5
I WAS EXPECTING HIM TO FOLLOW ME. Thankfully, he didn’t. My heart pounded for hours after he surprised me on deck. I laid awake on the bunk bed in my small cabin, with my face turned toward the door half-expecting him to barge in at any second.
Needless to say, I slept like shit. I tossed and turned, huddled under my sheet wondering if he was just bored last night or if he meant every word. He didn’t seem like a man who flung words on a whim, but I found him impossible to read. He was right about one thing though—my heart did race for him. I had never seen a man so devastatingly handsome. He said he wasn’t American and that I do believe. He had a dark olive complexion, hair as black as the night with eyes just as dark. No, darker. So dark, they sucked you in like a black hole.
He’s dangerous.
My gut is telling me to run, pack up my bag and find another ship to work on. But I’m stubborn, not a quitter, and I won’t let some sinfully rich playboy scare me off. He can’t just do what he wants with me. There are a dozen crew members onboard. I’m not alone with him out here. He wouldn’t dare do the things he said. I bet he was just trying to see if I would go for it. But I won’t.
Getting down from my bunk, I brushed my teeth, meeting my tired eyes in the mirror.
I looked awful.
My tummy clenched. I felt like a fool. There’s no way a man as rich and handsome as my dark devil could find me remotely attractive.
My blonde hair hung limp, half of it frizzy from the damp sea air, while the other half was crushed flat against my head from laying on the pillow. Sure, I’m tan, but I refuse to wear makeup. Dark freckles covered my nose with more on the top of my cheeks. My oversized doe eyes are my best feature, and they had half-moons under them. Rinsing and spitting, I shook my head. Despite my mother’s best efforts, I refused to wear braces to fix the small gap between my front teeth.
My nose is slightly too big; my chin too stubborn. I have high cheekbones, naturally long eyelashes, and an athletic figure. That’s been enough to catch the eye of my first few boyfriends, but not enough to ever garner the attention of a billionaire on the Med.
No.
I’m no supermodel, trophy woman, or high-end escort. I’m just Jessie, a tomboy from California who’s never felt freer. I’m not letting that man steal that feeling from me.
Pulling on my T-shirt and khaki shorts, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and found my way to the crew’s mess . I fixed myself an instant coffee and munched on dry cereal.
“Jessie?” Are you seasick or something?”
“No.” I had replied without even picking my head up.
Bad weather rolled in overnight making the ship dip and sway. It was too dangerous to take the hookers back in the tender with fourteen-foot swells, so they stayed. Thank god, I’m not part of the interior crew waiting on them and the ship’s master this morning. I’d more than likely dump hot coffee in that asshole’s lap, scalding his dick then pour it sweetly into a cup.
“Listen to this.” Sara, the chief stewardess, blocked my exit taking her wireless earbuds and holding it out for me to listen. “I downloaded a new audiobook. The man makes me come just by talking.”
I’m not really into this kind of girl bonding. But on a yacht, befriending the chief stew is a necessity if you want a drama free yachting season. So I took the earbuds, placed them in my ears, while giving a forced enthusiastic grin.
“He is hot. God, I don’t care what he looks like—I’d just want him saying dirty things to me all night. I’d be like ‘yes master,’ to anything he told me.” I held the earbuds back out to her, cringing inside at what a valley girl I sounded like. The superficial, Bel Air kind from back home. But she was right, that man’s voice was rough silk, sliding along my skin, making me yearn for things. Bad, dirty, hot things.
My back lit up with a million tingles. Every nerve ending on alert receiving some kind of invisible signal that danger was near.
“Is this what the crew does when the guests aren’t in sight? Alex is up wondering where in the hell his hot breakfast is, and I have been waiting too long for my Greek coffee.”
“Yes, sir. It’ll be right up.” Sara tucked her phone back into her shorts, quickly leaving me alone with him.
He stalked forward blocking my escape, forcing me back against the small counter.
