by Lara Adrian
Then again, today when we were sailing, the way he commanded both my body and my release. The way he asked if I was ready to go further with him—away from safe ports.
Now, the sum of all these things sends a deliciously dark shiver over my nerve endings. If he were still into that lifestyle, I’m sure I’d know it by now. But that doesn’t make his suggestion any less unsettling. Nick is dominant by nature, alpha to the core. Given my background—my broken past—I should find fear in that part of him. Yet there is no fear with Nick. Only delicious, dark anticipation.
And the thought of submitting to him sexually—in all ways—makes everything female in me quicken with curiosity . . . and desire.
“No limits between us,” he says, his voice quiet with demand and promise. “No boundaries. No holding back. Not ever, Avery. Not with me.”
God help me, the way his gaze is burning me up—the way my body recalls in vivid, sensual detail how masterfully he knows how to please me—I would be willing to try anything and everything with him. I’m starving for the kind of freedom he’s describing. I’m terrified of it, too, even though in a distant corner of my conscience, I realize I’ve been heading down this path with Nick from the very beginning. Ready to submit my body and my pleasure . . . if not my soul. Eager to entrust all of myself to him, regardless of any warnings. Regardless of all the risks.
I lick my lips, and watch his eyes drift to my mouth and stay there. His jaw tenses and then his inky lashes lift, and I’m drowning in a storm of turbulent blue.
“I want more than you think you’re capable of giving to anyone, Avery. But you’ll give it all to me.”
It’s not phrased as a question, but I nod, the only movement I’m capable of when he’s looking at me with such raw hunger. His mouth curves at my almost instinctual agreement to his demands. I am his. Since the moment we met, I have belonged to him and no other, and he knows it as well as I do.
“I want to hear it,” he murmurs, his voice rasping over my senses like silk, decadent and seductive. “Say it, baby.”
“Yes.”
His brows lift slightly, expectantly. The unspoken, but gentle command sends a dark thrill through me.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
He steps back a bit, even though I long for him to kiss me, to touch me, to toss me down and take me right where I stand. But he denies me. Devil that he is, he purses his lips in wicked amusement and studies me for a long moment.
I know he wants me right now too. I can see it in his eyes. I hear it in the rising tempo of his breathing. I can feel it in the electric charge of the air between us, so potent and palpable it makes my nipples tighten and sends goose bumps prickling to life on my bare arms. My gaze drifts downward, and it’s no surprise to find his erection straining against the dark fabric of his shorts.
He wants me, but, damn him, he’s going to make me wait.
He lifts my chin and gives me a brief, teasing kiss. “Pour the wine, baby. I’ll decide over dinner just how far I’m going to take you tonight.”
~ ~ ~
We enjoy Nick’s pasta primavera and our bottle of wine by candlelight at the fold-out table in the cockpit, canopied by a black velvet sky pierced with countless stars. The meal is wonderful, the evening tranquil and warm, yet I spend all of it in a state of heightened anticipation of what awaits me once it’s over.
Each glance he sends my way kicks my pulse into a harder tempo. Every time he reaches over to refill my glass or brushes his fingers across mine, the embers still smoldering in my core leap to new life, fueling the wet heat between my thighs and making me fidget on the cushioned seat across from him.
And because he knows me so well, I don’t think for a minute that Nick isn’t aware of my restless curiosity. Or my need. No, he’s enjoying every second of it.
I can’t take the tension or the wondering, and if I think about being naked and at his mercy for another moment, I’m going to scream. Either that, or combust on the spot.
I shake my head when he offers me the last of the wine after we finish our meal. “I’d better not. We both know I tend to do reckless things when I’ve had too much to drink.”
He smirks. “Like leaving art exhibits with a man you just met?”
“Yes, there is that. And then running away with him to Miami and sailing off on a whim to points unknown.”
“I happen to know exactly where we are,” he says, pouring the rest of the Pinot Grigio into his glass. “You have nothing to worry about as long as you’re with me.”
