Page 47 of Forbidden Fruit

When we finally collapse together, our bodies slick and heaving, I gather her close again, pressing my forehead to hers. The cabin feels too small to contain the explosive fuck we just shared. I can still feel the way her body gripped mine as I poured my release into her, the primal rhythm of our hips finally slowing.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" I whisper, my voice laced with sudden concern as the reality of my earlier loss of control sinks in.

Her laugh escapes in a breathless, genuine burst of sound, filling the air between us. "God, no. That was..." She shakes her head, a soft, bemused smile playing on her lips as she searches for words that seem to elude her.

I lean in to kiss her gently now––the tender brush of my lips starkly contrasts the frenzied passion we shared just moments ago. "I know," I murmur softly against her lips, our breaths mingling in the intimate space between us. "I know exactly."

As we lie comfortably tangled, the rhythmic sound of water gently lapping against the hull creates a soothing backdrop. In that serene moment, a profound clarity washes over me—I am unwavering in my resolve. I will never let her return to Jack. Becca Jamison is meant to be mine, whatever it takes, whatever sacrifices I must make.

The weight of that thought settles over me as Becca's breathing grows deeper, more rhythmic. She's drifting to sleep in my arms, curling trustingly against mine. The fierce possessiveness should alarm me, but it doesn't. It feels right, as natural as breathing.

I trace lazy patterns on her bare shoulder, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my fingertips. The cabin is quiet except for the gentle creaking of the yacht and the distant lapping of waves. Everything smells of salt, sex, and her perfume—a heady combination that makes me want to wake her for another round.

"Mmm," she murmurs, shifting slightly. Her eyes flutter open, dark and dreamy. "What time is it?"

I glance at my watch on the nightstand. "Just after five. The sun will be setting soon."

"We should probably go back," she says but makes no move to leave the warm nest of tangled sheets.

"Probably," I agree, equally reluctant. The thought of returning to the beach house, to Kay's calculating eyes and Jack's possessive pawing, makes something dark twist in my gut. "Or we could stay here tonight."

Becca props herself up on one elbow, her hair falling in a curtain around her face. "Can we do that?"

"It's my yacht," I remind her with a small smile. "We can do whatever we want."

Her teeth catch her bottom lip, and I'm immediately distracted by the gesture. "Will we be okay?"

"I’ll protect you." I cup her cheek, my thumb brushing across her swollen lips. "Besides, I like having you all to myself out here."

My phone buzzes angrily from somewhere on the floor, cutting through the moment. Becca startles, then laughs nervously.

I ignore the phone, leaning in to kiss her again. Slower this time, deeper. I pour everything I can't yet say into that kiss, willing her to understand. When I pull back, her eyes remain closed momentarily, her lips slightly parted.

"I should get that," I say reluctantly. "It might be important."

She nods, pulling the sheet up to cover herself as I slide out of bed. I find my discarded shorts and fish out the phone, grimacing when I see Jack's name on the screen. Ten missed calls and twice as many texts from Jack. I scroll through them quickly, each message more desperate than the last.

Where the hell is Becca?

Miguel says you took the yacht out.

Is she with you?

ANSWER ME

The last one came in just seconds ago. I glance back at Becca, sitting up now, the sheet tucked demurely under her arms, though I've memorized every inch of what lies beneath.

"It's Jack," I say, keeping my voice neutral.

A shadow crosses her face. "I don’t want to speak to Jack. He probably wants to know when I’m coming home."

"Let him wonder," I murmur, tossing the phone onto a chair.

I return to the bed, sitting on the edge next to her. Her skin glows in the golden light filtering through the porthole, making her look like something from a Renaissance painting. I can't resist touching her again, trailing my fingers along her collarbone.

"We could watch the sunset from the deck. "I have wine chilling."

“That sounds wonderful.”

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