Damn, I think to myself as I swipe a hand across my mouth. One important rule and I broke it, along with many others.

No woman has ever spent the night in my bed. As soon as it was over, I asked them to leave, or they left on their own. They knew the rules. And now, I’ve shattered that rule. But instead of being pissed off, a stupid grin refuses to leave my face.

The second rule I broke was making love to Grace instead of just fucking her. I could fool myself into thinking it’s because she’s new at this and I wanted to make her comfortable, but there’s more to it, a truth I don’t want to come face-to-face with.

Round one was more sensual and romantic than anything else, but round two, once she was more comfortable in her skin, I showed her the rough side of sex, pulling her into a desperate, frantic screw that ended with her on top, giving me the pleasure of being the first man she ever rode. Every inch of her body was exquisite and I loved watching her break through her boundaries. I loved being the one to corrupt her.

There’s an animal inside every one of us, and last night I awakened Grace’s.

Her ex-husband’s loss is my gain. If he hadn’t let her go, she wouldn’t have come running straight into my arms, my bed. I want to thank the jerk as much as I want to wring his neck for hurting her.

What fool believes one person is responsible for how good sex is? He made her responsible for his own failure in bed. It kind of rubs me the wrong way. He was a total idiot for not seeing the woman Grace is: sexy, sensual, eager to learn. He was a lazy ass for not wanting to put in the time to show her the ropes, to make her feel special.

Lucky for me, I put in the work and reaped the rewards big time.

I was a patient teacher, taking breaks only for food and drink. At 2:00 a.m. this morning, I took her on the balcony with only the ocean and sky watching on. Since no one is able to see my balcony, we were free to talk and fuck in private.

During another round of cocktails, we touched on the topic of blow jobs. Grace admitted she was unsure about them, and I was all too happy to share with her the best techniques. And of course, the great teacher that I am, I encouraged her to practice. The feel of her mouth around me was like a drug that made me forget for a moment who I am.

As a reward for her good efforts, she was the first girl to ride me on Mary Jane.

My gaze falls onto her sleeping face, taking in her disheveled hair. One side of her face is wrinkled from lying on the pillows and the small smile on her lips makes me want to know what her dreams are made of.

The man I was yesterday would have woken her up and told her to leave, but the man I am today knows it’s not over yet. I was a fool to think I can sleep with her and move on to the next chick, throw any feelings I have for her out the window like they don’t mean shit. The thing is, those feelings mean way more than I want them to. Watching her sleep, causes something to tighten in my chest.

Only one time in my life had I felt that way around a woman.

Shit. This is bad.

I’m falling for her and I don’t even know how to catch myself. I don’t know if I want to.

I can almost hear the sound of rule number three snapping into two.

But that’s one rule I can’t permit myself to break, even in my weakest moment. I have to fix this.

One thought of Lance in his wheelchair makes me feel ashamed for even thinking of a future with one woman. It doesn’t matter whether that future is six months, one year, or forever. It’s a future period.

As long as Lance doesn’t have that option, neither can I. As long as his life is not on track, I can’t even think of a shot at happiness. That leaves me with only one option. I have no choice but to halt the brakes before it’s too late.

But Grace will continue to be a temptation on this ship. With her being so damn close, how am I supposed to keep a distance? The ship is big enough that we don’t have to be in the same room until the end of the journey, but it will be a struggle not think of her in her cabin, sleeping with her hair spread out on her pillow, her cheek wrinkled by sleep.

The thought of other horny bastards swarming around her just about drives me mad. But she’s not my girl. She can’t be my girl.

You’ve done this many times before, dammit. Man up and do it again.

Who gives a damn if I loved the feel of her pussy around my dick more than any other pussy I’ve ever had? Who cares if watching her sleep makes me feel as though a fire has been lit inside my chest? The fact remains that I’d made it clear from the onset what I wanted from her. We don’t have to make it more than what it is—sex. No strings attached. No talk of love and all that other bullshit that comes with it.

As a slice of white sunlight dances on her face, I make a decision. As long as I can close myself to the idea of ever being with her in a more serious way, there’s nothing stopping me from continuing to have fun with her until the cruise comes to an end, is there? Fun, that’s all it has to be. I need to get my shit together and be the man I’ve been for years.

With that decision, my cock rises to attention, hard and ready for more action. My cock gets the message. Now I have to work on the brain.

