Michele leaned forward, his lips inches from my ear. His breath had become haggard, the heat of it rolling along my neck. My eyes drifted shut.

  “But, if you are a good girl,” he whispered, “then I will reward you.” Michele crouched low enough that he could slide his middle and ring fingers inside me. He groaned in satisfaction. “So tight.”

  I shuddered when he bit my earlobe. My fists had been clenched so hard that my fingernails bit into my palms. The desire to reach out and touch him grew stronger than I could stand, but I had somehow managed to refrain.

  It hadn’t been that long since we had been in the same exact situation, tucked away in a hall with his hand in my shorts, yet what flickered between us in that moment was new. There was understanding to it, an agreement and knowledge. Gone was the uncertainty and the need to test the grounds. I’d told him exactly what I wanted, what I liked.

  Michele thrust his fingers in and out of me at a slow pace, pressing the heel of his palm against my clit again and sending shocking jolts of pleasure through me. Seconds could have been hours for all I cared.

  Anyone could have entered the corridor, could have found us with my back to the wall and Michele fingering me. It wasn’t the middle of the night anymore, and there were newcomers to add to the number of possible witnesses, but that knowledge didn’t instill the proper fear. Instead, it fanned my flames.

  “Are you going to be my good girl, bella?” He’d begun to pant, each breath in time with his torturous actions.

  “Yes,”

  “Yes, what?” Unsatisfied with my answer, Michele plunged his fingers deep inside and guided me to the tips of my toes like before. The pressure of my over-sensitive clit grinding into his palm was near blinding.

  My head fell back, and I struggled to breathe when I said, “Yes, Sir.”

  He made another sound of approval and lowered me. After I was able to stand on my own feet once more, he withdrew a bit. I opened my eyes. He stared at me with his beautiful lips parted, pink gracing his olive skin and his eyes like polished obsidian. He removed his hand from between my thighs. The pain of his absence came fast.

  Michele stepped back and leaned against the adjacent wall. He grabbed his dick and squeezed it, groaning when he had. It must have hurt. My frustration did, so I hoped his did, too.

  “Get on your knees,” he said, still stroking himself aggressively enough to, perhaps, stave off the pain of his erection.

  I leveled my stare on him, peering through my lashes when I did. It hadn’t been difficult. Even slouching as he was, Michele stood taller than me.

  “Why?”

  His jaw tensed, the muscle rolling beneath his stubble. His breathing became harsh.

  “Are you disobeying me?” he asked, arching a thick brow.

  I said nothing, remaining defiant when I jutted my chin out.

  A single step brought him from one side of the corridor to the other. In an instant, Michele had me by the throat again, pinning me to the wall. The tension had been perfect, just enough to remind me who was in control.

  “I told you to get on your fucking knees.”

  “Why should I?” I asked again, delighting in the fact that I felt every word pass over the pressure of his fingertips.

  He brought my face to his, our noses touching and his lips brushing across mine when he spoke.

  “Because you’re going to suck my cock here, in the hall.”

  I let out a trembling breath before I could bite it back.

  “And, if you’re a good girl and I like how your mouth feels, I’m going to take you to that room over there,” he said, tilting his head to the side and motioning to the rooms I’d just cleaned. “And I’m going to fuck you so hard and so deep that they will hear you on the mainland.”

  I believed him. Christ, I believed him—and I wanted that.

  “Now,” he said, stepping back and shoving me against the wall for good measure. Michele regained his previous position across from me. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”

  I couldn’t catch my breath, so consumed by the man that I would have done anything he asked.

  Stare still locked to mine, Michele undid his belt. He slid the expensive leather out of the golden buckle and allowed the ends to fall uselessly to the side. His fingers made easy, but slow work of the button on his slacks.

  My body finally remembered that I had feet and the ability to move. I took a step forward then another, closing the distance between us. The faint whir of his zipper caused my skin to prickle.

  “Kneel.”

  I obeyed without question, lowering myself before him. My gaze never left his, locked to the intensity of it.

  When my knees touched hard stone, movement drew my attention. He continued to squeeze his cock, to give it the slightest hint of contact, but ceased the moment I sat less than two feet from it. My throat had become dry, but my mouth watered, desperate to taste him. His dick fought against his clothing, and if it weren’t caught behind his brilliant blue underwear, it might have managed to escape his trousers.

  “Take it out.” His voice no longer sounded human, tainted by something powerful.

  I stared at him through my lashes, leaning close enough that his cock couldn’t have been more than six inches from my lips. He clenched his jaw.

  Reaching up, I touched his dick. It’d been nothing, a graze of my fingertips, yet his entire body twitched, and he sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth. He must have been in so much pain.

  Harder than stone, his cock continued to twitch under my delicate touch, jumping as though desperate for more. Even through the thin cotton underwear, I could see the thick vein running up the length of his shaft, the bulbous, mushroom tip straining beneath the elastic band.

  “You want me to suck your cock?” I asked, gliding my fingers up the whole of his length and delighting in how he tensed.

  “Yes,” he replied harshly. “Now, do it.”

  In spite of the inferno burning within me and the unwavering desire to do as he commanded, I was still me and needed a bit of my own fun first.

