Page 54 of Ship Happens

I watch, mesmerized, as she positions herself above me, sinking down with agonizing slowness until I’m sheathed inside her. The sight of Harper taking her pleasure—head thrown back, eyes half-closed—is enough to make me forget every responsibility awaiting me outside this cabin.

“You’re incredible,” I manage, hands guiding her hips as she builds a rhythm that has us both gasping.

“Just—” she falters as I thrust upward to meet her, “—don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Her laugh transforms into a moan as I reach between us, my thumb finding her sensitive clit, that I know will push her to her climax. Her movements become more erratic, her breathing more ragged.

“Ethan,” she gasps, nails digging into my skin. “I’m so close?—”

“I know,” I murmur, increasing the pressure of my thumb. “Let go, Harper. I’ve got you.”

When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips and her eyes locked on mine—a moment of perfect connection that sends me following right after her, my release leaves me breathless.

She collapses against me, her heartbeat racing in time with mine, our bodies still joined as we catch our breath. I wrap my arms around her, committing to memory the scent of her hair and the feel of her skin.

“I think we can still make breakfast?” she asks after a moment, voice muffled against my shoulder.

I laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Yes. Though I’d happily miss breakfast for more of this.”

“Don’t tempt me.” She lifts her head, expression softening. “But we should start getting ready to go home too.”

Reality again. I nod, though I make no move to release her. “Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes,” she agrees, settling back against my chest.

Finally, with reluctance, Harper slides from my embrace and begins gathering her clothes from where they ended up scattered across the floor.

“I need to finish packing,” she says, pulling her dress over her head. “And I should check if Chen has the final documentation I requested.”

“I’ll handle Chen,” I offer, pulling on boxers and reaching for my phone. “You can pack. Meet me for breakfast at eight?”

Her smile is warm enough to chase away my concerns about our impending return to reality. “Eight works. Here or the dining room?”

“Dining room. We should make at least one public appearance before disembarking.”

“For the cameras?” she asks, a hint of her earlier skepticism returning.

“For closure on our official arrangement,” I clarify. “Our fake relationship deserves a proper ending, don’t you think?”

“You’re right. One last performance before we restart on real terms.”

She crosses to where I sit on the edge of the bed, bends down, and kisses me. “See you at eight, Cole.”

After she leaves, I shower and get dressed, my mind shifting between anticipation and real company concerns. Standard CEO concerns, but now infused with Harper’s influence.

My phone buzzes with a text from Alex:

Docking in an hour. Media waiting for your disembarkation with Dr. Bennett. How do you want to play this?

An excellent question. How do we present ourselves? The fake relationship was arranged for mutual benefit—positive PR for me, access for Harper. But what we’ve developed is genuine, if complicated. Too new and fragile for public consumption, yet too good to hide.

We’ll disembark together, cordial. Emphasize her thorough assessment and our commitment to implementing improvements. No hint of romantic attachment yet—she needs space for her assessment to be perceived as unbiased.

Alex’s response comes quickly:

Wise approach. Though the internet is already shipping you two based on passenger social media. #ColevsBennett trending again, but now with heart emojis.

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