Page 184 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
“Stop staring at me like that, Isabelle.” My brittle tone relays my wavering constraint. “Or all of Mr. Brown’s Christmases will come at once.”
I dip my chin in greeting to Mr. Brown, the sixty-plus-year-old gentleman hosing down his boat next to mine. If he weren’t standing there eyeing the tension bristling between Isabelle and me even a blind man would be able to see, I’d strip Isabelle out of her clothes where we’re standing and devour her for lunch.
When Isabelle’s eyes shoot to Mr. Brown, her cheeks give off a pink hue. She waves at him, her greeting friendly even though she feels anything but. She knows he’s the reason for the delayed gratification she’s currently facing.
“You can’t blame my wandering thoughts, Isaac. We seem to have a weird fascination for…fuckingin or on modes of transport.” Her nose screws up when she curses. “First a jet ski, then a plane, then in the town car, and now on a boat.”
My cock stiffens so quickly it’s painful, but I play it cool. “It’s a yacht, not a boat, and technically the jet-ski doesn’t count, but I’ll be sure to rectify that sometime soon.”
After drinking in her hopeful smile, I slide open the back-entrance door of the yacht. When musty dampness filters through my nose, I mumble, “I wonder when the next train for Philly leaves?”
Giggling, Isabelle enters the cramped living quarters. She appears seconds from gagging when the scent of wet carpet hits her senses, but just like me, she keeps her cards close to her chest. “We just need to open a few doors and windows. Get some natural ventilation happening.”
While yanking up some windows in the compact yet luxurious living area, she seeks modes of transport we’ve yet to liaise in. “What about a bus?” Her eyes brighten so much it is as if a lightbulb switched on inside her head. “Maybe we could borrow Nick’s tour bus. That would be a lot of fun. We could roleplay. You’re the hot, brooding rock star, and I’m the naïve innocent virgin who really wants to be a groupie.”
“Or I could be a ruthless businessman, and you’re the agent assigned to investigate me.”
The tightness across my chest eases when she takes my comment as I had intended—playfully. After sticking out her tongue, she moves to the windows opposite to the ones she just opened.
I love that she’s not letting her upcoming trial dampen her mood, but even if she did, she doesn’t need to worry. I protect what’s mine, and she is undoubtedly mine.
The scent I’m struggling to ignore amplifies when I murmur, “I’ll call in a favor with Cormack. See if he’ll loan us a tour bus for a night or three.” If he doesn’t, I’ll buy a damn bus. The expense will be worth it if it maintains the lusty glint Isabelle’s eyes are holding now. “But for now, we need to get these items packed away before adding gallons of water between us and anyone you may scare with your screams.”
In silence, Isabelle follows me into the galley kitchen to place the cold items into the gas fridge before we move onto the helm of the yacht. After checking the instruments and gauges on the dashboard, I kick over the engine, stunned when it starts on the first try. I haven’t taken her out in months, so I thought she’d be a bit sluggish.
A smile that will highlight my dreams for years to come stretches across Isabelle’s face when the yacht chugs out into the ocean. Within forty minutes, we’re surrounded by nothing but crystal blue water.
After mooring the anchor, I join Isabelle on the bow. Even in a pair of jeans and a light blue sweater, she shines brighter than the low-hanging afternoon sun. She detects my presence before I can announce it. That isn’t unusual. I could be hidden in a sea of millions, and she’d still find me. The way we met is proof of this.
She gives our scenic location one final glance before straying her eyes to mine. “Is there anything you can’t do?” You could misconstrue her statement as sarcastic, but her tone doesn’t allude to that. She’s in awe, and I love it. I’m not out to impress anyone, but I’ll take any compliments she’s willing to give.
I wrap my arms around her slim waist before tugging her back, so my torso heats her back. “I’ve driven a race car, swam with sharks in Australia, flown a helicopter, been skydiving.”
I feel her raging heart. “You’re nuts,” she mumbles under her breath. “Why would you jump out of a perfectly good plane?”
“For the adrenaline,” I drop my lips to the shell of her ear, loving the goosebumps that follow their descent. “But not one of those things compete with the thrill I get when my name tears from your throat during ecstasy. Not. One. Single. Fucking. Thing.” I graze my teeth over the fleshy meat on her ear with each of my last five words.
When she shudders, I glance past her shoulder. A handful of boats are scattered on the horizon. They’re far enough away they’d have to strain to hear her screams, but close enough, I know we need to take our exchange elsewhere.
After curling my hand around Isabelle’s, I guide her down into the cabin of the yacht. As we pace toward the main bedroom, only her shallow breaths can be heard. She could be admiring the affluent surroundings, but I doubt that is the case. My suite is decked out in my favorite wood, and the furnishings are top-end, but the energy crackling in the air has nothing to do with my yacht and everything to do with this being another first for us. Isabelle is the first woman I’ve brought here—just like she was the first woman to be invited into my private residence. Not even Regan has been there.
Isabelle’s dark locks cling to my facial hair when she pivots around to face me. With her lust-riddled eyes arrested on mine, she fiddles with the buttons of my dress shirt. As my eyes give her permission to guide the pace of our combustible lovemaking, I run my thumb over her plump lips. To give her confidence the boost she’s seeking, I can relinquish a small amount of my dominance--for now.
A lot of the contact we’ve had the past six weeks has been sexually based, but that’s because the real Isabelle is only unearthed in the bedroom. There, not only does she relinquish her power to me, her entire soul is exposed as well. We communicate our feelings through touch. Every nip, kiss, and gesture say more than words ever could.
Although I can’t bring myself to say those three little words that take my breath away every time Isabelle says them, I have no issues displaying how much I care for her. My feelings for her are indescribable, but that neurosis is null and void when I’m expressing what she means to me through touch. Even discovering she lied to me for months couldn’t dampen my desire to have her beneath me. She’s my addiction. My drug. The one person I’ll never get enough of.
Isabelle’s eyes darken with need when my shirt falls to the floor with a soundless whoosh. It’s closely followed by the removal of my belt and unclasping of my zipper. When she guides my boxer shorts and trousers down my legs, my cock leaps out. Her lush tits are scraping my thighs, making the throb in my cock more pronounced.
Once she has them puddled around my feet, she grasps my shaft in her silky-smooth hand before inching the lips I fantasize about toward my glistening knob. My thighs tense when her tongue skates across the crown of my cock to gather a bead of precum formed there. When she groans, I rock my hips forward, eager for the vibrations of her moans to circle my cock.
She gets on board with my plans rather quickly.
With her eyes locked on me and her lips recently moistened, she glides them down my twitching shaft. When she takes me to the very back of her throat, a groan belonging to a man on the verge of falling to his knees tears from my throat. Although she can’t take all of me, I’m not disappointed. Her hand works on the section missing out on the warm wetness of her mouth, and she takes in more of me with each suck she does.
Isabelle knows how to give head. I’m usually more controlling in the bedroom, but this is one task she doesn’t require any guidance with. She literally has me by the balls with how well she sucks my dick.
When my knees dip to align my shaft with her mouth better, her sucks become more urgent, stronger, almost greedy. My breathing turns labored when the urge to come overpowers me.
