“You’re so beautiful.” He brushes a single fingertip up the curve of my hip. “It’s a rare thing to get to touch something of such beauty.” As he speaks, he draws his finger higher, the contact light but oh-so powerful. He traces a line beneath my breast. The touch is as gentle as a butterfly’s kiss, and yet so intense it sends shuddering waves of electricity rolling through me.
When he pulls his finger away, breaking the contact between us, I whimper.
“In museums, the rules are clear. Anyplace, in fact, where there is something of beauty, no touching is allowed.”
He bends to whisper in my ear. He is not touching me, but his breath as he speaks is as potent as a caress. “But those rules don’t apply to an owner. So tell me, Sylvia. Are you mine?”
“Yes. Oh, god yes.”
“Touching,” he repeats as if I hadn’t spoken. “Exploring and teasing.” As if in illustration of his words, he draws a single fingertip lightly over my body. My arms. My shoulders. The back of my neck.
There is nothing particularly sensual about any of the places he explores, and yet he fires my senses everywhere he touches, and threads of electricity stream from his fingertips all the way to my core, making me weak and wet and terribly impatient.
He drops to his knees, his hands now holding me steady at my hips. He tilts his head back and I look down and meet his eyes, and the desire and heat I see there humbles me.
He eases forward, pressing his mouth to my abdomen, then trails kisses down, lower and lower, following the landing strip of pubic hair to the soft skin at the juncture of my thighs. I am lost now, floating in some wild place where I have been reduced to little more than sensation and need, desire and demand. And when he uses his tongue to gently lave my clit, I arch back as crackling threads of pleasure shoot through me to converge at my sex.
I’m right there, floating on the edge, and all I need is one tiny push to send me over. Another flick of his tongue. Another stroke of his finger. I have been reduced to pure need, to desperate want.
Jackson, however, denies me.
He takes his hands from my hips. He pulls his mouth from my body. And then he rises slowly, his smug grin making clear that he knows exactly what he is doing to me.
“Go down below,” he says in a voice that promises all sorts of wicked pleasures. “Get on the bed. Spread your legs, and close your eyes.”
I hurry down to the staterooms below. I look back once to see if he’s coming, but he’s not there. I hesitate, but only for a moment. This is a game, I know. This is what we need. This is a way to get lost in each other. To forget what is coming. And, yes, to have something to hold on to later.
I settle myself on the bed and lay there spread open for him, my eyes closed, my imagination humming. He likes this. Me waiting for him. Me wet for him, wanting him. Laying here, wide open, for him to use however he wishes.
And the truth is, I like it, too. The anticipation that comes with being spread out naked and wet. The soft kiss of the air over my skin. The tease of the boat’s creaks and jolts, which keep my body thrumming because I am not sure if it is the sound of the boat or the sound of footsteps that I hear.
But what I like most is the pleasure of giving in to his demands. Of letting myself go completely and knowing that not only will he take me far, but that he will bring me back safely.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel a shift in the air. I turn my head to the side and my ear brushes his lips.
“Beautiful.”
That is all he says, but the heat in that word sends ripples through me, like a swarm of electric butterflies that settle between my legs, the lightness of their touch drawing me to the edge, but not quite over.
I catch the scent of mint on his breath and think that’s odd, because Jackson doesn’t suck on mints or chew gum as a rule. I don’t ask, though, as I know he doesn’t want me to speak. And, frankly, my curiosity is satisfied soon enough, because without any preamble at all, he runs his hands up my thighs spreading me wider, then closes his mouth over my clit.
Oh. My. God.
His tongue is teasing me in the most exceptional way, but that is not what has truly sent me reeling. It’s the mint. Icy and hot all at the same time, arousing and enticing with just a hint of pain.
I squirm, trying to escape this onslaught of sensation that threatens to overwhelm me, but Jackson holds me fast. I can go nowhere. I can only submit to pleasure. To pain. To the brilliant, fiery heat that thrusts me up and over until I am arched up in the bed, my hands tight on my breasts as Jackson’s tongue reduces me to nothing but ashes.
Only when all the tremors have passed do I actually breathe again. But even then I have no respite because Jackson grabs me by my hips and slides me down the bed so that my ass is right on the edge. He lifts me, then thrusts hard into me.