He belongs here. Preppy as hell and arrogant. Camden Pearson grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth and wouldn’t know real life if it popped him upside the head. Spoiled rotten. He has that awful father of his to thank for that. Eric was a dick of epic proportions. It’s no wonder he spawned little hellions.

Camden is most definitely born from the depths of hell.

Soulless abyss.

How fitting is that paint color?

All irritated thoughts of Camden and his father drain away as I step onto the most beautiful boat I’ve ever seen. Dad has a pontoon boat, but it’s laughable in comparison.

“Shoes off when you go below deck,” Camden grunts from behind me.

I stop to pull off my heels and hold them in my hand as I watch him effortlessly untie his yacht from the dock. He motions to a door that leads to the cabin.

“If you look in the middle drawer by the closet, my brother Nixon’s wife left her swimsuit last time they used Lady Vindicta. Go put it on,” he instructs as he moves to sit in the captain’s chair. “Now, Poppy.”

I flip him the bird, ignoring the way his deep chuckle sends shivers down my spine, and walk down the steep stairs to the cabin. I’m shocked at how spacious it is. Everything is clean and sleek. White walls. White, faux fur blanket on the bed. Bright lights and the scent of oranges. Perfection. My feet on the soft, plush, pale gray carpet has me sighing. I toss my shoes in the corner, along with my purse. For once, I don’t miss my laptop. The boat starts moving, but it’s smooth and the rumble of the engine is quiet. I know he’s here to punish me and show me what a little badass he is, but I’m secretly thrilled to take a break from the stressful week I’ve had.

Mateo.

Annoyance flitters through me.

Saturday, I’d been embarrassed. That was why I cried. Knowing some young thing shows up and he practically forgets my name hurt. Sure, they had a history before me, but it still stung.

Stung but didn’t destroy.

It’s times like these I wish my mother were still alive. She took her life a decade ago. It was a rocky time for me. Dad, like always, hardened his heart and acted as though it didn’t bother him. I always resented him for that. For once in his life, I wanted him soft—soft when it mattered. Dad doesn’t know how to be soft, though. He kept on while I spun in circles, lost.

I open the first drawer, and my flesh heats when I see an array of vibrators, handcuffs, and other kinky things, though I have no idea what they are. Unease flitters through me as I consider Camden using them on me.

Unease.

Not excitement.

My heart stutters.

I can’t even lie to myself. Pathetic.

Huffing, I slam the drawer shut and open the second one. There are a couple swimsuits. Both skimpy. One is black, and the other is white. If he’s going to play devil, then I’ll play angel. I pull out the white one and quickly change into it. The triangles barely cover my nipples, much less the globes of my breasts. It’s a tiny scrap of nothing, but one quick glance in the full-length mirror tells me I look hot. If I’m going to dance with the devil, I may as well look good doing it. After throwing my hair in a messy bun and grabbing my sunglasses, I climb up the stairs and find Camden.

He’s shed his suit jacket and tie. His sleeves are now rolled up his toned, tanned forearms, and his Aviators are perched on his nose. They’re mirrored, so I can only see my reflection rather than his piercing blue eyes. I try not to focus on how much the little suit reveals. Instead, I walk up to him and motion to the steering wheel.

“I didn’t know you knew much about boats.” I cross my arms over my chest, worrying about my appearance.

“A lot you don’t know about me,” he rumbles, the sound sexy and enticing.

I shiver and avoid his hidden stare to look out at the ocean. The waters are calm, and we practically glide across. When he guns the engine, I lose my footing and stumble into him. His strong arm hooks around my waist and he pulls me into his lap. My barely-covered ass rubs against his obvious erection. The thought that I turn him on turns me on.

Fuck, I am in deep shit with him.

His palm splays over my stomach, and my breath hitches as I realize just how big his hand is. I try to focus on the sparkly water, but it’s difficult when his thumb rubs me just below my breast.

“Have you ever driven a boat?” he asks, his hot breath tickling my shoulder.

“I drove my dad’s pontoon boat a few times.”

He grunts as though he’s not pleased by my answer. “The pontoon is like a minivan. Lady Vindicta is like the Bugatti.” His left hand grips mine, while his right stays planted on my stomach. “Put your hand here,” he instructs, his voice husky. “I need you to drive.”

“Why?”

“Because my hands will be busy.”

Heat pools in my core, and I try not to rub against his cock. The fact that my body turns on this young hottie has some of my self-esteem returning. After my humiliating breakup, I’m still a little fragile. My ego took a beating, and it’s nice to feel wanted again.

“What will your hands be doing?” I ask, my words breathy and too needy.

His left hand grips my thigh and squeezes. “Exploring.” He slides his palm up my leg until his thumb meets the fabric of my swimsuit bottoms. “Keep your eyes ahead.”

I bite on my lip and stare out at the water. I don’t see anything, but he has me on edge.

“White’s an interesting color,” he observes. “Screams innocence.”

“Seems fitting,” I argue.

His teeth bite into my shoulder, but not hard enough to hurt too bad. Then his tongue runs along the new grooves in my flesh, soothing the indentions. “Your screams will be far from innocent.”

Before I can come up with a haughty remark, his fingers slide along the edge of my bottoms, barely sliding beneath them. My heart races and my skin flushes with heat. When he pulls his hand away to rub my thigh again, I groan in irritation.

