Make Me Wet: An Older Man Younger Woman Steamy Cruise Romance

by Adele Hart

  Make Me Wet

  Adele Hart

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  Epilogue

  Epilogue Two

  Choose Me-Sneak Peek

  Kiss Me-Sneak Peek

  Take Me-Sneak Peek

  About the Author

  Also by Adele Hart

  Copyright © 2017 by Adele Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Foreword

  Hey Girl,

  Have you ever heard that song from the Pirates of the Caribbean? You know, the one that goes something like ‘Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me…’ Well, I could do without the ho, or maybe I could be the ho. Either way, I’d sure as heck do the pirate. Although, I’m pretty positive the modern-day pirates aren’t quite as sexy as Jack Sparrow. That’s why I had to make up my own.

  Making up my own sexy pirate got me thinking about cruises. Ever been on one? I took an inner tube down a lazy river once. Does that count? Nope? Well, dang it. Hope springs eternal.

  Anyway, I sat back one day and fantasized about a cruise and a modern day pirate. I came up with Asa Cross and Liberty Ferall, but then I thought about the ho missing from my story, and I added her sister Justice. Yep, you read that right—Liberty and Justice Ferall. ‘Why?’ you moan. Because I’m silly like that.

  Join Asa and Libby as they enjoy Sex on the Beach and Screaming Orgasms—the drinks of course, you dirty girl. And don’t forget about the plank, Asa’s long, hard plank.

  Peace Out,

  Adele (drops mic and flags down a waiter to order a Screaming Orgasm, or maybe two, because why stop at one?)

  One

  Libby

  I pull the suitcase behind me until the man at the bottom of the gangway takes it. I look at him suspiciously, not because I think he’ll do anything to my suitcase but because it means I’m doing this. I’m boarding a floating hotel for a week. I can’t swim, and I don’t like the water, and yet in hours I’ll be surrounded by it.

  “Aren’t you excited?” My sister Justice hops up and down like a kid who’s eaten her entire bounty of Halloween candy in one sitting. “Come on Libby, let’s go.”

  She tugs on my arm and drags me up the walkway to the ship entrance. At the top stand two men wearing white navy-like uniforms.

  I stop in front of the man with the most gold stripes on his shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be on the bridge doing cross checks or something?” I know nothing about steering a ship, but I imagine the captain’s time is better spent doing more important things than greeting the cruisers.

  “Captain Christos is already on the bridge. I’m the staff captain, Nicholas Demos.” He holds out his hand. “Welcome aboard the Southern Cross.”

  I give him a quick shake and run after my sister who has already found the bar up ahead. I’ve done my homework. I looked up the safety record of Cross Cruises and they don’t have one blemish on their record. I tried to find some reason not to be my sister’s plus-one, but there wasn’t a valid excuse I could come up with. However, if I’m being honest with myself, I have to admit that I’m excited to do something new, although I prefer to be on land.

  Justice shoves a pink drink with a paper umbrella floating at the top into my hand. “It’s called Sex on the Beach, and if you’re lucky, you’ll get that in human form.” She clinks her glass against mine. “Here’s to hot men and happy vaginas.”

  I look around to make sure no one is looking at us. My sister has no filter. She blurts out whatever comes to her mouth. She lives on the edge, but so do I. I’m on the edge looking over at everyone having fun. She’s the one on the edge jumping in to the fray.

  “Cheers.” I say.

  “Did you bring Mr. Dependable?” She knows I’m not hooking up with anyone. If I’m going to have sexy time, it will be between my vibrator and me. It never complains, is always ready, and doesn’t snore.

  “Stop it. I’m not talking sex with you in public.” I turn around and lean against the bar, realizing it’s the perfect place to hang out and watch everyone come on board. I excel at looking—not doing.

  My head shifts between my sister and the men walking up the gangway. I know her. She is taking mental notes. She puts people into groups by fuckability. There’s the ‘yes’ group, the ‘no’ group, and the ‘probably after I’m shit-face drunk’ group.

  I sip on the only Sex on the Beach I’m getting on this cruise and play along with her, trying to figure out who I’d put in the yes group if I were that girl.

  No to the guy in Bermuda shorts with legs as hairy as King Kong.

  No to the guy who’s already wearing the pink Zinc sunblock on his nose.

  Hell no to the guy with the T-shirt that reads, I hear you’re looking for a stud. Well, I've got the STD, and all I need is you. I shudder at the thought.

  There wasn’t a lack of men coming aboard because this was a singles cruise. There wasn’t a lack of women either. People travel in packs? The men come in pairs or quartets and women travel in six-packs like tightly contained cans of beers just waiting for a sexy beast to pluck one of them loose.

  “You remember the ‘do not enter’ code, right?”

  I let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, red beads on the door mean stop.” Justice brought her Mardi Gras beads for that purpose alone.

  I hope the lawn chairs are comfortable because I have a feeling I’ll be spending a lot of time in one.

  A man approaches her right side and Justice walks away without another thought about me.