  Leaning forward, I touched my lips to the straining fabric, placing a kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath the head. Michele threaded his fingers through my hair and fisted the locks at the crown of my head. I moaned and squeezed him harder. He whimpered. It was a delicious sound.

  Using my hair as a guide, he brought my mouth back to his dick. I teased it, breathed hard enough that he could feel the heat through the fabric and stroked what I could in the meantime. Michele must have wanted to go through his skin, because in no time at all, his hips were moving against me.

  I caressed and rubbed, massaged his balls, and traced a hard line down the vein. I would breathe against the fabric and let out small moans, all meant to tease him like he’d teased me.

  A minute passed, perhaps two, before Michele hit his limit. He jerked my head back sharply and pulled me up, no longer sitting on my knees, but unable to rise from them.

  “You think this is a joke?”

  I took hold of his hips and pressed my breasts against him. The corner of his eye twitched and his focus shifted. When he’d yanked me up onto my knees, he’d ensured that my breasts were crushed against his cock.

  “I never said that,” I said in a soft voice. “Why would I think this is funny?”

  I pushed his shirt up his lean torso with one hand, revealing his tanned, toned body beneath while the other glided up his back so I could hold him close.

  “Do you think I’m so cruel?” I whispered.

  When I put my parted lips to his toned stomach, Michele flinched when I darted my tongue forward. I placed a tender kiss to the spot a second later.

  “That I’m so mean?”

  Dragging my mouth to his hip, I noticed the way both of his hips moved on their own. I doubted he was aware that he’d begun grinding into my breasts, begging for the slightest contact.

  I raked my teeth along his skin just above his hipbone. Michele growled and tightened his grip in my hair.

  “That I am so vicious?”

  I bit down hard and the sound that left him could only be described as a roar behind closed lips. It had been subdued, yet powerful and devoid of pain.

  His second hand joined the first in my hair, pinning my forehead against the trembling muscles of his stomach. His breathing had become shallow, frantic. With both hands beneath his shirt, I dug my fingernails into his back and dragged them down the length. He continued to rub his cock against my chest.

  I kissed his stomach, bit and nipped it. He sighed and groaned, his hips moving with long, deep thrusts, desperate for further contact. Running my tongue up his abs, I delighted in the way they quaked beneath it.

  Until, without warning, Michele had gone still.

  I peered up at him. He’d thrown his head back, panting and groaning. He shook and, with a deep sigh, he slumped against the wall. No words needed. It was clear what’d happened.

  His grip loosened, giving me the chance to draw back farther. Michele, once the fog in his mind had cleared, looked down at me. His brows creased, his lips parted as he regained his breath. He seemed confused as to how he’d managed to come in his pants.

  With a strange sort of reverence, he cradled my cheek, trailing his thumb across my lips. It was a sweet moment for reasons many probably wouldn’t have understood.

  When I attempted to stand, he released me and helped. Michele stared. While my pussy continued to pulse and ache, my head remained clear enough to enjoy his expression.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  Michele, whether out of habit or desire, zipped up and buttoned his slacks to be more presentable. I did the same.

  “That’s never happened before,” he said.

  I fought the urge to laugh. That was an excuse I’d heard many times before. Most straight women probably had. Gay men, too.

  “At least, not since I was very young.” His smile faded in an instant, as though he didn’t have the energy to keep it long. “How did you do that?”

  I arched a brow at the question. As far as I was concerned, I’d done little to nothing. True, the things I’d done helped him along, but Michele’s mind had done the rest. He was the one who’d worked himself into a frenzy, the one who’d clawed his way to the cliffs of an orgasm. I’d just shoved him over the edge.

  Silence stretched between us for some time until I spoke again.

  “Is there anything I can help you with, Mr. Sacchi?”

  He chuckled, running his bottom lip through his teeth while he looked me over.

  Before he could open his mouth to speak, Yasmin bounded into the hall and froze the moment she spotted us. Michele and I looked over at her. I couldn’t say whether she’d tried to hide her irritation or not, but if she had, she’d failed.

  Arching a perfect brow, she planted her hands on her hips and leveled her eye on Michele. She may have intended to intimidate him. If so, she had failed at that, too.

  When Michele stepped away from me, he did so without the slightest hint of urgency.

  “What is this?” Her voice had been stern and filled with agitation, and her accent much thicker than his.

  “None of your concern,” he replied. “Come along.”

  Michele walked by her, but Yasmin made no attempt to follow. She continued to stare at me, to glare, until Michele grabbed her arm and forced her to join him.

  They were gone a moment later, but I couldn’t shake Yasmin’s stare. It held a special kind of anger, the kind that people who weren’t used to hearing ‘no’ had when someone finally said it.

  It probably didn’t bode well for me.

  Chapter Nine

  It surprised no one that dinner ended up being an elaborate display. Seven courses had been set on the menu, which meant frequent drink and plate changes. Every steward was called onto shift, regardless of whether or not we were meant to be. Mrs. Thorne needed everyone.

  The first three courses had been served and the fourth was on its way up. I’d glided around the twelve-person table taking everyone’s plates and almost had the tenth and final plate in my hand when it happened.

