Page 84 of Dirty Damage

His hands slide down my back, cupping my ass and pulling me closer. The water laps gently between us, but I can feel how hard he is against my stomach.

My nipples tighten into aching peaks, only partly from the cool water.

“We should get back to the boat,” he says.

“Why?” I wrap my legs around his waist, boldly grinding against him. “Areyouafraid of sharks?”

“No. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck you right here in the ocean.”

Heat blooms between my legs. “What if I dared you?”

“No.” His voice is firm. “When I take you tonight, I want to see every inch of you. I want to watch you come apart under me. I can’t do that in murky water.”

He starts swimming back towards the yacht, pulling me along with powerful strokes.

My skin tingles with anticipation.

The ladder is cold against my feet as I climb up. Before I can reach the top, Oleg grabs me by the wrists and hauls me the rest of the way, plopping me on the teak deck between his dripping feet.

His hands steady me, then slide possessively down my sides.

I should feel exposed, vulnerable, standing naked on the deck while rivulets of cold water drip down my skin.

Instead, I feel powerful.

Desired.

The way Oleg is looking at me makes me feel more beautiful than any boudoir shoot ever could.

In one fluid motion, he has me pressed against the railing, his mouth hot on my neck.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters between kisses. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I really don’t. Because the memory of the man I saw sitting tall and proud behind his desk this morning feels like it’s from another lifetime.

I tip my head back as he kisses fire down my chest, staring up at the blanket of stars above us.

All of this is completely surreal.

I curl my fingers in Oleg’s damp hair, pulling him closer, arching myself into him. “Show me.”

He growls—actuallygrowls—and lifts me like I weigh nothing, carrying me to the cushioned seats in the bow. The night air is cool on my wet skin, but his body is blazing hot as he covers me.

He kisses my throat and my collarbone. When his lips close around my nipple, I cry out, arching off the cushions.

He scrapes his teeth against my sensitive skin, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through me.

“Oleg.” His name stutters on my lips. “Please.”

He raises his head, gold eyes burning into mine. “Tell me what you want, Sutton.”

I don’t know what I want. Or, really, I can’t narrow it down.

Because I want itall. Everything he can give me.

I want to lose myself in him completely.

But that’s dangerous. It’s beyond the bounds of our contract, and I can’t ask him for that.

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