He must read my mind because he reaches for his belt, but I slap his hands away and undo it myself, making him watch as I pop each button, as I slide the zipper down slow enough to make him huff out a laugh that sounds like it’s coming from deep in his chest.
The slacks pool at his ankles, and then there’s nothing between us but the heat of our skin. His hands come back to my face, gentler now, as though he’s savoring the pause before we give in completely. His lips brush mine once, twice, then deepen the kiss until my toes curl against the carpet.
He walks me backward until the back of my knees hit the bed, and I go down with a soft bounce, pulling him with me. His weight is perfect—solid, heavy, anchoring me to the moment. His thigh wedges between mine, and I can’t stop the small sound that escapes me when I shift against him.
“That’s it,” he whispers, and I feel it more than hear it, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
My hands roam—his back, his sides, the dip of his waist—mapping him like a new land I’m claiming. His mouth trails down my throat, over my chest, and lingers above one of my nipples before his tongue finally, mercifully, flicks over me. I arch into him, and he smiles against my skin like he’s been waiting for that.
His hand slides lower, slow and sure, until his fingers slide into my slick, warm spot. He moves two thick fingers inside me with a rhythm that makes me forget every reason I had to keep my distance, my hips moving without thought, chasing the pressure he gives so well.
“Sean…” It comes out as a breath, and his head lifts, my nipple between his teeth. There’s a spark of satisfaction in his eyes. He lets go of my nipple and, still pumping his fingers into me, he lifts onto his heels so he’s above me, holding his cock at my entrance.
I watch him, waiting for him, enjoying the sensation of his fingers but wanting to feel his member. Finally, I cry out a single, “Please!”
That’s what he wanted. When he slides into me, it’s all heat and stretch and the dizzying realization that I’m letting this happen with a man I met less than an hour ago. And yet, it feels like we’ve been moving toward this since the moment our eyes met.
His pace starts slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing how I feel around him, but when I hook my legs around his hips and pull, he groans and gives me more. The bed creaks under us, the air between us thick with heat and the salt of our skin.
I match him move for move, my nails digging into his shoulders, my breath catching every time he hits the place that makes my vision blur. He says my name like it tastes good in his mouth, like it belongs there.
His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheek, and I realize my lips are still parted like I might say something. But instead I take his thumb into my mouth and suck. His eyes darkenand he plunges into me harder, pushing my head against the headboard.
The world narrows to the sound of his breathing, the feel of his body against mine, the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, sending me over the edge with a rush that steals my voice. He follows a heartbeat later, his hips stuttering, his forehead pressed to mine.
It’s supposed to be nothing—a cruise fling with a doctor, a big, burly blond Irishman, just one night. But the way his fingers trace slow patterns on my back, I have the sinking feeling it won’t be that simple.
2
WILLOW
Cheyenne spotshim before I do. “Don’t look. Don’t—okay, you’re looking.”
“I’m not looking.” I am absolutely looking.
Same suite of suits, same cluster of crisp collars and loosened ties at the edge of the ship’s karaoke lounge. Only it’s different tonight—no thudding bass and neon wash, just a cozy stage framed by velvet curtains and a crowd juiced on liquid courage and eighties ballads.
And there he is. Sean. Sitting with the same doctors, commanding everyone’s attention. His ankle is crossed over his knee, and he winks when he catches me looking, then goes back to talking.
“Lord, look at the ginger mountain beside him,” Dylan crows, a laugh stuttering out of him as he pretends to wipe his glasses to see Sean’s friend clearer.
My eyes wander over to his friend, the “ginger mountain.” Somehow, that first night, I was too focused on Sean to notice him, but now that I see him, it seems impossible that I evermissed him. Tall, broad-chested, wearing a shirt that can’t decide whether to be formal or stretched across him like a test of fabric integrity. Red hair that doesn’t obey gel. Blue eyes that cut through the dim like they’ve got their own internal backlight. He looks strong, like he could pick me up and throw me over his shoulder.
Dylan looks between us, between the man and my open-mouthed stare and leans close to me to whisper, “I dare you to see if you can get with his friend too.” Surprised, I look over at him, and he has a mischievous smile as he waggles his eyebrows at me. “You’re considering it,” he says, knocking my shoulder with his.
I let my gaze move back to the Irish ginger, who takes up space uncomfortably, like he doesn’t think it’s fair how big his body is, how much of the couch he needs. I notice with a twinge of emotion that his pants ride just a little too high for how tall he is, that they show a tiny bit of his ankle.
Cheyenne snaps her fingers in front of my face. “No. Absolutely not. You like Sean. Sean likes you. He’s sweet.”
“Sweet.” I cringe, thinking about how many women waste away in relationships withsweetmen. “We’re all having fun. Don’t I deserve some fun?”
The ginger laughs at something one of his friends says, and I snap my head to attention. The laugh is brief, contained, like he’s rationing it. He’s not scanning the room for attention the way Sean did. He’s watching. Noticing. The air around him feels…safe. Dangerous, but safe.
Dylan leans in. “Double the trouble, double the fun. Get yourself a duet.”
Cheyenne groans. “Dylan, stop. Willow, baby, you can do what you want, obviously, but come on. Haven’t you been jumping from man to man enough? Maybe settle on one for the next three days here, at least.”
“But…look at him.”
