by Zara Cox
“Right. I guess after six attempts in three days, I should take the hint, huh?”
He looks embarrassed for me and shuffles some more. “I guess...”
I nod, despite feeling the twist of the knife. “Thanks, you can leave it on the table,” I say.
He hurries to place the box on the console table near the cabin door, then pauses. “Same time tomorrow, sir?”
I shake my head. “No. I think it’s time for a more...personal approach.”
He nods eagerly, even though he looks puzzled. “Okay. Well, if you need anything else, sir, just let me know.”
He hurries out and my gaze swings to the box Keely left behind four days ago when I’d all but kicked her out of my house in Monte Carlo. I’d burned the note after discovering it on the floor the next day, even as I’d reeled at that tinge of guilt still feel for the coat of nastiness I’d glazed the note with.
That lingering guilt alone should make me rethink this doomed path. That and the fact that I’d woken up in a cold sweat next to another human being for the first time in almost six years, and then proceeded to open myself up to the lethal cocktail of rage and grief.
I should be making a swift and decisive retreat.
Because if those reasons aren’t enough, as of yesterday, there’s Cassie. And my mother. Gluttons for my brand of punishment. Or architects of their own special strain of Stockholm Syndrome. A fucked-up type of delusion, which makes them think that letting me—and all the vileness that inhabits my soul—get close enough to them will somehow heal all of us.
It doesn’t matter how many times or how many ways I demonstrate my singular lack of care for what they think, they always come back for more.
My gaze lingers over the black box as my mind focusses on the one woman who’s holding fast to her decision not to come back for more.
I finger my phone with the full knowledge that I should accept her decision. But I know I’m going to ignore the warning flashing in my brain. I draw it from my pocket.
Subject: My Gift
Got your message. Shame on you. It’s not polite to refuse a gift.
—Mason
I goad because I’m certain it’s the only way I’ll get a response. Her reply pops into my text box a few minutes later.
Subject: Re: My Gift
It is when it’s from a self-confessed asshole. Especially one who refused to see me when I returned to the boat on Monday. I got your message loud and clear. So here’s my gift to you—Fuck off.
—Keely
PS - Happy to arrange for the message to be delivered in sign language for the seventh and (hopefully) final time, if words and their meaning elude you.
I lean back against the railing, consider my answer, before I reply.
Subject: Re: Re: My Gift
Full disclosure: I wasn’t in a good place on Monday. Accept my gift, and I’ll consider accepting yours. I’m heavily into sign language.
—Mason
I hit send, knowing I’m exploiting that vein of compassion I’d glimpsed in her tough armor back in my kitchen. She may fight it, but ultimately, Keely Benson is a curious and compassionate creature. I stare at my screen until her message pops up.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: My Gift
Full disclosure: I shouldn’t have stayed. Being horny made me greedy. But you were still gone when I woke up. For both our sakes, stay gone.
—Keely
Thoughts of Cassie and my mother recede as the challenge of how quickly I can dominate this situation heats up my blood.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: My Gift
I can’t. We’re on the same yacht. Besides...you’re different. Also, greedy works for me. Let me make it up to you.
—Mason
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: My Gift
We’ve managed to avoid one another for four days. If you ask me, we’re doing brilliantly. Also, in what way am I different? (Not that I care, of course)
—Keely
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: My Gift
In all the ways that shouldn’t matter, but do. In all the ways that matter, but shouldn’t.
—M
PS - Happy to repeat that in Pig Latin. I hear that turns you on.
She doesn’t reply for almost five minutes, and I wonder if she’s still annoyed at my overhearing her say that to Bethany back in Montauk. When she eventually replies, my eyes narrow at her answer.
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: My Gift
It doesn’t. I have to go. Goodbye.
—K
I let her go for a minute. Five minutes. Ten. My fingers tremble as I ponder the abruptness of the last text and fight against the screaming instinct that urges me to let this be.
My soul craves the calm wildness of Roraima. My gaping heart howls with the rage of loss that has never dimmed. I’m a walking razor blade. The odds of her not being hacked to pieces just by being around me are ludicrously low. I already know she’s caught a glimpse of the seething mess beneath. She caught a glimpse, and I responded by kicking her out of my bed and my house.
Logic dictates I should let her go before I risk turning her into another Cassie. But no. Keely will never be a Cassie. She’s her own unique brand of titanium-plated strength and kitten-soft weakness. Both are lethal in their own way. Both shimmer with a mesmeric compulsion that keeps me tethered to this time and place.
So I choose to fuck logic in the ass.
I call up Seven’s app and get Keely’s exact location. Keely probably won’t be happy to learn I’ve known her exact location at every moment since she entered my house last Saturday, but I’ve never claimed sainthood.
I swap my T-shirt for a dress shirt and tug on my leather jacket. When I leave my suite, my set jaw and lack of eye contact with other guests ensures I’m left alone. Even though only a handful of the crew know I’m still on board, word has a way of getting around, and I don’t intend for anyone to get in my way of reaching Keely ASAP. Head down, I text as I walk.
Subject: Reconsider.
