Page 11 of Stalked By the Yacht Captain

My husband takes my hand and places a kiss on my palm, and I melt.

I fucking melt.

This man…he is my everything.

And I want to show him exactly what he means to me.

So, I fall to my knees and give him a coy smile as I take his cock in both my hands and lick my lips.

Andrew watches me with heated intensity, his breath hitched as if he's trapped in the eye of a hurricane and I'm the wind urging him on.

His hands weave into my hair, guiding me gently, a silent plea etched in every motion.

"You know exactly what you do to me," he whispers, voice laced with both lust and a touch of awe. The sound sends shivers dancing down my spine.

I focus on him, taking him deeper, reveling in the way his grip tightens just a bit, a testament to the storm of sensations I'm stirring within him.

Our connection transcends the physical—every touch, every kiss charges the air around us with electricity. But right now, it’s raw, primal.

It's just about how much we need each other. How much we want to consume and be consumed by this fiery passion that has defined our relationship from the start.

The yacht pitches slightly, and I brace myself against his thighs. Andrew chuckles—a low, rumbling sound that vibrates through my core.

"Steady as she goes," he teases, using one of his favorite sailing metaphors in a deliciously inappropriate context.

I look up at him through my lashes, allowing myself a moment to admire the perfectly sculpted lines of his face. His jaw is set firm, his piercing blue eyes darkened now with pure desire.

It’s my undoing—seeing this strong, confident man unraveling because of me.

With an expert flick of my tongue, I push him to the brink. Andrew's response is swift—a growl that would put the ocean’s fiercest storm to shame. He gently pulls me up just before he loses control, his eyes burning with an unspoken promise.

"I need you—now," he commands softly, pulling me to my feet and crushing his lips against mine in a searing kiss that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions.

We stumble towards the cabin, hands and mouths everywhere. Clothes are shed haphazardly. Neither of us is willing to part for even a second to properly undress.

Finally bare and exposed in all senses, Andrew lays me down on the plush bed.

He looms over me, every inch the sea god he is at heart—even out of his element here in our private sanctum.

"I love you," he murmurs against my neck as he enters me slowly, deliberately stoking the fire we’ve built together until it engulfs us both.

The rest of the world—the expectations, the disapproval—falls away as we move together in perfect rhythm. Here on this yacht, surrounded by nothing but endless blue, it’s just us against the world.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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