Page 73 of Resistance Training
“Um…I was looking for the dryer,” she says. “These are wet.” Holding up the wet T-shirt and jeans, she exposes even more of her gorgeous tits in that sweet, white bra and the smooth expanse of bare skin between her bra and her pink cotton panties. She crosses one leg in front of the other, and I can see a wet spot right above where her upper thighs touch.
Fuck.
FUCK.
I have two choices.
I could run back on deck and fling myself overboard. Swim to shore. As long as Vivian doesn’t follow me, I could make it through one more day without fucking her. Or I could accept my fate, open the floodgates, and let myself drown in my lust for this woman. Just for today. Let this fear die so I can be born again—again—as Mitch, the guy who’s so badass he faced down the very woman he built a fortress to protect himself against.
A self-respecting man really only has one option in this situation.
And I have a lot of self-respect.
“Nuh” is all I have to say, apparently.
My clothes are also pretty wet. So I take hold of the bottom of my Henley with both hands and pull it off, over my head. I stand here, shirtless, for a second. Until I know for certain that all the blood that rushed to my cock is going to do me a solid and allow the rest of me to function, for about five more minutes at most. I also stand here, shirtless, until I know for certain that Vivian’s pussy is clenching even harder around nothing and that she is aching for me, because this is going to be fast and dirty and one time only and she will come before I do.
Her lips part. She stares at my bare chest, my abs and bites her lower lip. I take a step toward her, confident now that my legs won’t betray me. She stays exactly where she is. As I walk by her, I take her wet T-shirt and jeans from her. The tiny combination washer/dryer unit is stowed beneath a panel in the sole. I lift the access panel in the floor, toss the clothes inside the drum, and turn on the dry-only cycle.
Then I close the access panel and find Vivian standing right there, two feet away from me. Still in nothing but her bra and panties. I back into the closed door to the VIP stateroom. She has literally backed me into a tight corner. My entire body is so tense. She holds up her hands as if to sayI come in peace. But she doesn’t. This isn’t peace. This is the end of the fucking world I tried to build without her. She has absolutely no intention of using those hands to bring me peace.
“God, you’re so tense,” she says, marveling at my muscles, the veins, the vessel I built to carry around all my resentment and all thenofeelings I was supposed to have for her.
She can’t hear my heart beating over the rain on the cabin roof, so I still have a move or two left in me before she figures out I’m a goner. “And?”
“And I’ve decided to be flattered. By your resistance. Of me. I realized you wouldn’t be so afraid of getting close to me again ifyou didn’t find me so incredibly attractive and charismatic.” She smirks.
Shit.
“If this is your attempt at reverse psychology…” I can’t even finish that sentence to tell her it’s not going to work, because we both know everything she says and does is going to work on me at this point.
She takes another step toward me. “It’s not. This is my attempt at making you less afraid of getting close to me again.” Her voice is so soft and unthreatening, but that expression on her face, that body, is hostile. Those curves—the upward one at the side of her lips and the luscious ones all over her body—they are designed to ruin my life. “Come on. What happens on the boat stays on the boat. We can be sex pirates.”
“This is not the high seas.” I place my hands on the slender strips of wall space on either side of me, bracing myself.
She takes one more step toward me. Shrugs her shoulders, puts her hands on her hips. So easygoing. Like we’re seventeen and hanging out in my parents’ basement. “Let’s use each other for sex. See who’s better at it. Let’s start a two-person sex club.”
I cock an eyebrow. “ASC? Asshole Sex Club?”
“Otherholes Sex Club, for starters.” I lock eyes with her as she reaches out to cup my face with both hands. She leans in, stands on her tiptoes, to whisper into my ear. “What’s the worst that could happen if we have sex?”
I never want to stop having sex with you. I fall desperately in love with you. You meet some billionaire named Mitchell Brad who calls himself Rich Mitch, and I lose you all over again.
Her tits are pressed against my chest and I can feel her hard nipples beneath the thin fabric of her bra when she moves, and it’s all over for me. I’m a dead man.
“Are you worried I won’t have an orgasm because you aren’t good with your penis?” Even when she’s teasing me, her voice is warm and enticing.
“Oh, I’m good with it, Vivian. That’s not a concern.”
“Great, because I have a magical vagina and I really think your penis will enjoy being inside it.” She catches my earlobe between her teeth and tugs on it, gently.
“Jesus, who says things like that?”
She flicks at my earlobe with her tongue, says, “I do. But only to you. For now.” She kisses along my jaw, slowly, toward my mouth.
Meanwhile, she’s massaging my erection over my jeans. So gently. She unbuttons and unzips me, reaches inside my boxer briefs. We both make a hissing sound when her hand wraps around the tight, hot skin of my hard cock. And she just holds it. Grips me. Waiting for me to give her the go-ahead.
Finally, her mouth is on my mouth. Those pillowy lips brush against mine, she pulls her head back a few inches, and then she kisses me. I press against the walls on either side of me as she pushes my pants down past my hips, fingertips grazing the underside of my erection, cupping the head and twisting, but so slowly, it’s agonizing.