  The initial attempt had gone mostly ignored. Having spent years at sea, I prided myself on being able to carry expensive breakables, sometimes on trays, while the ship rocked and swayed. While far from being an expert, I could manage. What I could not survive, however, was someone angrily kicking me in the shin.

  Yasmin’s first try had been avoided because a toe could do little to break my concentration. Dissatisfied, she became vicious the second time around.

  She had spun in her seat when my tray was full and very pointedly smashed the side of her thousand-dollar shoe into my shin while simultaneously standing. So, unprepared for it, I stumbled and never recovered.

  Leftovers sprayed my face while the tray went flying. A chorus of smashing glass was followed closely by the angry clank of metal hitting the deck. I froze in place, unable to open my eyes. Horror and carnage awaited me should I dare.

  Yasmin began to curse in Italian. While I didn’t speak a lot of languages, angry cursing could somehow be recognizable, no matter the tongue.

  Something wet trailed down my face and something savory touched my lips. After a long, deep breath, I forced myself to inspect the damage. Every glass, plate and piece of silverware rested at my feet, very little of which had survived the fall. My clothes were covered in food, some of it being the brilliant red sauce Ryan had made to adorn the salad.

  “What is your problem?” Yasmin’s shrill voice sliced through my growing anger.

  The model-esque woman stood with her hands on her hips and, in spite of the rage in her voice, a smirk played at her painted lips. If further proof were needed that she’d planned the entire thing, it would have been that smirk.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” she asked with a spite-filled voice. “Huh?”

  I took another deep breath and let it out before plastering a wide, hopefully believable smile across my face.

  “I am so sorry, ma’am. I will, of course, clean this up immediately.”

  She scoffed at me and turned her attention back to those she’d arrived with. The string of Italian that left her lips while I picked up the multiple pieces of broken dinnerware let me know that she was mocking ‘the help’. Call it a gut feeling.

  I’d begun to shake, so, as fast as I could manage, I gathered up the spilled cutlery, food and dinnerware, and placed it on the tray. Chris slid into my line of sight before I stood with a rag and bottle of cleaning solution in his hands. He offered me a sad smile, which I returned.

  He went about cleaning the goop off the deck, and I left. I don’t know if I had ever made the trip below deck as fast as I did that moment.

  “Fucking bitch,” I growled through my teeth as I dumped the porcelain into the trash.

  “What’s up?”

  Kyle and Kennia were sat at the table eating. They must have been on break.

  In my anger, I hadn’t noticed them, despite walking right by the pair.

  “Oh, man,” Kennia mumbled as she looked over my top. “Wha’ happened?”

  I squared myself on them and, far meaner than I should have, I told them.

  “That Barbie reject whipped out of the seat, kicked me in the leg, then shot up, shoving the tray into my face.”

  Kennia winced and Kyle let loose a low whistle. A sarcastic nod had been the extent of my answer, afraid that I would unleash my ire if I continued to speak.

  I went back to cleaning off what I could, angry that I would have to replace the broken dishes with my own paycheck. Chris bounded downstairs seconds later.

  “You all right, sweetheart?” he asked.

  “Yeah, fine,” I grumbled. “What the hell is that chick’s problem? She’s been a bitch ever since she set foot on the boat.”

  “You serious?” he asked with a chuckle. I shrugged in response. “That Michele guy’s been staring at you since he boarded. She doesn’t like it. I think they’ve got a thing”

  “Or she wants one.” Kyle added with a laugh of his own.

  I blushed and mumbled under my breath that he was wrong, then left before he or the others could continue teasing. I hadn’t given Chris enough credit before. It seemed he was more perceptive than I thought, and the last thing I needed was to give him or, God forbid, Kennia any further evidence that many ‘somethings’ had already transpired between Michele and me.

  * * * *

  The red sauce hadn’t come out of the top as much as I’d hoped, but on many levels I hadn’t been surprised. It was red. My shirt was not.

  I scrubbed it as well as I could within my sink, and, to be quite honest, I’d done a decent job, all things considered. I could only pray that the pink was washed out with the proper amount of bleach. Otherwise, it would leave a noticeable stain. However, that meant I had to wear my orange shirt a day early and would have to wear it again the following day just to be on the proper schedule. The staff were supplied with single uniform pieces, not doubles, should anything happen.

  With a heavy sigh, I left my shirt in the sink to continue soaking and went to retrieve the traffic-cone-orange one. While I sifted through my closet, there came a knock at the door.

  “Yeah?” I called out, expecting Kennia to be the one to enter.

  I was wrong.

  Michele seemed frozen where he stood, his gaze fixed to my chest and door half opened. My bra had been nothing special, simple white fabric meant for support, not to titillate, but he reacted as though he’d never seen so much of my skin before, which was false. And as much as I might have enjoyed the ogling any other time, I was not in the mood.

  “Yes?” I asked while I went back to my closet.

  “I wanted to see if you were all right.”

  Part of me had been curious as to how he’d managed to find my bunk, only to remember I had friends in the galley. Kennia, ever so helpful, had probably told him where I’d gone. That little tidbit allowed me to seat myself within my anger once again. The mystery was solved.