I leaned in, my lips brushing his, a silent promise of what was to come. “Absolutely not, Captain. Lead the way.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
AUSTIN
I ledIris into the cramped, stuffy cabin, a space so private and intrinsically mine that few people other than family had ever set foot in it. None of them had been a woman I’d just spent the evening falling even harder for. The thought was a fresh shock to my system. I flicked on the low cabin lights, and the space immediately became smaller and more intimate with her presence. I started the modular air-conditioning unit, its quiet hum a welcome buffer against the outside world.
I pulled a bottle of chilled Chardonnay from the tiny onboard fridge, a bottle I’d gotten from a server at Driftwood Grill earlier.
“A man of hidden talents.” Iris’s voice was full of amusement. “I didn’t know you were a wine connoisseur.”
“I’m not,” I admitted with a smile as I worked the corkscrew. “But I know who to ask.”
The cork came out with a soft, satisfying pop. I pouredthe pale gold liquid into two sturdy, stemless glasses I’d also liberated from the restaurant.
I handed her a glass, our fingers brushing. The only real place to sit comfortably in the tight quarters was the double bed that took up the forward part of the cabin. I sat on the edge of the navy blanket, and she settled beside me, her knee just touching mine. The space was charged, alive with unspoken energy.
“Do you sleep in here much?” Her gaze took in the space—the neatly folded charts on the desk, the single book tucked beside my bunk.
“Not often,” I said, taking a sip of wine. It was crisp, cold, with a hint of oak. “Once in a while. If I need to get away from everything. I’ll take the boat out to one of the outer anchorages and just… be. It’s peaceful out there.”
“I can imagine,” she said softly. She looked at me, her blue eyes searching, serious. “Thank you for showing me this side of you, Austin. The tour, the boat, your world.”
The sincerity in her voice made my chest tighten. It was hard to breathe, hard to think. I didn’t have the words to tell her what it meant to have her in my space, to explain the feeling of rightness, of peace, that had settled over me while we were out on the water and watching the sunset together. I settled for the only truth I could manage, a confession as risky and momentous as any deep-water dive.
“It feels different.” I stared into my wine glass, unable to meet her gaze. “Being out there. It’s freeing and honest. I… I liked showing that to you. Experiencing it with you.”
When I finally risked a glance at her, her expression was one of acceptance and understanding. She gave me a soft smile, a look that seemed to see right through all the walls I’d spent years building. In that look, I knew she’d heard everything I couldn’t say.
The silence that followed was a tangible thing, a warmblanket settling over us. Iris held my gaze, her eyes full of a deep awareness that made my skin prickle. Reaching out, she took my wine glass and set it, along with her own, on the desk with a soft click.
The message was unmistakable. The talking was over.
She turned back to me, then leaned in and kissed me. This was a kiss of pure, confident intent—slow, deep, a mutual exploration that spoke of a conscious choice to fall into this together.
My attention was wholly consumed by her. By the taste of her—wine and sweetness and Iris. By the soft sigh that escaped her lips and slipped into my mouth. By the feel of her hands, no longer the tentative touch of a new lover, as they moved from my shoulders to cup my face, her thumbs stroking the rough scruff on my jaw.
When she pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes were dark and luminous in the low light of the cabin. She straddled my lap, her knees sinking into the firm mattress on either side of my hips, her body fitting against mine with a rightness that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to my groin.
“My turn to take charge, Captain.” Her voice was a husky promise that made my pulse hammer.
This confident, assertive Iris was intoxicating. I found myself nodding, my hands settling on her waist, letting her know I was hers to command.
She undressed me. Slowly. Deliberately. Her gaze never left mine as her nimble fingers worked the buttons of my shirt, pushing the fabric aside. Her touch was light and inquisitive, tracing the lines of my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder, before she pushed the shirt off.
I was mesmerized, a willing captive. This slow, deliberate act of claiming me was a new kind of intimacy, anew power she held over me. I didn’t want to fight it. At all.
I was already so hard it was painful. I didn’t want this to end, yet I yearned for release. She slid gracefully from my lap to kneel on the fiberglass floor in front of me. The light caught in her hair, creating a messy, beautiful halo. Her eyes, full of sultry confidence I’d never seen before, lifted to meet mine as she reached for the button of my jeans.
“Let me,” she whispered, and the command in her soft voice made my shaft twitch.
Her gaze held me pinned as she slid the zipper down, her knuckles a deliberate, searing brand against my straining length. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of my jeans, then my briefs, and slowly, inch by excruciating inch, pulled them down my legs and off, tossing them aside into the shadows.
I was completely exposed to her, physically and emotionally. She sat back on her heels, her eyes drinking me in. The way she looked at me—like I was something she wanted to devour—nearly undid me.
“You’re beautiful,” she said simply, and then she leaned forward and took me in her mouth.
A sharp, ragged breath tore from my lungs. The sensation was immediate, overwhelming, a bolt of pure, white-hot pleasure that obliterated all thought. Her mouth was hot, wet, and impossibly soft, her tongue a masterful torment.
