Page 53 of The Arrogant's Surrender

She shrugs. "The world is full of people who want something from us. I call them ‘takers.’ Few people want to give without expecting something in return."

"That doesn’t exist," I state firmly.

"What doesn’t?"

"Giving without expecting something in return."

"Really? And what would I gain from volunteering?"

"Your peace of mind. I think it might even be tied to the debt you feel toward your friend."

Her mouth opens and closes as though she’s angry. Then her expression softens, and she smiles. "You irritate me, but you also make me think, Athanasios. And I love that."

"The truth can be irritating sometimes, but it doesn’t make it any less true. There’s always a motive behind every action, Brooklyn. That’s not necessarily a bad thing—it’s just a fact."

She laughs softly. "And here I thought I was a saint, kind to the last strand of hair," she teases. She stands up.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to use the restroom. Can you show me where it is?"

I take her hand and lead her below deck. Instead of pointing her to the hallway bathroom, I guide her to my suite.

Athanasios

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I shouldn't waitfor her inside the room, but I do. I sit on the bed while Brooklyn uses the bathroom, listening carefully for when she'll return.

She doesn’t take more than two minutes, but when she sees me, it’s as if she’s stopped breathing. Every reaction she has to me pulls me even deeper into her.

I wasn’t lying when I told her I’m used to older women who know every trick in the book when it comes to seduction. Brooklyn, on the other hand, is raw—everything about her is spontaneous: fear, anger, joy, or like now, desire.

My eyes trace her body again, but this time, I map her slowly. Without me saying a word, she walks toward me, stopping between my thighs.

"We need to go back outside," she says.

I nod in agreement but don’t move. Instead, I trail a finger along her leg, starting at her knee and stopping where her shorts begin.

Her breathing picks up, and she steadies herself by placing her hands on my shoulders.

I pull her closer and guide her to straddle my lap. Our faces are mere inches apart, our breaths mingling, but I don’t kiss her—not yet.

Gripping her hips, I press her down against my hardness, the thin fabric of her shorts and my swimming trunks the only barriers between us.

She moans and grinds against me, her movements growing more insistent. Without breaking eye contact, she rolls her hips.

"So fucking sexy." I grip her tighter, guiding her movements faster, giving her what she needs. She throws her head back, surrendering to the pleasure I’m giving her.

I slide a hand beneath her sweater, running my fingers along her spine, and she locks her legs around my waist.

"What do you want?"

"I don’t know."

"You do know, but you’re too shy to say it. I’m going to teach you how to ask for everything you want in bed, Brooklyn."

She lowers her gaze. "Touch me," she whispers. "Every part of me is burning to be touched by you."

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