AllFreeNovel
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Our bodies are close, too close for casual acquaintances, yet not nearly enough for what my body craves.
The pulsating energy of the race mirrors the exhilaration coursing through me, amplified by his intoxicating presence.
"Tell me something," he says, leaning in so his breath tickles my ear, "what does Sandy Whitmore dream about when she's not being the perfect heiress?"
I hesitate, the weight of my family's expectations pressing down, begging to be shared. I find refuge in his earnest blue eyes and the safety of his curious smile.
"Freedom," I say, the word slipping out like a prayer. "To make my own choices, to love who I want, to live without these gilded chains."
"Sounds like we're dreaming of the same thing," he admits, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "Except my chains are made of rope and rigging. Always trying to prove I'm more than just a charming sailor."
Our laughter rings out, two souls recognizing the kindred spirit in the other. It's raw, it's real, and it's more intimate than any high-society ballroom dance could ever be. There's an unspoken promise in the air—of secrets kept and confessions made—that binds us tighter than the knotted ropes mooring the yachts to the docks.
"Let's make a pact," he suggests, his eyes alight with mischief. "Tonight, no heirs or heiresses, no captains or crew. Just Sandy and Andrew."
"Just Sandy and Andrew," I repeat, my voice steady even as my insides flutter with the thrill of it all.
And as the sun dips lower, casting a golden glow over Monaco, I can't help but think that this, right here with Andrew, might just be the freedom I've been searching for all along.
This night, laughing and talking with Andrew, has been nothing short of magic.
I slip my phone across the polished teak bar, the screen lighting up with a new contact entry. Andrew leans in, his fingers deftly keying in his number, the digits a promise of stolen whispers and secrets yet to be shared. "Now you can't get rid of me," he says with that cocky grin I'm starting to crave like my morning espresso.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I shoot back, snatching the phone from his grasp, our fingers brushing—a spark igniting in the brief touch. My heart races, pounding out a rhythm I'm afraid everyone at this glitzy party can hear.
The Monaco night is alive with the clinking of champagne flutes and the murmur of the elite, but all I can focus on is Andrew. He's the rogue wave in a sea of predictability, and I'm more than ready to be swept away.
"Let's ditch this joint," he whispers, leaning close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my ear. His invitation is a life raft, and I don't hesitate to grab on.
We weave through the throng of designer gowns and tailored suits, our escape unnoticed as we slip below deck.
The yacht sways gently beneath us as Andrew slips us into a room—probably the captain’s quarters—the moon casting silvery trails over the Mediterranean. It's just us and the stars—a perfect slice of heaven where the rest of the world fades away.
We stare at each other for a beat, and then as if some cosmic force is pulling us together, we fall into each other’s arms.
"Fuck, Sandy," he murmurs as he pulls me into his chest. His lips find mine, hungry and insistent.
And this isn't just a kiss. It's a declaration, a crashing together of need and desire that's been building since the moment we laid eyes on each other.
Clothes become a distant memory, discarded with every urgent caress. The cool night air kisses my skin, but it's Andrew's hands that set me ablaze, worshiping my body with a fervor that leaves no room for doubt—I am his, utterly and completely.
He cups the mounds of my breath and marvels, “Such perfect little titties.” Then, his head descends to take one of my buds into my mouth.
And holy fucking moly. It’s like a livewire straight to my pussy. I feel the tingle down there.
His tongue swirls, sending volts of pleasure pulsating through me. Each flick ignites a deeper desire, pulling moans from my throat that blend with the lapping waves outside.
I tug at his hair, guiding him, lost in the haze of sensation and the reality that I am here, with him, where I belong. "Andrew," I gasp as he shifts his attention to my other nipple, teasing it into a hard peak before giving it the same delicious treatment.
The world tilts as he moves lower, tracing fiery lines down my abdomen with his lips until he reaches the waistband of my panties. His eyes lock with mine, filled with wicked intent and unspoken questions.
I nod, breathless and eager, granting him silent permission to explore further. With a deft movement, he peels away the thin fabric, exposing me completely.
His gaze is reverent as he looks at me, making me feel like the most precious treasure he's ever discovered. Then he dips his head between my thighs, and oh god, his tongue is even more persuasive than his words.
He laps at me like he's starved, and every stroke is more insistent than the last. My fingers clutch at his shoulders, my back arches as waves of pleasure crash over me.
"Andrew!" I cry out as an orgasm shudders through me, intense and all-consuming.