“You little liar.” He reached out rubbing a piece of my hair between his fingers. His erection pressed up against my thigh. My eyes stared at the onyx cufflinks at his wrists reflecting the light overhead. He reeked of money and power while on a yacht in the middle of the Med. He was dressed for a meeting in a boardroom, instead of a man enjoying a vacation. His head bent, lips finding my ear, “you want someone to talk dirty to you, chrysí mía? I can’t wait to rip your clothes from head-to-toe. I’d split your shirt and watch the buttons fly to the floor. Then the sound of your bra ripping in my hands would make you wet…needy for my cock. But you’d lose your mind when I bury my head between your thighs taking pleasure in feasting on you. Then you’d taste your desire on my tongue as I shove it between your lips. I’d fuck you right against the wall yanking your hair so hard some of it would come out in my hands. The sound of my balls slapping against your skin will make you want more of me as my tip hits your womb, spray painting it with my release. Part of you will hate me, but the other half will crave my seed rooting deep, planting life inside you. Until then, little dove.”
He pulled back. His eyes fully dilated, as I swayed, falling against the counter.
“It wasn’t your words. It was the boat.” I bit out as he laughed, looking like he just stepped off a photo shoot. The man reeks of sex and danger and looks like a billion bucks. I’m in over my head. “What did you say to me anyway?”
“I called you my golden one in Greek,” he answered reaching out to touch a tendril of my long hair.
I needed to save myself because by the way he’s looking at me—he meant every word he just said. This hot AF deranged man wants me to be his babymaker? My womb clenched, my body wanting everything he said.
But I’m a rational woman whose gut instincts are telling her to run. Hell—jump off the ship and attempt to swim miles to shore rather than stand here waiting for him to pounce. As soon as breakfast is over, I’ll be in that tender, ferrying the sluts to shore with my knapsack hidden under their luggage. I’ll make a break for it, find a youth hostel and backpack my way along the coast.
Feeling wistful, I wrung my hands wishing I could stay working on this yacht. But the only work he wants me to do on his ship is on my back or as he said—on my knees.
He’s still here. A breath away anticipating my next move. He had spoken so surely when he described how much I would want him; crave him mating so fiercely with me.
“I don’t want children,” I lied, pretending to be bored, “especially not yours.”
With bravado I didn’t feel, my index finger poked his chest.
He didn’t budge, but stood, silently staring—almost as if debating if I’d taste better with sugar or cream poured all over me.
“Jessie? Jessie? I need you on the aft deck.” Andre, the lead deckhand, called out on the radio clipped to my belt.
“Move.”
He smirked, amused by my command.
“You’re too beautiful to scrub decks.”
My spine stiffened. “Your compliments won’t work. I have no illusions about my lack of beauty. Besides, a woman’s worth shouldn’t be measured by her looks.”
“It’s not. It’s by how she can take cock,” he breathed, finally backing up to let me pass.
Chills ran over my skin. He’s truly a depraved sexual deviant who has me in his sights. Maybe he has a fetish for plain looking woman like me. If that’s the case, I’m in more danger than I thought. I’m hardly a virgin but far from promiscuous. I enjoy regular missionary style sex with long-term boyfriends. It’s where I’m most comfortable in the bedroom. But this guy, who’s more devil than man, is inferring he’d take me places I’ve never felt like going to before.
I ran down the small corridor, yanking open the door. The hot sun of the Med hit my skin, but I was shivering. I panted, hiding behind a stack of deck chairs. My hand rubbed in-between my legs as images of him entering me forcefully from behind played out in my mind while his hands pressed me down to the floor. He ruts into me repeatedly—close to coming as his balls draw up tight, slapping against me.
In my fantasy, I don’t see his face because he wears a mask with golden devil’s horns.
I’m wet.
Panicked, at how fast he’s spinning my mind.
My thighs rub together attempting to ease the burn between. I slip one hand inside my waistband, creep my way past my thong and sigh in relief as I stroke my own clit back and forth. I came faster than I ever have before. The mini-orgasm taking the edge off the pulsing ache flowing from deep inside.
I huffed out a breath, fixed my clothes, blinking my eyes in stunned disbelief at what I just did to myself.
We’ve only spoken twice. But already he’s conditioning me; making my body desire the very thing my mind wants to fight.
“Jessie? Jessie! Are you okay?” Andre’s voice came over the radio again. I unclipped it, pressing the button to talk back to him.