I haven’t spent nearly enough time taking care of your pussy.
Come be greedy all over my cock.
—M
I smile when she answers almost immediately.
Subject: Re: Reconsider
For someone who claims to have lived under a rock for years, you’re quite adept at sexting. The answer is still no, btw. And please stop contacting me. I have work to do.
—K
Subject: Re: Re: Reconsider (not stammering)
My big brain makes me a quick study. I also have a very big cock that wants very much to get to know you better. Re: Work. We’re sailing. You work when we dock. Sailing time can be fucking time.
The advantage of having been the previous owner of the super yacht is that I know the quickest way to get from A to B. In this case, I need to reach the Pleasure Deck Bar three floors up without being forced into conversation by anyone I know. And from the guest list I’d seen, at least half a dozen people on here would recognize me should they spot me.
I walk past the adult entertainment lounges, absently satisfied when I notice that all the rooms are in full use. Zach is certainly earning his money.
Keeping an eye on the little red dot that’s my destination, I avoid the plush guest hallways and head past the crew quarters to the private elevator I had installed when I first bought the yacht.
Back in the day, it’d been a good escape route for when I needed to board my chopper and leave before anyone knew I was gone. Now I use it as the quickest way to get to Keely and try not to be ticked-off that she hasn’t responded to my text in five and a half minutes. Or that it’s coming up to midnight, and she’s still in the bar.
Exiting the elevator, I immediately find her. She’s leaning against the far corner of the bar, staring down at her phone. The dark blue sheath dress she’s wearing molds her ass and thighs before stopping a touch too short at mid-thigh level.
Her hair is tied in an elaborate up-do. The slender l
ine of her neck and the way she arches her body as she balances on her heels sends the blood roaring straight to my cock.
I watch her catch her lower lip between her teeth. She brings her phone closer to her face and it’s then that I catch her expression.
I’m close enough to see she’s not in the text application, but reading an email. And whatever she’s reading grips her enough it’s fully ensnared her attention from what’s happening in the room.
Which is a good thing, because two couples are pile-fucking on the loungers nearest to her, and almost every other guest is in a state of near or complete nudity.
I catalogue my deeply disturbing reaction to her being in this room, hell, on this yacht, and compartmentalize it to be dealt with it later. My more immediate focus is the mixture of anger and dread on her face as she stares down at her phone. As I watch, her expression crumples with abject terror, and she shakes her head and swallows hard.
What the fuck?
“Keely?”
I realize I didn’t speak loud enough for her to hear and wonder if that’s my subconscious handing me another chance to get the fuck out of Dodge.
I double-fuck both logic and my subconscious, pocket my phone, and take another step toward her.
And every single impulse I’ve tried to push away comes revving back. When I’m a handful of steps from her, it dawns on me that this is the second time in my life I’ve willfully abandoned my self-preservation.
I will pay dearly for this course of action. And I’ll most likely take her down with me. But the twinge of guilt isn’t enough to keep me from her. Neither is that look of utter desolation on her face.
In fact, I’m sure my last steps are propelled by that look alone. I relish the chance to focus on something else. This I can control.
On Saturday night, before the nightmare that had propelled me to seek out my self-flagellation, I’d shut myself down at sixty per cent. I have a while to go before the critical mass hits. Besides, I have a feeling she knows a little of what to expect from me. She’s beautiful and intelligent. She’s also intuitive.
And she’d stood inside the door of my home cinema for six minutes and forty-four seconds.
She’d seen Toby. She’d seen me. I choose to find a little absolution in all of this.
A loud grunt from one of the foursome pulls her attention from her phone. She blinks, and although her face remains a shade paler than I prefer to see, she starts to turn her head.
I charge forward and fist my fingers through her hair before she gets the chance to satisfy her curiosity.
“You owe me a text,” I growl in her ear, even as I close my eyes and greedily inhale the silky warmth of her skin.
She gives a tiny ump and tries to suppress a shudder. “You owe me the courtesy of taking no for an answer.” Her voice holds an echo of whatever had brought that look to her face.
Something lurches in my chest.
I push it away in favor of the thing that I need the most. Me between her legs, pounding to forget. “How about an apology for the way I left things on Saturday?”
Her head swivels toward me, but I’m too busy breathing her in to lift my head and look in her eyes.
After a few seconds, she clears her throat. “Go on,” her voice quivers slightly.
“I’m sorry for leaving things the way I did. You didn’t deserve that. I apologize unreservedly,” I whisper against her ear while nuzzling her neck.
This time, her shudders reverberate through her body. “Wow. Either you really want something, or civilization has finally worn you down.” Her voice is stronger, sharper. She’s fully in control of whatever emotions had waylaid her.
Enough to meet me on a level playing field.
I raise my head and stare at her, give her another glimpse of my intentions. She returns my gaze for a handful of seconds before she swallows. “No, I guess I should take back the second part?”
I glance at her dark-screened phone. “You owe me a text,” I say again.
“I would only be repeating myself.”
“Do you accept my apology?”