I laugh. “Oh, I seriously doubt that’s true.”
He cocks his head, a frown creasing his forehead. “Are you worried now?”
“No.” I lick my lips, watching him in the low light of the guttering candle, his sculpted features and square jaw cast in shadows and harsh angles. Dominic Baine is profanely handsome, infinitely seductive. In his expensive, tailored suits and polished luxury, he is the epitome of elegance and class. Tonight, dressed only in his shorts, with his short black hair windswept and wild, his jaw grizzled with the first rough hints of his beard, he is jagged and beautiful, a dark, wicked angel.
And right now—in this place, in this moment—he is mine.
Looking at him now, after our day together on the water and our romantic dinner alone on the boat, I can almost forget that he’s a titan of the corporate world with a net worth that exceeds the economy of a small country.
I can almost forget that I’ve been warned to be careful around him, to protect my heart.
That if I’m foolish enough to get too close, he’ll only cut me loose like he has so many others before me.
It isn’t until I think of them—the women who came, and went, before me—that doubt begins to seep under my skin, despite his earlier reassurances about Kathryn, at least. My pleasant bubble broken, I glance away from his stare, turning my head to look out at the glistening black water and the smattering of lights that glow on the key across the bay.
“How long have you had the Icarus?” I ask him, desperate for conversation that won’t have me wondering when he’s going to make love to me again or how many other women might have found themselves seated in this same place with him.
“I had her built eleven years ago. I was twenty-two and had just gotten my first taste of success in real estate investment. Needless to say, I was hooked.”
I glance at him and find him leaning back in his seat, his wineglass held loosely in his hand. He looks so young like this, almost carefree. I can’t help but smile. “And now here you are, thirty-three years old and two-point-four billion later.” I see the flicker of surprise chase across his features and I flush with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t know that about you unless you wanted to tell me. My friend, Tasha, looked you up online without asking me first and relayed some of the highlights.”
“The friend in Queens with the new baby?”
“Yeah. Tasha was also with me when I almost crashed into you in the lobby elevator.”
Nick’s brows lift. “Was she? Funny, I don’t recall anyone else once I saw you.”
It’s blatant flattery, but, coming from him, I’m not entirely immune. I don’t even try to hold back my smile. “Tasha thought you were arrogant. She didn’t want to like you, but I think you may have won her over with the bouquet you sent for Zoe’s baptism several weeks ago.”
“Actually, I was aiming to win over a different woman that day.” He finishes off his wine and sets the glass down on the table. “So what other internet highlights did Tasha share with you about me?”
I shrug. “Only that you’re very successful. And that you’re known for how fiercely you guard your privacy.”
“Dominic Baine, ‘the shadow mogul,’” he says, sounding vaguely amused. But I know him too well to be fooled by his casual dismissal. He’s irritated by his public reputation. He’s defensive. “If there’s one thing the press can’t stand, it’s someone who refuses to dance in their spotlight. Then t
hey start looking for weaknesses, dents in the armor. They start digging for secrets.”
“Will they find any?”
The question blurts out of me before I can stop it. Nick’s gaze sharpens on me, his jaw hardening. I want to reel my words back in, but they hang between us like a challenge. I know he feels so too. I can sense the flare of displeasure in him as he leans forward, placing his elbows on the table as he holds me in his hard stare. Against my will, my gaze drops to the numerous jagged scars that slash across Nick’s right arm and hand.
“Everyone has secrets, Avery. If you don’t want them to rise up again, you have to be careful to remember where you bury the bodies.”
Although he says it reflectively, with an edge that makes me wary to push him, I realize he could just as easily be speaking about me. I feel my face drain of color under his scrutiny, a jolt of pure panic rushing through me. Does he know? Can he possibly have any idea about my past?
No, he can’t be. I’m certain of it.