“What?” he taunts. “Does the babysitter like it when she gets touched here?” His fingers dip below the edge once more.

“Don’t be weird,” I grumble.

He laughs, and it sounds genuine. “I’m not the one getting naked on a yacht with a man she hates.” His fingers tug slightly at the strings on one side of swimsuit bottoms. The bow falls loose and the material starts to slide away. His palm leaves my stomach and he does the same with the other side. My heart stammers in my chest. I should stop this or put up a fight. What I shouldn’t do is lean my back against his chest.

“You want this,” he breathes against my neck. “Who knows for how long you’ve wanted this…”

I groan at another one of his stupid insinuations. Camden Pearson wasn’t even a thought until he showed up in Mateo’s kitchen two weeks ago looking hot and smug and irresistible. “I don’t want this.”

He laughs again.

I don’t even get mad because it’s a lie.

I’m afraid of how much I want this.

Whatever this is.

He wants to ruin me for some reason, and I’m letting him—willingly. My father would be horrified at my behavior. Then again, had he not blown me off, I wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.

“Are you drugged?” he asks before biting my neck.

“N-No.”

“Am I forcing you?”

His fingers nudge the fabric. All it would take is a flick of his fingers and it would fall away, leaving me bare to him.

“Stop teasing me,” I breathe.

“This would be teasing,” he counters as his longest finger inches lower, until it slips between my lower lips and whispers over my clit. I let out a needy moan in response. When he pulls his hand back up, I growl.

“Stop.”

“Stop touching you?”

“Stop teasing me, asshole. Do whatever you’re going to do and let’s get this over with.”

He pushes away the bottoms and runs his finger down my slit again. I shudder in his arms, my eyes slamming shut. Quickly, I pop them back open.

“Stop the boat,” I beg. “I…I can’t focus.”

His chuckles are like gasoline to the flames flickering inside me. Lust has become an inferno, obliterating all common sense. I’ve barely registered he’s turned off the boat and we’re just coasting.

“You haven’t even gone swimming yet and you’re probably already soaked,” he observes.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I lie.

His finger pushes against my very much wet and ready opening. A groan rasps from me as he easily slides inside. His lips press tender kisses between not-so-tender bites on my shoulder. The beast that lives within him seems to war with the gentleman he’s groomed himself to be. I’m fascinated to witness him as both a cruel-tongued monster and the master who plays my body like an instrument.

“Feel this?” he breathes against my skin as he presses in deep and curls his finger. Pleasure pulsates from my core, making my eyes flutter closed and my head fall back.

“Yessss.”

“That spot is where I will own you, Poppy.” He rubs me there again, sending more shockwaves through me. “Do you agree?”

“Yes,” I mutter, no longer caring to keep up pretenses. Right now, he’s giving me something I’ve never felt before. I’ve come tons of times, but it’s all been from my clit—not my g-spot. Such an elusive and silly notion. The few boyfriends I’ve had over the years never found it. I certainly never had. Camden acts like he’s known exactly where it was all along.

“You’re so fucking juicy,” he growls. “My finger is soaked because of you, dirty girl. I thought you hated me. Yet here you are drenching me. I think you lie to me, but mostly, you lie to yourself.”

His taunts only serve to turn me on more. I find my thighs clenching and quivering with need. In the afternoon heat, I feel too hot and sweaty.

“Do you want to come?” he asks, nipping at my neck.

“Yes.”

“Beg me.”

“Ugh,” I complain.

He rubs me in a delicious way. Maybe if I ignore him…

His finger starts sliding out, and I panic. “Please. I want it. It feels good,” I admit with a huff. “Don’t stop.”

“Much better.” As he rubs me inside, he ignores my clit altogether. It makes me want him to touch me there too. I imagine his tongue there, which only serves to make me wetter. When his other palm cups my breast, I clench around his finger. “Don’t worry. I can’t ignore these perfect tits for long, baby.”

Baby.

The sentiment is so simple and so sweet, and it foolishly has me warming to him. He’s so cool and composed. The ragged way he said “baby” just unravels me. I’m spinning, mixed up with confusing thoughts and glorious touch, when he pulls my top to the side. His fingers touch my bare flesh, and he gently pinches my hardened nipple.

“These nipples are perfect for biting,” he tells me, tugging hard enough that I cry out. The zing of pain sends pulses of pleasure rippling from my core. “And you want to get bitten.”

Do I?

My past lovers never bit me.

But the idea of being sprawled beneath Camden as he bruises my flesh dizzies me.

“You think you know everything,” I murmur.

“I know you better than you think.” He pulls on my nipple again. “Your cunt squeezes when I do that.” Then he bites my shoulder. “And when I do that.”

He continues to abuse my nipple as he bites at my neck until I become overwhelmed with pleasure. With one finger inside me, two pinching me, and a mouthful of teeth sinking into my throat, I come like a wild heathen. A loud, brazen scream, and I let go. My vision becomes a blast of bright white as every nerve ending starting from my core explodes through me. I shudder in his grip and nearly slide to the floor as I lose myself to an orgasm.

The best orgasm I’ve ever had.

Shame threatens to make me feel bad, but then I remember I’m single. Single women can come all they want and enjoy it. They don’t even have to feel guilty. He may be the enemy, but he played my body like we were on the same team.

His finger slides out of me and he pops my pussy hard enough to make my cry out.

“I’m hungry. Let’s cook lunch.”