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“No ginger.” She laughed again. “Please, just take pity on your poor sub.” She looked back at him over her shoulder. “Fuck me instead?”
Chuckling, he took his cock in his hand and guided it to her entrance. Her soft cry as the broad head breached her entrance was the best music he’d ever heard. She loved it when they fucked, but he was convinced her favorite part was the moment when he penetrated her fully, impaling her until her ass was snug against his pelvis. It was a good feeling, but his favorite would always be those precious few seconds after he’d spent himself in her—when all was right in his world.
He pressed forward, enjoying the way her wet heat encompassed him and loving how she shivered in the throes of her first orgasm just from his possession alone. He rubbed her back and mindful of her pregnancy, thrust in small, careful movements until her pussy had fully accepted him, then his fucking took on long, hard, deliberate strokes. When he rocked his hips back and forth, his cock driving powerfully deeper, he felt as though he might just be the hero she believed him to be. He held her in place, not allowing her to move with him. He controlled sex—controlled her pleasure and her orgasms—and she gave him everything in return.
“More!” she cried, grabbing the bedclothes as she came. Her pussy pulsed and quivered all along his length, begging him to join her, but he wasn’t ready yet. He increased the driving power and tempo of his thrusts.
Surging forward, he drew her body up, so he could hold her, her back to his chest, her breasts filling his hands. He squeezed, pinched, and rolled her nipples with one hand while his other cupped her mons, keeping her snuggly trapped against him, a slave to his orgasm. The submissive who made his heart race—the only person in the world he literally could not imagine his life without.
He came hard, holding her tight against him and pumping his cum into her as she ground back against him in the throes of another orgasm. Nuzzling her neck, he nipped her ear as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. She sighed, relaxed and replete.
“I hate to remind you, but the season opens today, and we have a full house. Paid guests as well as the Wild Mustang bunch.”
Christian groaned. Bad enough, his sister and Croft had come to visit, but Zara and Avery had accompanied them, and those two were a terrible influence on Aliya.
Not that it was a bad thing. He grinned. Spanking Aliya always ignited her libido again.
Chapter
Two
Six Months Earlier…
“Please?” Aliya wheedled, making it incredibly hard for Christian to concentrate on what he was doing. Pretending to crunch financials while furtively copying encrypted information off the database of the world’s most-wanted criminal was hard enough. Trying to do it with Fariq in the same room was nothing short of suicidal. It was uncanny how the man seemed to know everything going on around him. Under no other circumstance would he have risked something this stupid, but time was fast becoming of the essence, and Aliya’s presence was—he hoped—just enough distraction to make the risk worth taking.
“I promise,” she begged, offering her unimpressed brother a hopeful smile. “I promise I will do whatever you say. I just want to get off this ship for a while. Please, Fariq? I’ll be a good girl.”
That smile was dazzling, but then everything about Aliya Abdal was dazzling. She was a beauty, possessed of the kind of small, curvaceous body that never failed to turn men into fools, him most certainly included.
Christian tried not to watch her, especially with Fariq sitting right there. When he’d first brought his sister on the ship, Fariq had made it very clear his beloved little sister was off-limits. Which didn’t mean that most—if not all—of his men automatically stopped coveting her. No, from the moment she stepped foot from her quarters each day, all picture-perfect and untouchable, she became the star of every dark fantasy on this ship.
Well, okay… maybe the others’ fantasies weren’t dark, but his certainly were. Try though he did, Christian couldn’t stop imagining the lithe beauty, with a river of dark hair spilling down her back, naked and bound to a St. Andrews cross as his whip caressed her perfect, light-brown flesh. He could easily imagine how she would feel in his arms as he cut her down before taking her into a private room to fuck.
Most of the crew was divided on the question of her virginity. At twenty-two, some said her maidenhead remained intact, while others had trouble believing it. There were others still who whispered Fariq himself had taken it, something Christian completely ignored. In his fantasies, he couldn’t have cared less as he took her in every way and every position imaginable. While Fariq wasted no chance to remind his men he would cut off the balls and feed them to anyone who dared to touch her, Christian was systematically rewriting the Kama Sutra in his mind, with Aliya gasping, groaning, and happily writhing under the steady, pumping spray of his cum.
“I said no,” Fariq said, snapping Christian back to the present. The dark-skinned Arab didn’t so much as glance up from his tablet, which made it easier for Christian to readjust the full-tenting erection that now lived in his pants.
A casual observer might glance at Fariq Abdal in his tan slacks and white, button-down shirt and think him nothing more than another quintessential wealthy businessman, hard atwork. Only the gun in his shoulder holster belayed that first impression, and no one knew better than Christian just how few qualms Fariq had about putting that gun to use.
Mind back on your work, he told himself firmly.
“Please!” Aliya bounced once, biting back both a whine of frustration and what looked suspiciously like a foot stomp.
Off-limits and spoiled rotten, Christian thought with a shake of his head, but that might have been an unfair assessment. He didn’t know her well, despite having met her a handful of times over the years and now living on the same yacht with her for some time. Shehadto be spoiled. How could anyone who lived as well as she did off the money her brother made, borrowed, or outright stole not be?
It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that, though. She was still beautiful, and ‘spoiled rotten’ didn’t ruin his view of her in her pale-pink, floral sundress and matching designer high heels. She was wearing her midnight hair loose today, and damn if her dark, pleading eyes couldn’t turn ordinary men into poets. God knows, if he had any degree of literary talent in that area, he might have been tempted to try… right after he held her down in a tub long enough to scrub off that expensive perfume she was wearing. It was driving him crazy.
“I’m sorry, but no,” Fariq said for the third time, patience personified, although only when it came to his sister. “Plans have changed. Sadly, my attention must be redirected from your pleasure to matters of business. Run along now, please.”
She wilted in disappointment, but like spoiled little rich girls everywhere, she didn’t stop trying. “Fariq, I haven’t been off the ship in months. I need to get out. I need to do something.”
“Then put on the new swimsuit I bought you. Sun yourself on the upper deck or go swimming in the pool.” His attention remained fixed on his tablet.
“You promised when we got to Morocco…” She stopped when he finally sighed, lowered the tablet, and fixed his equally dark eyes on her.
“Did you not just hear me say plans have changed?” he asked, still quiet, still patient. The quieter he got, the more he reminded Christian of a viper coiling for the strike. “When you are married and your husband needs to concentrate on business, will you still behave like a petulant child? You are growing up, my darling. As a grownup, sometimes you must forego whatever it is youthinkyou must have whenever you think youmusthave it. Proper wives attend to their husband’s needs and are grateful for whatever attention and affection he can spare. Surely, the nuns who schooled you taught you better than this.”
Christian could hear the thinly-veiled warning in Fariq’s tone, but it apparently went right over Aliya’s head.
