Page 6 of Stalked By the Yacht Captain

But he's not done yet. Rising up to his full height, he sheds his own clothes swiftly.

The sight of him—every hard inch—is enough to make my mouth water. He catches my eyes and kisses me before positioning himself at my entrance.

"Ready?" he murmurs, the tip teasing me exquisitely.

"Yes," I breathe out. "But," I bite my lip, suddenly nervous about my confession. “You should know…I’m a virgin.”

Andrew goes completely still—so still that I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong.

But then his eyes take on an almost manic glint as he says incredulously, “You’re going to be mine? Only mine?”

I relax when he realize he likes that I’m a virgin, and I nod my head. “Yes, you’ll be my first.”

His jaw hardens. “You’re only,” he corrects.

Why does that possessiveness thrill me?

I feel Andrew’s cock leaking fluid against my entrance. He looks down between us and rubs himself up and down my slit, eliciting a moan from me.

He looks up at me and holds my eyes as he starts to push slowly into me.

He enters slowly at first, allowing us both to savor the feeling of becoming one. “Feel that, baby? That’s every inch of me going into you. Holy fuck, you’re a tight little thing aren’t you. Perfect, so perfect.”

Sweat is breaking out on his brow, and he’s rambling, but I love it. Love seeing him like this, half out of his mind.

For me.

He starts to push himself in out, slowly at first, just savoring the feeling of our skin sliding together.

Then, his thrusts pick up speed, depth, each one hitting a spot within me that builds a fiery need for release once again.

The next thing I know I’m pushing my hips up against him.

“Yes, that’s it, perfect baby. Fuck me back." His encouragement makes me feel cherished.

Our movements are frenzied now, driven by raw need and deep connection. Our bodies speak a language older than words—every thrust a sentence, every touch a promise.

"Fuck, Sandy," he groans as he enters me once more, filling me in ways I never knew I was empty. His hips move with the precision of a man who knows the sea, riding the waves of my pleasure until I'm gasping, clinging to him as if he's the anchor keeping me from drifting into oblivion.

"Andrew," I cry out, my voice shrill as ecstasy crashes over me, wave after relentless wave.

He follows, his release a hot rush inside me, his name a prayer on my lips as we cling to each other, adrift in the aftermath.

In the sanctuary of the cabin, with the hum of the yacht's engine and the gentle lapping of the water against the hull, I know I've found my port in the storm—my safe harbor in the rugged, beautiful captain who has claimed not just my body, but my heart.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Andrew

I lean in closer, the scent of Sandy's perfume mingling with the salty sea air. Her green eyes sparkle with that same adventurous gleam I fell for the first day we met aboard Sea Serenade.

My fingers trace the outline of her jaw, and she leans into my touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

"Andrew," she whispers, her voice carrying the promise of uncharted waters.

Just as our lips are about to meet, the sharp click of high heels on the deck interrupts us. We pull apart like guilty teens caught by the headmaster.

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