When we get back, we grab food and sit down to eat while sipping the liquor he ordered. I sip on the Malibu, watching him over the rim of the glass with a smile tugging at my lips. I like this lil’ coconut taste. After eating, we chill with the gang. While they talk business, I zone out, taking snaps and crunching ice. Lately, I’ve been enjoying ice way more than usual.
The place hot bad, though.
Vybz Kartel’s VIP drops, bass heavy, and I can’t help it, I start grinding on Nickoi where he’s sitting, smoking with that lazy, sexy posture of his. I glance back at him while whining my waist, and he blows smoke right into my face. I bite my lip.
“Unuh need a room,” someone says.
There are couples dancing all around us, but nobody is moving like us. Our energy different, like we can’t help ourselves. We’re on fire, and we know it. I lean into him, and he passes me the weed or at least I thought he was just handing it to me.
“Nah try it?” he asks, voice low and husky, his eyes half-lidded. He’s high. And mi high off him. So we both high, just not off the same thing.
I take it, hesitantly, then raise it to my lips and pull. The drag scratches my throat, and I cough a little, but I manage. First time really smoking and it’s killing me, but I follow Nickoi’s guidance and soon I’m getting the hang of it. I puff the smoke slowly, letting it trail from my lips as he watches me, eyes dark with lust.
“Wah you wah do to me?” I murmur, licking my lips.
He smirks.
Zara, wah dat yuh ask? A wah get inna yuh?
Maybe the weed.
Maybe him.
“Get up,” he says, and I rise to my feet instantly. He turns and walks off, and without question, I follow.
“Mi go show yuh,” he says, pushing open a door. I walk in before him.
I push him back the second we step in the yacht room. The door shuts with a heavy click and I drag the curtain shut, blocking out the sea breeze and laughter from the others outside. It’s dim now. Just the soft glow of the cabin light, and him, looking like sin with sweat glistening on his chest.
I press him against the wall and climb him… literally.
“I love your height,” I giggle against his neck, lips brushing his skin, voice laced with mischief. “Cause mi get to climb yuh. Literally.”
He laughs, deep and low, hands gripping my thighs.
“Yuh drunk?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“Just drunk enough fi do wah mi been want,” I whisper, grinding my hips against his abs, letting him feel the ache I’ve been carrying all evening.
I kiss his jaw, down to his chest, licking his inked skin as I slide to my knees. My shorts ride up and I don’t even care. I hook my arms around his thighs and smirk up at him, eyes low.
He’s already hard. Like really hard.
I push his shorts down with zero shame and let my tongue trace his veins. Slow at first. Real slow. I watch his abs twitch, his hand go to my head like instinct.
“When did you get this way,” he breathes. “Jah know mi love it.”
“I know,” I grin, wrapping my lips around him again.
Then I twist, literally turn to the side, one leg bent, body curved and tongue working him at an angle that makes him curse so loud, I swear the yacht rocks harder.
“That lethal…” he chokes. His hand grips my hair tighter, but not to guide me, just to hold on. Like he’s trying not to lose his mind.
“Zara, Mami, wait—”
I don’t.
I go deeper, eyes locked on him, taking all of him like I want to ruin him. He groans again, his hips jerking, and I moan just to feel the vibration between us.