Because I was a minor, there was never any mention of my name after my stepfather’s death. There’s nothing to link me to those news stories, then or now. It’s one of the many reasons I’m thankful to have kept my daddy’s last name, even when Martin Coyle first married my mother and pressed her to let him formally adopt me.
My skin crawls at the memory, and I can’t suppress the shiver that sweeps over me. I know where the bodies of my secrets are buried, but no matter how far I’ve run from them, they still hold me in their icy grasp.
Nick’s touch draws me back to the present, his fingers tender as he covers my hand with his. He rises to his feet now, his expression softened. “We’re done here. Stand up, baby, and come with me.”
When I hesitate, uncertain, he holds out his hand in silent demand. As soon as I’m standing, he gently turns me around and begins unfastening my dress.
“Nick, what are you—”
“You won’t need this anymore tonight.” He makes quick work of it, leaving me standing in just my bra and panties. “Now, come with me.”
Chapter 31
“Nick, where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer, just wraps his fingers around mine and leads me away from the table. I expect him to take me into the cabin. Instead he steps onto the gunwale and grabs hold of a line with his free hand.
“One hand for me and one for the boat,” he tells me as he helps me up beside him. “Watch your step. The salt spray can make the deck slippery.”
Together under the moonlight, barefoot, we make our way to the bow. Nick parks me on the broad wooden deck, then walks over to one of the hatches and retrieves a pair of long, folded cushions. He lays them out next to each other beneath the stowed mainsail.
“Right here,” he says, indicating the cushion beside him as he sits on the other one.
As soon as I sink down next to him, he pivots toward me and his mouth covers mine. His tongue delves inside in a possessive kiss that scatters all of my thoughts, even the most troubling ones. I sigh as his lips draw back from mine, all of my tension flowing away like the tide.
“Better?” he asks as if he knows I needed the change of scenery as much as I needed his mouth on me.
I gaze at him in a state of sensual intoxication. “Much better. I’ve been waiting for you to do that all night.”
Even in the darkness, I can see the satisfied curve of his smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”
I snort, unable to help myself. “You don’t believe that for a second. You take what you want, remember?”
“Yes,” he agrees, unrepentant. “But we’re not talking about me right now.”
“Okay, then prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Show me all the good things you have in mind for me.” I lick my lips and add a belated, “Sir.”
His brows rise, whether in amusement or challenge, I’m not sure. “Evidently, I haven’t sufficiently explained the concept of how this is supposed to work tonight. You don’t get to make the demands.”
Before I know what he’s doing, he reaches around me and unfastens my bra. I yelp in shock as it pops loose. Nick sweeps the lacy fabric off me, tossing it onto the cushions. When I raise my hands reflexively to cover myself, his fingers close around mine.
He shakes his head in firm reprimand. “You don’t hide yourself from me either.”
Placing my hands at my sides, he sits back and simply looks at me for a long moment. My breasts and torso are fully exposed to him, and he seems intent on taking his sweet, maddening time admiring every inch of me. I shiver, even though the night air is warm on my bare skin. Waves lap against the boat as it rocks gently in the water, lulling me into an almost trancelike state as I hang suspended in mounting anticipation, yearning for his touch. For his kiss.
For whatever this provocative man desires of me.
When he finally reaches out, brushing his fingertips along the tender undersides of my breasts, I exhale a tremulous sigh.
His voice is a dark, wicked whisper. “You see, Ms. Ross, the way this works is, your body—your pleasure—belongs to me.”
His caress grows bolder, his palms firm on me, his thumbs rolling over my beaded nipples, pinching their hyperaware tips. Arousal pours through me at his rough handling of my sensitive flesh, and I let out a soft moan of surrender, leaning my weight onto my braced hands to grant him total access to my body.
“Yes,” he murmurs thickly, approvingly. “Now, you’re getting the idea.”
His mouth covers one of my nipples, drawing it deep. I hiss in pure, unabashed need as his tongue circles slowly, flicking and suckling. Heat rushes under my skin with every delicious suction, every sharp, unexpected graze of his teeth.
