Page 196 of Sins of Arrogance

“Keep your eyes on the stars, Michael,” I mur­mur.

His hand grabs my wrist be­fore I get too far. “What are you do­ing?”

“Can’t you tell?”

“My men are on pa­trol,” he re­minds me. “I know you can’t see them, but they’re here.”

“I love how you keep us safe.” I curl my fin­gers around the top of his shaft. “But re­lax. The bub­bles hide ev­ery­thing.”

“You don’t think my shout of ec­stasy will give you away?”

I grin. “Do you care?”

“Do you?” he coun­ters.

“No.” And I don’t. I’m not ashamed of this. Of us.

“If you keep your face blank, no one will know what I’m do­ing.” I stroke him again. “And you’re re­ally good at that.”

He has lots of prac­tice.

“You make it hard,” he growls, so turned on he doesn’t catch his own pun.

“I know,” I whis­per.

His grip slack­ens. I slide my hand deeper, curl­ing around his thick length and stroking slowly, sa­vor­ing the weight and heat of him in my hand.

“You are pure plea­sure,” he breathes. “But I’m not sure this isn’t tor­ture.”

I keep my eyes on the stars and work him with de­lib­er­ate, steady strokes. It’s heady, know­ing I can bring this pow­er­ful man to the brink and none of his men will be any the wiser.

Un­til he shouts when he cums.

His chest rises and falls faster. His thighs jerk.

Then sud­denly, he erupts out of the wa­ter, lift­ing me with him.

“Mick!”

He ig­nores me, car­ry­ing me at full tilt across the deck, his face wild with in­tent.

Feral. Fo­cused. Mine.

He doesn’t slow down when we get in the house. He pounds up the stairs and kicks open the door to our room. It slams shut be­hind us with a re­ver­ber­a­tion I feel in my chest.

“I want you,” he growls, and his mouth claims mine with a heat that threat­ens to con­sume us both.

I don’t fight it. I kiss him back like he’s my oxy­gen and I’ve been drown­ing. We lose track of ev­ery­thing – time, breath, the world around us – un­til he breaks the kiss and steps back, his gaze dark and dan­ger­ous.

“Take it off,” he says, his voice more an­i­mal than man.

“What?”

“Take off your swim­suit.”

“Is that an or­der, un­der­boss?”

“Yes.”