  Up ahead, a total hunk walks alone toward the bar. He looks comfortable in his white pants and dock shoes. His blue linen shirt hangs perfectly over his slim hips. I swear I’ve seen him on the cover of a magazine. He looks like a model but has the aura of a pirate. An older, sexy-as-hell pirate.

  He walks straight toward me and my heart pounds in my chest. When he reaches the bar, he shakes the bartender’s hand like they’re old friends. “Can you send someone with coffee to my room?”

  I stare at the man who is so close I can feel the heat from his body, or maybe that’s my core temperature rising because he’s so damn hot. His eyes are the color of new-bloomed clover—a green that can only come from nature. I find myself leaning toward him. He smells like sandalwood and sunshine.

  “Can I help you?” He looks down at me, and smiles.

  I want to sink into the gold carpet and disappear. The man caught me sniffing him. “No, I was just…” Oh, what the hell. “What kind of cologne do you wear?”

  He places an elbow on the bar and leans casually against it. “Do you like it?” His smile is disarming. The kind of smile that makes a girl’s panties wet.

  “No.”

  “No?” He lifts his eyes and the corner of his lips fall into a frown.

  I can feel the heat of my embarrassment rush to my cheeks. “Yes.”

  “What is it? Yes or No?”

  “It’s a yes. I like it very much.” So much that the burn of my embarrassment takes a dive and settles between my legs. If he doesn’t leave me soon, I’ll be rushing to my room and hanging the red beads from the door handle so I can get better acquainted with Mr. Dependable. My life is pathetic.

  “That’s good to
hear. It’s a custom blend that I’ve recently started wearing.” He looks me up and down and my pussy begins to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

  “I’m Asa, what’s your name?”

  For a minute I can’t remember. The man muddles my brain.

  “You do have a name. You have to have one to get a passport, which you needed to get on the ship.”

  I shake my head trying to jumble a few functional brain cells together. “Of course I have a name. I’m Libby Ferall.” I offer him my hand, which is a mistake because the minute he touches me, my knees buckle. I grip the bar with my free hand and try to cover my stumble by saying, “I don’t have my sea legs yet.”

  He cocks his head to the left. “We haven’t left port. You’re in real trouble if you’re feeling it already.” He looks at my half-empty drink and whistles. I watch as his lips pucker up and wonder how they’d feel on my body. I swoon again, but this time he places his hands on my waist to steady me. I lean into him and steal another smell.

  “You might want to limit those.” He nods toward my pink drink.

  I reluctantly step back. “It’s my first.”

  His eyes grow big and I notice that the green of his irises are ringed in the same gold color as the carpet. “Then maybe you should have another,” he teases. He waves to the bartender who mixes up another pink drink. He shoves a blue umbrella on the top and slides it across the bar to me.

  “Do you think it’s wise?” I ask.

  Asa leans in and whispers in my ear. “Wise isn’t always fun. Enjoy the cruise, Libby. I hope I see you again.” He swings to face the bartender. “Put that on my tab.”

  “No, I can take care of it.” I push my room card toward the bartender.

  Asa stops my progress by gripping both of my hands in his. “Libby, giving you an orgasm on the beach has been my greatest pleasure.”

  My mouth drops open for a second. “No, it’s a Sex On the Beach. It has nothing to do with orgasms.”

  He leans forward, kisses my cheek. “Then you’ve been doing it all wrong, sweetheart.” He turns and walks away.

  I pick up the drink and empty the glass in three gulps. My intention is to cool off the fire that Asa built in me, but instead, the alcohol goes straight to my head. I say goodbye to the bartender and stumble my way to the elevator.

  I enter and press floor eight—the concierge floor. The rooms are larger and the amenities more comprehensive. The only thing Justice’s free cruise doesn’t cover is alcohol, but after drinking my quota of sex-inspired drinks, I decide that water will be my drink of choice from here on out.

  I sway down the long corridor until I’m standing in front of room 8096. No damn way. Red beads hang from the handle and a giggle sounds from behind the door. My sister is here to write a review for the travel blog she works for. I wonder if she’ll see anything besides the crisp white sheets of the bed. Part of me is annoyed, and part of me is envious.

  I pound on the door and say a little too loudly, “You better not be on my bed.” Something thunks against the door. That’s my signal to leave.

  A few minutes later, I’m on the top deck where a band plays near the pool. I find an empty seat and take in the scene around me. Bikini-clad women dance around the edge of the pool while men shop the selection. The closer we get to sailing time, the more crowded the deck becomes. I search the area for Asa the Pirate, but he’s nowhere in sight.

  Fifteen minutes later, Justice appears holding the hand of a pretty blond man. He’s the kind of man who beats you to the mirror every morning and borrows your flat iron and concealer. I have to give her credit though, she grabs life by the balls and, oh boy, does her life consist of lots of balls.

  Justice scans the room looking for her next yes. Some would call her easy, but there’s nothing easy about Justice. She knows what she wants and goes after it. I wouldn’t call that easy. I’d call that motivated. Unfortunately, I don’t have the same drive in me.

  I wave to grab her attention and she rushes over to me. “Oh, my God! What an amazing way to start a week.”

