Page 134 of Dirty Damage

I lean back against him and he kisses the nape of my neck with an open mouth.

“Will you stop trying to ruin me in public?” I ask. But I know I’m not particularly convincing as I tip my head to give him better access. “People might see.”

His palm spreads across my stomach, claiming as much of me as he can. I feel the insistent press of how much he wants me against my ass.

“Good. I want them to see.”

Voyeurism isn’t usually my kink, but a thrill runs through me at the thought. “They might kick us off the boat.”

“They wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs, his beard scraping along my shoulder as he peppers every inch of exposed skin with kisses. “I sold Mr. Conti this yacht myself. Gave him one hell of a deal and it was still the biggest sale of my career. He owes me.”

“Ah, sothat’swhy he called you the guest of honor.” Mr. Conti practically waited on Oleg himself, pouring us both champagne for a toast the second we boarded.

“Right before he told us to eat, drink, dance, and make merry,” he growls against my ear, his fingers shifting dangerously close to where I’m pulsing for him. “I want to make you merry, Sutton.”

My head falls to his shoulder as he cups me through the dress. We’re clustered against the railing so no one can see how he’s touching me.

If I’m quiet, he could finish me right here.

I’ve lived perpetually halfway to finishing this entire week. Just meeting his eyes across the room can get me close. A stiff breeze puts me right on the edge.

So if he moves his hand rightthere?—

“Okay! Okay, I… Please,” I whimper.

A dark laugh rumbles through his chest. His hand is snaking beneath the slit of my dress, peeling aside the thin fabric of my panties?—

—when a man clears his throat to our right.

I jolt, but Oleg steadies me with his body as he gracefully removes his hand and turns to face a man with the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen—eyes that seem to know exactly what he just walked in on.

Still, he holds out a hand to Oleg. “Daniel Bertrand. I’ve been dying to meet you, Mr. Pavlov.”

After a few back-and-forth pleasantries I miss because of the dizzying cocktail of desire and embarrassment swirling in my gut, Oleg leans in close. “I have to network. Wait for me, princess.”

It’s not a question, and with how shaky my legs are, I don’t have much choice. Oleg disappears below deck to talk business and earn himself another client.

Meanwhile, I grip the metal railing to keep from crying out for him to come back and give me some damn relief, please.

I spend half an hour waiting for Oleg to return. The music is growing louder as champagne flows, and I’m forced to admit I’ve lost my date to the lure of business.

Apparently, the sex appeal of my dress is no match for the sex appeal of a check with many, many zeroes on the end of it.

So I abandon my post and start exploring the rest of the floating palace. The guests look completely at home amidst the yacht’s luxury. Women in tall heels kick their feet up on tables; men spill drinks as they roar with drunken laughter.

Everyone seems to have a group they belong to, a face they recognize. The fact that I’m a nobody among them gives me a strange hit of confidence.

No one knows me here.

Which means I could be anyone.

A trust fund princess with degrees from schools I can’t pronounce? Sure!

A self-made tech mogul who sold her startup for billions? I don’t see why not!

A celebrity chef with a Michelin star and a mansion in the Hollywood Hills? Say the words and it will be so.

I giggle to myself. Then I snag a glass of champagne as I make the rounds, observing.

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