Her gaze shifts from mine, and I can tell she wants to hold on to her anger. Finally, she sighs. “Yes.”
“Then come to my suite and open your gift.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” she mutters under her breath. “I really don’t need a parting gift, Mason. And I’m not one of those women who crave a token of her presence in a man’s bed.”
“That wasn’t what it was. I made your gift before you agreed to fuck me. It’s specially designed for you. If you refuse it, I’ll have to destroy it.”
Her eyes rise to meet mine. “Crap, now you’ve got me all intrigued,” she says.
“Enough to leave this fuck-fest and come take a look?”
Her head starts to turn, and I tighten my fist.
“Your answer doesn’t require a visual inspection of said fuck-fest.”
“It’s past midnight. I really should get to bed.” She licks her lips and I suppress a groan.
“You should. After you make a detour via my suite.”
She glances at her phone, and her nostrils quiver slightly before she inhales. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Irrational anger rattles through me. “You can’t. Why not?”
She frowns at my sharp tone. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“Does it have anything to do with that email you were reading just now?”
She tries to jerk out of my hold, but I don’t let her. “What is with you and prying?” she snarls, but the edge of her voice quivers again.
That barely detectable echo opens a fissure inside me and emotion I recognize as concern fizzles outward. It’s unsettling enough to make me growl, “Answer me, Keely.”
“Why?”
“Because—” I stop when the woman being double penetrated on the lounger across the bar starts squealing like an overeager porn star. “Dammit, let’s get the hell out of here.”
I pull her to my side and clamp my arm around her, prepared to frog march her out of there if necessary. To her credit, she comes along willingly.
I don’t stop until we reach the elevator. The moment it shuts behind us, she glares at me. “What did you see?” she demands.
Keeping her locked to my side, I press her against the wall. “Why? What does it matter?” I toss back.
“It matters a great deal that you’re reading my personal correspondence! It’s a huge invasion of privacy.”
“Are you sure you want to talk about invasion of privacy?” I ask softly.
Her eyes widen, then cloud over as she stares up at me. “You know.”
“About you standing outside the cinema room in my house at three in the morning on Sunday? Yes, I know.”
I say nothing else, and questions fill her eyes. I have her on the back foot and I can’t help it. I press home my advantage.
“We can talk about you invading my privacy. We can talk about what I did or didn’t see on your phone. Or we can talk about you coming back to my suite to open your present. Those are your only choices, and I think you’ll choose option three. You know why?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Because I don’t think you want this thing between us to be over. Not just yet. You enjoyed what we did too much to walk away, despite how I left things. Your feminine pride wants to make me suffer for that. Consider your punishment fulfilled.” I pull her hand over my rock hard crotch so she feels her power over me. “I’ve lived with this for four days, Keely. I need you to take care of it. In return, I’ll give you what you need.”
Her hand slowly closes over me, and stars explode across my vision. “And what exactly do you think I need?” she asks huskily.
“You need a man to own you. Completely. To make you forget whatever is on that email that you want to forget. And you want to forget, don’t you, baby?”
Her eyelids flutter, and she looks away from me, but her hand keeps its grip on me. “Maybe, bu
t—”
“Let me be that guy. I’ll do an exemplary job.”
The elevator door opens. We both ignore it as she lets out a slightly strained laugh. “Wow. Is this where I fall at your feet like you predicted?” Her head tilts to one side. “You probably won’t believe me, but I’m falling at your feet right now...in my head. Now if only I could get my body to actually follow through—”
“It’s where you stop being a smart ass for a second so we can work this out.”
Her chin lifts and Titanium Keely is back. “Work it out? Why, would I want to do that? Whatever it is you think I want from a man, I’d be a fool to consider you for the job. Even if I were under any illusions, your little note made things more than clear.”
I lean in closer until her hand is squashed between my crotch and her pelvis. The friction is a little too much to bear. I breathe deep and try to focus. “Shut the hell up for a minute and think about what you saw in that room, Keely. Did you really expect me to carry on blithely after that?” I ask, my voice a hard bite intended to impart that the subject is only a point-making one, and not an invitation to discuss.
Her face twists with a mixture of understanding and anger. “No, but I didn’t expect to be thrown out on my ass, either.”
I fist her hair and make sure she’s fully focused on me when I deliver the next statement. “Stop expecting me to behave like every other guy you’ve known. You know I’m not. Just like you’re nothing like any other woman I’ve known. Accept me for who I’m not and for what I cannot be for you, and take what I can be.”
“A Fuck God, come to rescue poor Keely from a path of sexless desolation?”
I trail my fingers over her racing pulse and her collarbone until I reach her erect nipple. I flick it with my nail and absorb her shudder. “A sexual dominant, who can make you forget whatever it is you’re running from. At least for a while.”
Her hand clenches around her phone, and for a moment, her face creases with utter fear and devastation. I bite my tongue to keep from demanding to know why.
“I...don’t like being dominated. If we do this, my control will be my own.”
I pull back and stare into her eyes. “Think about what happened on Saturday. And think about how much better it can be with me in charge. Are you really afraid of that much pleasure?”