“What?”
“I called your name three times. One of the guests left her bag in the main lounge. Grab it and bring it out. They’re departing.”
“Sure. I’m on it. Sorry. I have a bit of a headache this morning.”
He doesn’t reply. I scurried inside, found the expensive Louis Vuitton bag and lifted it, smelling myself on my fingers. I felt cheap. No better than the sluts leaving the ship. With my shoulders sagging, I handed the bag to Andre waiting by the launch.
“The inside crew just asked for you to go inside.”
“Why? I just came from the main salon?”
“I don’t know. Just do what you’re told.”
“Okay,” I hesitated, “Andre? Can I ask you something?”
“Not now,” he whispered standing close, “the boss man’s watching.”
I turned my head startled he was referring to my dark mystery man. “Him? Isn’t he just a guest? I thought he came onboard with the escorts…I don’t even know his name.”
Andre stared incredulously at me. “California, that is Christos Devillo. The owner. He often comes and goes by helicopter. But everyone calls him, El Diablo.” Andre murmured close to my ear.
I was stunned. My heart beat hard. Crap. He’s my boss and he wants to dirty fuck me all over this yacht. “He is. He definitely is the devil,” I muttered, pulling back at the growl coming from above. Christos’ hands gripped the rail hard as he looked down at Andre standing close. I felt vulnerable; scared. In a moment without thought—my hand reached out, stopping Andre. In a tone loud enough for El Diablo to hear I asked, “Hey…are you free tomorrow night? It’s the crew’s night off…I thought you and I might go to dinner?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
“I am.”
He grinned. “Finally. We’ll go to dinner, then dancing. My friend, Rico, manages the hottest disco in Capri.”
“Disco?”
“Ah, yes, in the States you call them clubs. We call them discos.”
“Ah, well, yes, I love to dance.”
Andre smiled warmly at me as he readied the small launch boat to ferry last night’s “guests” to shore. Without glancing up at the man looming above me, my eyes stayed lowered as I enter the main salon of the yacht. I took a small detour to the restroom, washing the smell of my moment of shame and weakness from my hands.
“Good. They sent for you. One of my stewardesses is sick, so they need you to work the interior of the boat with me today.” Sara met me in the hall as I opened the door.
“I didn’t sign up to be a stewardess. My job is deckhand.”
“You do what you’re told to do.” Sara handed me a short, white dress. “Change. This is your uniform today. We’ll go room to room, cleaning and freshening the flowers. After that, we’ll do lunch and dinner service.”
“Great. Cleaning and serving him,” I muttered under my breath, “I’d rather take my chances swimming to shore.”
“It’ll go quicker if you don’t complain. The master—he’s very clean. Sometimes I wonder where, or if, he even sleeps. Meet me in the lounge. I’m sure after last night it’ll need the most work.”
I made my way through the empty halls down a few flights of steps to the underbelly of the luxurious yacht. The small space where I sleep can’t even be called a room. There’s a bunk bed, a porthole the size of child’s head, a cheap square mirror, and a shower and toilet so small the bathroom on an airplane is probably larger.
But I’m fine with all of that if it meant I could see the world, experience new cultures, and feel the ocean breeze on my face every morning. What I’m not fine with is becoming the master’s plaything.
Not even if it comes with toe-curling, mind-numbing orgasms served with a side of champagne.
I’m deck crew.
Not street crew.
He must never know what I’m hiding; his dirty seduction is working.
I’ve met a lot of sailors, rich men, old men, young men—none of them even made me think about sex in my head. But El Diablo—he put images in my brain that I’ll never erase. Aches I’ve never felt are surfacing, secret desires and cravings for things I’ve never tasted—are a breath away from being spoken.
I’m tempted. I won’t lie.
But only on equal terms.
I’m not a submissive.
I’m my own woman and no one—no one will ever make me beg to feel his dick between my legs.
I’m not some stable mare whose sole purpose is to be mounted.
I’m a woman traveling the world, trying to find my place. I’m not going to get there on my back or knees.
I refuse.
But my swollen clit, rubbing against the seam of my khaki shorts, and my hardened nipples had a mind of their own.