”
“Female friends?” I pry.
He doesn’t answer, just sips his champagne as if he knows better than I do that I don’t want to hear his response to that.
My cheeks flame, and I follow his guide, sipping from my own glass. “Well, thank you for inviting me out today. This is… incredible.”
And it is. I truly am thankful to be spending the day with him, especially after the week I’ve had. But as we talk through lunch and make our way back out to the top deck, I can’t help but wonder what changed. Why the sudden friendliness, the sudden olive branch? And does it only exist here, or will he be friendly in the office, too?
More than that, can I handle being only friends with Brandon?
This, the laughter and stories on a beautiful yacht, it almost hurts worse than him shrugging me off in the office. At least there, I can put him in a box. The Mr. Church box. My boss, my CEO — not my friend, and certainly nothing more.
But now?
My mind is spinning with the confusion of it a few hours after lunch when Brandon asks if I’d like a tour.
“We’re heading back toward shore, but it will take a while. We’ll probably get to see the sun set over Miami before we dock,” he explains as I wrap my robe around me again, following him inside the yacht. “I guess I should have started with this tour, huh?”
“It’s okay, I’ve enjoyed just lounging on the deck.”
“Me, too.”
He slides his sunglasses up onto his head with those words, his dark eyes finding mine as we cross the threshold inside. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to hold his gaze but finding it impossible to do so without leaning up to kiss him.
God, I want to kiss him.
I can feel his lips on mine like they were just there, only seconds ago. I remember the firm, yet soft press of them against mine. I remember the way he smells after sex, the way a thin sheen of sweat always gathers on his chest and abdomen after we finish. I remember the way he feels inside me, when he stretches me open.
Clenching my thighs, I tear my eyes away from his, blinking away the very not-safe-for-work thoughts.
“So, where do we start?”
Brandon takes his time, weaving us in and out of the yacht. He takes me through the entertainment areas — both dining and gaming — and out to each of the two decks I hadn’t visited yet. One of them hosts the pool, while the other is a mostly-shaded bar and lounging area similar to the top deck, but with more seating.
Inside, we tour the back kitchen, the captain’s post, and the crew quarters. Then, Brandon takes me through the meeting space he had designed for clients, the various bedrooms and bathrooms, and then, at the end of the tour, we’re back in the first room I entered when we boarded.
The master bedroom.
Brandon pauses at the door as I wander the room, really taking it in this time around. I note the gold and burgundy accents, the way the setting sun casts a soft, orange glow over the entire room. The master bath is visible from the bed, the two rooms joined, no walls between them. I eye the large tub, wondering what it’d be like to soak in it, wondering if he’s ever had another woman in it before me.
I spot a picture frame on a small dresser to the left of the bed, and I carefully pick it up, my fingers brushing over the photo inside it.
“Is this Darnell?” I ask, eyes flicking back and forth between a younger Brandon and a tall, strikingly handsome man with his arm around Brandon’s shoulders. I remember Darnell from his speech at the award banquet in Atlanta, the man who took Brandon under his wing as a young kid.
They look like brothers, their smiles wide, both of them dressed in basketball shorts and loose-fitting t-shirts. Brandon holds a basketball under one arm, the street court laid out in the background behind them.
“Yes.”
His voice is soft, and suddenly the vibe in the room changes. The air is sucked out with that word, leaving us in a hot, sticky vacuum where breaths are limited.
Gently placing the frame back on the dresser, I turn, pulling my robe tighter around me. There’s an entire room between us, yet I feel the warmth of Brandon’s breath like he’s only inches away.
“Why did you bring me out here today?” I finally ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“Because you were sad. Because you needed to get away.”
“Since when is my emotional state any of your concern?” I bite back, though my voice is still subdued. I shrug before adding, “It certainly hasn’t been since I came back to Okay, Cool.”
Brandon stands taller, his eyes never leaving mine, hands still casually tucked in his pockets. “I want you to be happy, Ashlei.”
I shiver at the sound of my name on his tongue, but close my eyes against the feel of it.
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” he implores, taking one step. It’s such a small movement, I almost question he took it at all. “I’ve always wanted that, from the moment I met you.”
“No.” I shake my head, opening my eyes again to find his boring into me from across the room. “If that were true, you wouldn’t ignore me. You wouldn’t treat me the way you do.” I swallow. “You reprimanded me like… like…”
“Like one of my employees who didn’t do her job correctly?”
I clench my jaw to keep it from popping open.
“I—”
“Don’t you understand?” he asks, cutting me off as he walks purposefully toward me. “I have to do that, treat you like you’re just another employee. It’s the only thing I can control. That office,” he says, pointing one hand back toward shore, “is the only goddamn place where I have any semblance of power over you.” He takes a larger step, and then another, until he’s only a few feet away. “In every other place,” he says, chest heaving. “In every other time — you consume me. You own me.”
I swallow, back hitting the curved glass of the window. My hands press into it for stability, but the next step Brandon takes puts us chest to chest. Breathing is impossible, and my knees are so weak they tremble under the weight of my body, ready to collapse.