I whimper and squirm where I sit, loosely cross-legged, my sex growing damp and hot inside my panties. I want Nick’s hands down there too. I want his mouth on my clit, his tongue buried in my cleft. I want it so badly, my sex clenches, the scent of my own arousal rising warm and sweet on the soft ocean breeze.
It’s all I can do not to reach for Nick and push his head down between my parted thighs. I gasp his name, arching back further on my palms, my spine bowed toward him, my breasts thrust forward as he continues his sensual assault on them. “Nick, please . . .”
His answering snarl vibrates into my bones. Lifting his gaze from my breasts, he gives me a ruthless smile. “Begging is nice, sweetheart. But tonight it’s only going to make you wait even longer for what you really want.” As he speaks, the backs of his knuckles skim down the center of my body, a slow descent that pauses as he reaches my navel. “Unless you ask me very nicely.”
“Please, sir,” I whisper, a tremor building from just that brief, teasing touch. “I want . . . Oh, God, I need to feel your hands on me. Please.”
“In that case, how can I possibly refuse?” He leans forward and kisses me. At the same time, his palm slides between my legs to cup my mound.
I cry out at the glorious pressure and powerful possession of his hand as it curves around my aching sex. My cleft is drenched, and as he caresses me, his fingers slip past the edge of my panties into my wet slit. He groans, his strong fingers flexing, stroking my naked flesh.
I want him to rub my throbbing clit. I want him to push his fingers inside me and give my empty channel something to hold on to. I want to feel his cock filling me, fucking me.
I am already panting with want, desperate for anything he’ll give me, but all too soon, his touch is gone. He ignores my protesting moan and pushes me down onto my back on the cushion.
He carefully straightens my legs, then peels off my wet panties. I lay before him, naked and trembling, my nerve endings on fire as I watch him rise up on his knees to unfasten his shorts. He takes them off, pushing his boxer briefs down along with them. His erection springs free, heavy and enormous.
My mouth waters as my gaze fixes on him, and when my tongue darts out to wet my lips in response, Nick’s smoldering expression turns molten. “The feeling is
mutual, baby. Before the night is over, I’m going to have my mouth on every delicious curve and crevice of your body.” A coarse, purely sexual growl curls up his throat as he looks at me. “And I promise you, that sweet mouth of yours is going to be all over me too.”
He sets his shorts aside and moves in close to my side. When I reach for him, he catches my hand and stretches it up above my head. Then he brings the other one up, and places one of my palms atop the other. He holds them there for a moment, before his fingers run slowly down the length of my arm, then along my rib cage.
“All of this is mine,” he says. “Every perfect inch.”
I shiver under his light caress, goose bumps racing in the wake of his touch. It’s torture keeping my hands above my head, but I know that’s what he wants. It’s what he’s demanded, even if he hasn’t said the words.
His touch descends, lingering along the buoyant curves of my breasts, then down the center of my rib cage. He strokes my belly, his finger tracing the rim of my navel, sending electric sparks into my limbs. Then his touch travels farther, over my hip bones, then along the line of trimmed blonde hair on my pubis. When his fingers sink delectably into the soaked V of my thighs, my answering sigh leaks out of me, thin and shaky with desire.
“This,” he says, his eyes locked on mine as he cleaves my slick folds. “This especially is mine. Any way I want it. Whenever and however I choose. Isn’t that right?”
I nod, all I can manage as his touch slides all along my sex, his fingertips alternating between stroking my clit and teasing the entrance of my body. I moan helplessly, yearning for him to penetrate me, to fill me.
“I need to hear you say it, baby.”
“Yes.” My answer is a threadbare gasp.
“Hmm.” He slowly shakes his head. He draws his fingers away from me and I whimper at the loss. “You know what I want to hear, Avery. Say it for me. Let me know I have your surrender.”
“Yes,” I answer breathlessly, eager in spite of my uncertainty about where he might take me tonight. “Yes, sir.”
