Page 10 of Stalked By the Yacht Captain

"Yours," I pant out, a declaration, a surrender.

The sound of the sea outside blends with our moans—it's like the world exists just for us in this moment, the yacht a private universe where only we matter.

My nails dig into Andrew's back as he increases his pace, each thrust driving us further into madness.

"Sandy," he pants, "I?—"

"Don’t stop," I urge him, my legs wrapping around his waist to pull him even deeper. The tension coils tighter within me.

His movements become more desperate, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his skin as he drives us both towards the edge. His hand slips between us once more, fingers circling my clit in a relentless rhythm that sends me spiraling over into ecstasy.

As my orgasm washes over me in waves, Andrew follows close behind, his body tensing as he pours himself into me with a groan.

The feeling of his hot seeds spraying inside me makes me come again.

“Yes,” he hisses when he feels me fluttering around him for a second time. “Give it all to me, sweet baby.”

We chase the climax together, a tangled mess of limbs and desire, until the world shatters around us in a cascade of stars.

Andrew kisses my forehead gently—a stark contrast to the fierce passion from moments before—and pulls me close against his chest.

And as we cling to each other, breathless and spent, I know this is where I belong—not in the polished halls of wealth, but here, in the wild embrace of the man who commands the sea.

Fuck everyone.

I’m Andrew’s.

EPILOGUE

One year later

Sandy

The salty breeze tousles my hair as I stand at the bow of the 'Sea Serenade,' but it's not the wind that has my skin tingling with anticipation.

It's Andrew, his rugged hands roaming over me as if he's charting a course across unexplored waters. His piercing blue eyes lock onto mine, heavy with desire.

"You're mine, Sandy," he growls, voice rough like the sea's whisper against a hull. The possessiveness in his tone should scare me—it doesn't. Instead, it ignites a fire within me, burning away any lingering doubts.

"Only yours," I gasp out as he takes me right there, under the vast expanse of the sky. The yacht rocks gently beneath us, in rhythm with our fervent movements.

Andrew's body is relentless, each thrust driving home the promise we're making to each other. My fingers dig into his taut muscles, holding on for dear life as waves of pleasure crash over me.

We move together, lost in the storm of our passion until we both crest, our mutual cries swallowed by the sound of the ocean around us.

There's nothing gentle about the way my husband loves me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Yes, Andrew is my husband. Was my family at the wedding? No.

Do I give a fuck?

No.

Truth be told, my relationship with them was never that great anyway. It was always superficial and about keeping up appearances.

They might have disowned and disinherited me, but none of that matters.

All the money in the world can’t make up for what I have here.

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