The main guest cabin is almost all set and only needs this final touch. Last night I had finished making the bed, scrubbed down the bathroom, fluffed the pillows and set mints out, and restocked the towels so it looks spotless to the untrained eye.
Grabbing the vase of fresh flowers off the side table, I notice the surface is already polished, my confused face looking back at me in the reflection.
What the hell?
In fact, every surface has already been wiped down. Surely someone didn't take it upon themselves to do this right? But it's not like I would have noticed. I was too busy in the storage areas to know if someone was still up and working. Maybe it was Keeran? She knew I was planning to work late and it feels like it’s something she would do.
Hmmm.... interesting. No point in dwelling on it, I guess.
The funny thing is, almost everything on my list has been taken care of. It seems my secret helper worked their magic while I was in the bowels of the damn ship.
If I could kiss them, I would.
Through the radio, Damon announces that breakfast is ready, so I stop by the galley and snag a muffin, blowing a kiss at him as I leave. He's such a fun person to flirt with even though I have no romantic feelings for him. It’s important that we get along with one another since the two of us will be working closely and I think we’ve hit it off wonderfully.
Muffin in hand, I bounce down the steps into the laundry room. Now that all the housekeeping upstairs is done, I need to get uniforms all sorted. It's my responsibility to clean and iron the crew uniforms and to make sure they get to the correct people.
When I first arrived, I placed all their motor yachtSirenstaples on their beds, all except what we call our whites, which are our more formal uniforms that needed to be steamed. Being a crew member on a yacht is full of outfit changes, which sounds ridiculous, and it is. We all get t-shirts and tennis shoes, and the deck crew gets shorts while I get a skort—that ridiculous skirt-short combo that’s popular with toddlers.
The laundry room is a place where time and the outside world cease to exist. There are no windows in here, only the low hum of the dryers and never-ending laundry. Most stews hate the laundry room and avoid it at all costs, but to me, it's the best place to think. Folding and ironing take little to no brain power, so my mind wanders, and believe me, all I can think about is Captain Pike’s hands on me.
My mind replays how it felt as his large hand gripped my ass and lifted me to the counter so effortlessly it made me feel like I was weightless. Of how his hand caressed my leg as he knelt to look at my foot. Every tiny, seemingly insignificant interaction with him has me heated.
Time passes quickly and before I know it, Captain announces through the radio that the Oliviers will be arriving soon. Scooping the freshly steamed uniforms up, I drop them off with each crewmember before changing into my own.
"Hannah, Hannah, Captain." Captain Pike’s deep voice rumbles through the speaker.
"Go for Hannah," I reply, looping my radio into my belt and fitting the earpiece. I give myself one last look over in the mirror, dabbing some concealer under my eyes to hide the dark circles there thanks to my long night of working.
"Am I going to get my uniform at some point?" He doesn't sound annoyed, but he doesn't sound happy either.
Fuck. I forgot his uniform.
"I'm so sorry, I'll bring it up to you now." The man seems to be in a perpetual state of grumpiness, so I must already be on his bad side. Now, this? Ugh. It's going to be a rough few weeks.
Sure enough, the captain’s uniform is hanging right where I left it. With a sigh, I grab it and practically jog up the steps to the bridge hoping the faster I get it there, the less angry he’ll be.
The captain’s quarters on this boat are located on the bridge so the captain is never far from the control center.
A bit winded from my sprint up the steps, I knock lightly on his door and wait.
"Come in." His voice is muffled by the door, and I carefully open it, unaware of what lies beyond it.
Captain Pike is almost completely naked. Well, he's not naked, but damn do I wish he was. He's wearing a towel, tied tight across his waist leaving little to the imagination. I don't know whether to turn away or keep staring. I should turn away, right?
Looking at him leaves me in a trance. I'm completely frozen by his beauty. He's tanned all over, the skin of this toned stomach glistening from his recent shower. His chest is sculptured and lightly speckled with the chest hair that I imagine rubbing against my nipples as he thrusts into me, sending a wave of desire down my spine.
"Thanks, Hannah." He looks up at me then and I realize my eyes never left his body. Not a soul can blame me for staring either because the man in front of me is more a Greek demi-god than a man.
Holy. Shit.
"Hannah." His voice is deep and gravelly and when my gaze finally meets his, it's like all the air is sucked from the room. In an instant, he pulls me towards him in a tight embrace, the uniform I so carefully steamed crushed between us as he slips his hand around my neck and pulls my lips to his.
I'm vaguely aware of his other hand squeezing and kneading my ass, pulling my hips flush against his but my focus is on his mouth. Our lips slick together and I'm freely giving what he's taking. And that's what he's doing: taking. There's nothing gentle about this kiss. It's fierce and passionate and it almost brings me to my knees with its intensity.
His tongue teases my own and there's no holding back my moan of pleasure. At this, his hand cradling my head fists in my ponytail sending fresh desire pooling in my core. He doesn't pull, but squeezes, making goosebumps pop up on my skin.
I've never been dominated before, but this must be what it feels like. He's in complete control and that's exactly where I want him.