  She waves her hand in front of her face like a fan. Her once perfectly-styled hair is mussed with that just-got-laid look and her eyes have that sleepy contented haze that I’ve never achieved.

  “You didn’t screw him on my bed, did you?”

  She rolls her eyes and smiles. “No, we did it on the desk.”

  I gasp. “You know I have to work this week. I have a book to edit and I need that desk for work.”

  She grabs her stomach, bends over and laughs. “I knew I could get you riled. We didn’t do it on the desk. In fact we didn’t do it at all, but that man has an appetite, and I happily fed him.”

  I put my fingers in my ears and make nonsense noise so I don’t have to hear her talk about the amazing oral abilities of Blondie.

  The band continues to play and people continue to appear. Everyone but Asa. It’s ridiculous of me to focus on him. I’m not his type. I bet Asa is the type of man who has women tripping over their stilettos just to get in line to have a sliver of his time. He probably takes women who look like cover models to galas and functions every night, whereas I sit at home and edit other women’s fantasies.

  Over the loud speaker, the Quarter Master announces a mandatory safety drill and tells everyone to meet in their muster stations for a briefing. I look down at my card and locate my area. It’s C-1, which I find out is the casino.

  Half the people milling around the ship are already drunk, and I wonder how safe can a ship full of wasted people be, and then I remember that this ship has one crew member for every two guests. So at least there’s that.

  Justice and I walk into the casino and take a seat at the blackjack table. Leaning against the Lucky Seven slot machine is Asa. That means he’s also in concierge class. Feeling like a stalker staring at him, I turn my seat around and wait for further instruction. It takes everything in me to not twist my neck to get another glimpse of the only man on my ‘yes’ list.

  Two

  Asa

  There she is with her almost black hair hanging down her back. Her heart-shaped ass sits like a ripe peach ready for plucking. My mouth waters.

  This isn’t supposed to be a pleasure cruise. It isn’t even a working vacation. The Southern Cross is taking her maiden voyage, and I want to make sure our guests are getting the best possible service, but Libby distracts me. She caught my eye the minute I walked on board and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind.

  I stare at her.

  She sees me and recognizes me. It’s obvious when her eyes land on me. Those big beautiful slate-blue orbs open wide. She appears embarrassed and turns around to give me a view of her finer assets.

  I lean against the slot machine, letting the cold metal frame cool down the heat coursing through my body. There is something about Libby that interests me. I’m not sure if it’s the innocence in her eyes or the sinfulness of her curvy body, but I want her. In fact, I’ve wanted no one as much as I want her.

  The Quarter Master churns on about the safety features of the ship. The crew shows the proper way to put on a life preserver vest and before I know it, the muster drill is complete.

  “Aren’t you Asa Cross?” A blonde steps in front of me. I look over her shoulder and watch as Libby disappears into the crowd. Frustrated, I look down at the woman. She’s tall and slender and sports her own silicone flotation devices. They aren’t nearly as lovely as Libby’s. Although I didn’t get a good look, I know Libby’s breasts are natural by the way they shift when she moves. I like breasts that are natural and wiggle and jiggle in my hands. The woman before me is anything but natural from her over-plumped lips to the bags attached to her chest.

  “I am Asa. And you are?” It doesn’t pay to be rude to the guests, even though I would rather be anywhere but here.

  She holds out her hand and the light catches the stones glued to her nails. I suppress an inward groan. “I’m Gretchen Hollander and I’m so excited to meet you.”
>
  She bounces up and down but nothing moves.

  “It’s my pleasure, Gretchen.” I take her hand and give it a firm shake. The kind of shake I give a colleague. If it were Libby offering me her hand again, I’d bring it to my mouth and kiss her soft palm right before I’d suck her fingers into my mouth.

  “We’re about to set sail and I like to be on the bridge for that. I’m sure you understand.” I float her a half-hearted smile and let go of her hand. “Enjoy your cruise.”

  Her smile falters. “Maybe we can have a drink later?”

  “Maybe.” There isn’t a chance, but I’m not an asshole. I turn around and walk away leaving Gretchen with little wind in her sails. There’s not a hope or a prayer I’ll be around for her later. She’s not my type. Libby is my type. She cute and sweet and curvy and I hope to see her again soon.

  Hope is a good thing to have. I hope for a lot of things. I hope the maiden voyage is successful. I hope the weather is beautiful while we sail through the Caribbean. I hope that by the end of this cruise I have Libby in my bed.

  I enter the halls of the ship, the places no one but crew get to go, and wind my way up to the bridge where Captain Christos stands at the helm. There is no wooden wheel to steer the ship. The room resembles the cockpit of a plane. Computers control everything from the navigation systems to the guest cabin temperatures.

  “Looks like smooth sailing all the way to Grand Cayman.” Alex is in his early forties and has been sailing my ships for the last ten years.

  “That’s good to hear. I was worried about that storm front that was off the coast of Cuba, but it looks like it broke up before it gained momentum.” Rough seas aren’t a problem for the ship, but they are an issue for people who drink too much or have weak stomachs.

  “You’re joining my table for Captain’s Night, correct?” He lifts his black bushy brows in a way that says, don’t-make-me-do-it-alone.