I place a hand on Grace’s shoulder, nudge her awake. She tries to swipe my hand away. “Hey there, yoga girl.”

I swing my legs out of bed. “Can I tempt you to a few minutes under the shower?” What kind of teacher would I be if I don’t give her a lesson on hot, messy, slippery shower sex? One area of my expertise. I’ve had too many women in the shower to count.

She opens her eyes slowly. Her gaze roams down my upper body and settles on my hard dick. Her lips curl at the corners.

Keep your feelings in check, Bryant. Don’t let her smile mess with your head. Think of her pussy instead. Sex, that’s all.

She doesn’t speak as she slides out of bed. Instead of allowing me to lead, she takes my hand and pulls me into my attached bathroom. No words are exchanged as I turn on the jet of hot water. Keeping the talk to a minimum is safer. Words have a way of touching places that are off limits.

I roll on a condom before stepping into the shower cubicle. I’ve had enough practice at keeping condoms on even in wet conditions.

Hard as I try, I can’t ignore the stab in my gut when I think of this journey ending, of me never again encircling her hot little body with my arms. If only ignoring the truth could erase it from my mind. The truth that I’m drawn to her more than I want to. If I could cut out the part of my heart that heats up when I think of her, I would in an instant.

As I shampoo her hair, I feel myself getting lost. What the hell am I supposed to do now? Commitment is a foreign concept to me, because I never gave it a chance before.

I’ve used Lance as an excuse, a valid one, but what if there’s another reason I’ve stayed away from love? What if the idea of commitment scares the heck out of me, so it was best to avoid it? Not being tied to a woman had allowed me to live a life of freedom, to travel to places and stay as long as I liked, to do whatever my heart desired.

Now I’m standing in a pool of dangerous unknown waters and I have no freaking idea what the hell to do.

“Hmm,” she moans, tilting her head back. “Your hands feel so good on my scalp. Are you sure you’re not a secret masseuse?”

I whirl her around to face me. “Let’s not talk.” I sweep the soapy hair away from her face, draw her in for a kiss, my body pushing hers against the steamy tiles. The need to bury myself inside her will kill me if I don’t have her now. The only way I can stop this mad thinking is to lose myself in her flesh. Wanting more than this is dangerous.

“Oh, Bryant,” Grace cries out when I penetrate her, throwing her head back, eyes drifting shut. I run my tongue up her throat. She looks damn good falling apart. This is not the same girl I met in the gym a few days ago. One night and I’ve given her a makeover, turned her into the kind of woman she wanted to be all her life. My kind of woman.

When her walls contract around me, fire explodes through me and I meet her halfway. We come apart together. Our hands holding on to each other. As lust-filled laughter spills from her lips, I don’t let go. I don’t want to. This is the place I want to be, under this shower, to hell with everything else. I want to open the rusted doors of my heart and let her in, to lock them behind her so she never walks out again. But as usual, Lance’s face comes to mind, bringing with it the familiar pain and guilt.

With thoughts of Lance still tormenting me, we finish showering in silence. I leave the shower first and hand her a white, monogrammed towel, drape one around my waist, and walk out of the bathroom to give myself time to collect my thoughts before she comes out.

“What do we do now?” Grace asks me when she enters the room, still wearing only the towel.

“How about food and another round?” What I most want to say to her is goodbye, but my lips seem to have forgotten how to say that word. “You’re off today, right?”

“Nope, but I start at 3:00 p.m.” She scrunches up her face. “I guess I could fit you in before then.”

“Your boss must be an asshole to expect a pretty lady like you to work on a Saturday. You might want to look for something new.”

“That will be a challenge.” She laughs out loud. “Unfortunately there aren’t many opportunities out here in the middle of the ocean. Of course once we hit dry land—” She stops talking as the same thought enters our minds.

Once the cruise is over, whatever we have here will be over. Reality will set in.

“I guess we better make the most of now.” My lips settle into a smile I don’t feel. “Let’s take what we can get.”

“My sentiments exactly.” She releases the towel and it slides past her breasts on its way to the floor.

Hunger and exhaustion become a distant memory. The woman has one hell of a grip on me.

“Get your sexy butt over here, then.” I extend my hand toward her. “I have an idea of how we can make this time count.”

Her giggles are music to my ears as I show her things I wish I could tell her instead. It’s the best thing for both of us. Or is it?