Later, in the lower deck cabin, he kisses me like he’s trying to forget, or maybe like he’s trying to remember. Maybe I’m something solid he can cling to in a world that keeps shifting beneath him. Then, it’s like we’re back in the room he’d given me on Edward Island, everything soft, everythingcharged.
It’s not careful or calculated like it’s been. It’s hungry and wild. His hands grip my hips, hauling me into his lap on the bed in one rough motion. The boat gently rocks in a calming manner, but what’s happening between us is anything but.
“Off, God,off.” His words are frayed and urgent, while his fingers already begin yanking at the hem of my dress. Something tears, and I hear the buttons on his shirt ping against the wooden floor. His mouth finds my throat like he’s chasing my pulse and wants to devour me whole. This isn’t our usualfucking. No, he’s trying to ruin me.
He sinks his teeth into my collarbone and pulls me closer, and I rock against the hard ridge of his cock through his pants. My breath coming out in shaky bursts.
“Anthony—”
“Tell me you want me.” His voice is ragged; his eyes are locked on mine.
I could tease him and make him work for it. But he’s looking at me like he’s starving, burning every thought from my head. “I want you,” I rasp.
The first time is against the wall, his hands leaving little bruises on my thighs as he lifts me, drives into me. He muffles my cries with his mouth. The second time is on the floor, me on my knees, his fingers knotted in my hair, his groan vibrating through my spine. The third is tangled in the sheets of the bed, my legs hooked over his shoulders, his mouth worshipping mebetween my thighs until I sob his name over and over. And the fourth?—
“Again,” he growls, flipping me onto my stomach, his body covering mine, his teeth nipping at the tip of my ear. I can’t. But I do.
Because this—this heat of him, the way he touches me, the sound of my name from his lips, hurts in ways I can’t name. But God, I don’t want it to stop. I never want him to stop.
————
When I wake, I’m warm and our bodies are tangled together. It’s warm skin and silk that smells like the ocean and him. The sun shines brightly through the windows, and I can feel an arm tighten around my midsection. My breathing stops.We fell asleep together.I turn my head just enough to look over my shoulder and see his sleepy grey eyes staring back at me. His head is propped on one hand, his hair sleep-mussed.
“Hey,” he says gently.
“…Hi,” I breathe.
He huffs a breath. “This is the first time I’ve woken up with someone in a long time.”
I roll to face him slightly, grinning just enough to show I’m smug about that. “Should I sue you?”
His brows raise. “For what, exactly?”
“Breach of contract. Emotional damages,” I deadpan, smirking, and press my forehead into his chest like it’s easy. “You’re blurring the lines.”
He snorts. “You’re the one who fell asleep, April.”
“You’re the one who didn’t leave,” I fire back, my words muffled.
He holds his breath for a second, then two, then slowly lets it out. I can’t tell if his heart picked up speed or if it was always that fast. “Yeah,” he says.
Justyeah. And I don’t know what to make of that.
Chapter 16
Anthony
The pre-show event is wall-to-wall curation. Camera flashes, designer gowns, perfected smiles. Everyone here is somebody: models, investors, influencers pretending to be both. Bartenders pass flutes of champagne like ammunition, and every conversation is a thinly veiled transaction. The room pulses with fake laughter, real ambition, and too much perfume. I hate these nights. Always have.
I stand near the bar, drink in hand, nodding to people I half-recognize from covers and campaigns and work. I’m in a navy tux that cost more than most people make in a month, and the only thing I want is not here. April’s off tonight. She requested it, saying she had something planned with her friend Nicky, and now I’m surrounded by women I’m supposed to find desirable. All of them are tall, thin, and glittering, but none of them are her. A blonde drapes herself against the bar beside me. Her dress clings to her body like plastic wrap, and her lips are painted a deep red.
“You’re Anthony Voss,” she purrs, as if I might not know.
“I am,” I say, without looking at her.
She laughs lightly, tilting her head. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
I glance at her, assessing. I’ve probably seen her on a runway, maybe one of ours. Doesn’t matter.