“When I’m in my car, you’re in my head. When I’m at the gym, trying to sweat you out of my system, your eyes are all I see. When I’m in my bed, I imagine your hair splayed over my pillows the way it fell over the pillows in Atlanta. And when I give in? When I finally fuck myself, and let out all the tension you cause, it’s you I think of when I come. Your mouth,” he says, reaching out to touch my lips with his fingers. I gasp, opening them just enough to taste his skin. “Your body, your tight, always-wet, always-ready pussy. It’s you I think of, Ashlei. Always. Ever since I met you, and ever since I touched you, it’s only been worse.”
He pulls his fingers away, running his hands down my shoulders until they hook behind my elbows. Pressing off the glass, I lean into him, pushing onto my toes so my whisper reaches his ear.
“Touch me again.”
He groans, letting his forehead drop to mine, our breaths heavy and heated between us. “This is dangerous. You know that. We talked about it — what people would say about you, if anyone found out.”
“Who said anyone has to know?” I ask, sliding my hands over his chest. I hook my fingertips in the band of his shorts, tugging him forward, our lips nearly touching as he groans again. “That toast earlier, it was to secret getaways, right?”
Brandon blows out a breath. “It can only be here. It can only be when we’re not at the office. We can’t have a relationship, Ashlei.”
He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes when he delivers his next blow
.
“You won’t be mine,” he says. “And I can never be yours.”
I swallow those words like knives, letting them shred permanent marks into my throat on the way down. But, despite how they hurt, despite how hard I know it will be, there’s only one thought on my mind. Only one thing matters.
So, I lean in again, my lips touching his as I repeat my plea.
“Touch. Me. Again.”
Then, I bite his thick lower lip, pulling it between my teeth and sucking before I release it with a pop.
Brandon full on growls, bending just enough to palm the back of my thighs and lift me. My back hits the glass, my throbbing middle presses against his solid bulge, my ankles clasp behind him, and his lips finally claim me — all of me — regardless of what he said.
I’m already his.
The burst of want that surges through me with his lips on mine is palpable, like the hot lick of a flame held only inches from my skin. I feel it crawl over every centimeter of my body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Everything I remembered — the feel of him, the taste, the smell — it all crashes back over me like the sweetest burn.
Brandon pulls his lips away long enough to rip the tie loose from my robe. I tug it off my shoulders, letting it fall to the floor before my arms are back around his neck, pulling him closer, needing his mouth on mine again. He kisses me for just a second before his lips travel down, down, over my neck, my collarbone, to the gentle swell of my breast. One finger pulls the top away, his tongue flicking in to brush my nipple as I arch into him, and then his arms are around me again.
He lifts me, tossing me to the bed as if I weigh nothing, and with his eyes still on me, he slowly unbuttons his shirt.
“Take that off,” he says, glancing at my top.
I sit on the bed, knees clenched together to fight the release already building as I watch him undo his shirt. Each button reveals a new sliver of his hard abdomen, and I keep my eyes there as I reach back for the clasp of my top. Once it’s unsnapped, I pull the tie around my neck, and my breasts spring free just as Brandon tugs his shirt down off his shoulders.
He inhales deep, his tongue sneaking out to lick his lower lip as he stares unabashedly at my exposed chest. His hard-on twitches under his shorts, and his hands immediately move there next, flicking the button and pulling the zipper down in one fluid motion.
“That, too,” he says, nodding to the bottom half of my bikini.
He lets his shorts fall to his ankles, tugging his briefs off next before kicking them both to the side.
And then, Mr. Church is gloriously naked, and gloriously hard — all for me.
I bite my lip, lying back on the bed and lifting my hips enough to slowly strip my bottoms down my legs. Then, I peel them off one ankle, letting them hang on the other as I lean back on my elbows and spread my legs for him.
Brandon lets out a pained breath, one hand stroking his impossibly hard erection as he stares at the wet pool between my thighs. I watch his hand roll over his shaft, his fist tightening over his mushroom tip before pushing down again.
“This is such a bad idea,” he rasps.
“The worst,” I moan in return, shifting my weight to one elbow. I use my free hand to spread my lips, letting my head fall back as I slip one finger inside me.
“We should stop.”
My head pops up at that. “Damn it, Mr. Church, touch me. Now.”
And it’s then that I see the power he was talking about, like I hold the handle to a leash tied around his neck. He jolts forward, one hand lifting me from the small of my back until he’s between my legs, balancing on his elbows over me, my lips kissing down his shoulders.
There’s no warning, no foreplay, no fingers or mouths on either of us. Just one slip of his hand between us, lining him up with my entrance, and then he thrusts inside me — hard and greedy and relentless.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans, stopping once he’s filled me all the way. My legs tighten around him, my nails scratching down his back to give him some of my pain. “I thought I had just imagined how tight you were.”
He withdraws, flexing in again and finding new depth somehow. Each new flex of his hips has our breaths coming harder, his arms trembling around me, my legs mirroring the same pleasure as I squeeze him tight.
Maybe the fact that it’s so bad to be with him is what makes it so fucking hot. He’s my boss. I’m his intern. I shouldn’t be on his yacht. He shouldn’t have his mouth around my nipple. I shouldn’t have his cock buried deep inside me.
