Page 62 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

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It had beendays since I woke up on this yacht. The Empress.

Now that I had the chance to see it in all its luxurious splendor, I knew what Elijah meant when he said his friend had a taste for overly extravagant things. I could only imagine the parties and social events hosted on the large deck area, champagne flowing, women sunbathing on the open flybridge. It even boasted its own helicopter pad, and a fleet of Jet Skis.

On my way out, I caught a glimpse of Elijah in the study, talking on his phone. When he saw me standing there, he approached, his liquid gaze drifting down my body, causing my pulse to beat like a drum. But he merely stopped by the door, leveling me with his cognac eyes before closing the door—placing a barrier between us.

I made my way up the spiral stairs to the upper level. It was the first morning since we arrived that it wasn’t too cold to be outside for longer than five minutes. It was early morning hours, and I had merely draped a blanket over my shoulders and nightgown. I was desperate for some fresh air and the faintest glimpse of Rome. Elijah made it clear that we would not return to land unless he was thoroughly convinced it was safe to do so. But I so desperately wanted to see Italy, Rome, one of the most romantic places in the world.

I reached the top level and tightened the blanket around me as I leaned against the barrier, glancing out over the sea. It was misty, sunrays bursting through crevices in the gray clouds.

It was beautiful, and I could only imagine how exquisite the scenery would be in summer when the world shined at its brightest.

“There you are.”

My heart fluttered when I heard his smooth, baritone voice. I glanced over my shoulder at Elijah standing a few feet away, looking as majestic and powerful as always in his black pants and black dress shirt, sleeves rolled down to ward off the chill in the air. He might be a confessed killer, but in a short period of time he had become my fierce protector—and the man my body desired every minute of every day.

“Did you conclude your business?” I couldn’t hide the feint snark.

“My business will only be concluded once I know you are safe and out of harm’s reach.” He walked up to me from behind, slipping the blanket off my shoulders and pressing his chest against my back, placing his hands on the rail on either side of me.

Cocooned against him, the cold dissolved as his heat swept over me.

“Julio Bernardi knows you’re with an Elijah Mariano. Lucky for us, he only knows me as The Musician, which puts us in an advantageous position.”

“How so?”

He placed a kiss against my temple, and his cock hardened against the hollow of my back. “He divulges every last piece of information he has on your whereabouts with me, thinking it will help me find you. Little does he know, I already have you. Lift your skirt.”

Heat spread from my chest, radiating up to my cheeks. Like his good little cellist, I obeyed and wound up the skirt of my nightgown.

“Drop your panties.”

“Elijah, someone will see.”

“Drop. Your panties.”

Already I felt arousal pool between my legs, the deep tenor of his voice adding weight to his demand.

I shimmied out of the tiny lace garment Elijah had insisted I wear this morning when we woke up—now realizing why.

I gripped the rail as he reached between us, the sound of his pants zipper creating an inferno of anticipation in my belly.

“On your toes.”

I lifted myself as far as I could, panting as I felt his hard length against my naked thigh as he bent his knees, slipping his cock in between my legs.

“Tell me, Charlotte.” He guided himself to my entrance, prodding, nudging, teasing me while my body became pure sensation, waves of jaded lust crashing against my bones. “When you think of me watching you, does it turn you on?”

“Maybe.”

He slipped the head of his cock inside me, earning a whimper from my lips before pulling out. “I’d like a better answer than that.”

“You like torturing me…don’t you?” I tried to rear down on him, but he simply flexed back, denying me the pressure I needed between my legs.

“My dear, beautiful little cellist. You know nothing of torture.” His other hand snaked up my front, pulling the silk nightgown down, exposing my breast. The cold air caressed my nipple, the sting of the autumn air touching my skin. It was such a sensual contradiction—having his warmth overwhelm me while the cold air assaulted me. “Torture is watching a woman day after day, drinking her in, infiltrating her life while falling into the trap of wanting to be more than just a shadow.”

His fingers pinched my nipples, and I wanted to curse, the morning breeze growing stronger, its icy tentacles wrapping around my naked thighs as if it too wanted to feel the electricity that crackled between Elijah and me—our bodies in tune with one another. Feeling. Wanting. Craving.

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