But the things we shouldn’t do were everything we wanted to do, and neither of us was used to hearing the word no.
Brandon’s tongue is just as expert as I remember — the way he rolls it over each of my nipples, the thick warmth of it dragging up my breasts to claim my mouth again. He kisses me like I’m his only possession, the last thing he has left in this world — like he’ll never let me go.
Pressing my hands into his chest, I lean up off the bed, giving him the signal to roll us. And when I’m on top, sitting on my throne, I glare down at him with a wicked grin before lifting off him and lowering back down. It’s so slow, the pace I take, the way he stretches me open even more in the new position. Brandon’s fingers dig into my hips, sure to leave bruises just like the pole did this morning, but I don’t care.
“Always a tease,” he whispers, his eyes rolling back.
“You love it.”
Brandon spanks my ass, thrusting his hips up to meet my slow torture. The new depth elicits a loud, crying moan from me, but he doesn’t stop his assault. Faster and faster his hips move, and when his thumb finds my clit, circling with just the slightest pressure, I come apart from the inside.
And I don’t see stars, I don’t feel numbness. No, it’s like I float above my body in that moment. I see the water, the sun setting over the shore, Brandon splayed beneath me, a satisfied smirk on his lips as I call out his name with every new wave.
I am floating, so high I could never truly come back down to Earth. I’ll forever exist in this new purgatory — a sweet kind of heavenly hell with Mr. Church as the only god.
Like a snap of a rubber band, my universe warps, and I’m catching my breath at the end of my orgasm, shaking as my hands reach for stability on Brandon’s chest. He smirks wider, biting his lower lip, and then all the control I had is ripped away again.
He flips me, rolling me onto my stomach with one smooth motion, his legs straddling mine. Brandon palms my ass, appreciating the firmness of it with another smack before he spreads my cheeks apart. My own legs are sealed together under him, making it even tighter when he presses into me from behind, filling me to the hilt. I’m so wet from my own release that he slides right in, but I’m swollen, sated, and every inch of him feels like a mile.
“Oh, God. Please. Come for me,” I plead, a mixture of pain and ecstasy ringing through me as he thrusts inside again.
He groans, balancing on his fists as his hips work. “Fuck, you feel so incredible like this. So tight. So fucking wet.”
“Please,” I repeat, just as he hits a new depth. “Oh, God.”
He picks up his pace, hips working as his breaths shallow out. A few grunts, his forearms tightening, and then one last, long thrust inside me as he finds his release. He spills into me, pressing so deep I’d surely have twins if I weren’t on the pill. And when he’s done, his arms cave, just a little, and he lowers himself down onto me as he softens inside.
The weight of his slick, hot body presses me into the comforter, and I sigh, a smile splitting my face as pleasure rolls through us.
“Whoops,” I say.
Brandon chuckles, rolling off me and onto one elbow. He watches me as I stare back under a curtain of sex hair, still grinning.
“You’re impossible.”
I crawl toward him, pressing my lips to his in a long, slow kiss. “And you’re insatiable.”
“Also true.”
When I pull back, Brandon runs his fingertips over my bare shoulder
and down the curve of my back, tracing a circle on my hip before dragging them back up. He watches me, eyes searching mine before he asks the question we’ve been avoiding.
“So, now what?”
Now what, indeed.
I’VE NEVER HAD AN ulcer, but at just twenty-one years old, I might be experiencing my first.
There’s a gnawing, intense pinch in my stomach as I eye Skyler in my right peripheral, watching the waves crash in the reflection of her aviator sunglasses. She’s been staring out at the water, not saying a word to any of us since we got to the beach. We’re all lined up in a row — me, Ashlei, Jess, Cassie, and at the far end, as far as she can be away from me — Skyler.
We haven’t spoken since Friday, since the night my plan went up in the most catastrophic of fires. Not only did Skyler have to make a public scene, including making an early exit with Adam, but Kip also left — which was not part of the plan. I expected him to run to me, or at the very least, to stay at the dance. I could have found him later, comforted him as he got wasted, been there for him as he tried to make sense of what happened with Skyler. I expected it to be a slow transition, but a transition, nonetheless.
But, he’d just left. He’d left without so much as a glance in my direction. And I haven’t heard from him since.
And Skyler isn’t talking to me either.
Cool.
It’s a beautiful Sunday, one of those days in Florida where I’m more than thankful I don’t live anywhere else in the country. There’s a blizzard up north, meanwhile it’s sunny and in the seventies here in South Florida.
In February.
I sigh, tearing my eyes away from Skyler to take another drink as Jess continues her story.
“I don’t know, he’s fun, and the sex is good, but…” She pauses, chewing her lip. “It’s just…”
“He’s not Jarrett,” Ashlei finishes for her.
Jess lets out a long exhale, sucking the vodka and pink lemonade mix up through the straw in her tumbler. “He’s just not Jarrett.”
I smile, reaching over Ashlei to swat Jess’s knee playfully. “Hey, don’t overthink it so much. Do you like this guy? Greg?”
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