Page 90 of South of The Skyway

“No. But it was, and you didn’t even bother to tell me.”

“I prefer it that way.”

“What way?”

“Quiet. We didn’t really do birthdays.”

“Didn’tdobirthdays?” he balked, like that was the most horrifying thing he’d ever heard. I shrugged.

“They just aren’t a big deal in my family. My mom was gone and my dad was working and neither had time to arrange anything.”

“Well. That’s fucked up,” he said bluntly. I laughed. Rhyett was many things, but subtle definitely wasn’t one of them. “I’d like to remedy that, beautiful. If you’ll let me. Don’t keep that stuff from me—you deserve to be pampered.”

It was suddenly immensely difficult to swallow. “How’d you pull this off?”

“Looked to see what kind of activities were tied to the festival.”

“And landed on a dinner cruise?”

“Among a few others.”

“Others?!” I demanded, reaching for the chilled water, and thanking high heaven when my skin made contact with the slick surface. I could have taken a bath in that. Another couple followed Debbie onto the deck, right as the musicians arrived beside the instruments propped in the corner. When they sat down to play, I returned to my too-sexy-for-his-own-good date. I wanted to sneak away and rip that sharp button-up off his hard chest so I could taste him. Sketch his abs with the tip of my tongue. Have him buried in me. If I hadn’t been so damn hungry, the desire to steal away would've ruined all his big plans.

Rhyett’s eyes darkened, and he shook his head before taking a sip from the crystal flute. “Keep looking at me like that, Brexley Snows, and we’ll have a problem.”

“Decorum, Mr. Rhodes,” I teased, swapping my water for bubbles.

“You look beautiful tonight, baby. I know I told you, but, God. Sometimes I need to pinch myself.”

My laugh escaped before I could contain it. “Oh, now I know you’re just trying to get lucky. I’m a sweaty mess.”

“Kind of how I like you most. Soaking wet.”

“Naughty,” I said, running my teeth across my lip.

“I’ll show you naughty.”

“Big words for a man stranded on a boat deck.”

Rhyett’s jaw popped open for a beat before he tongued at a molar, shaking his head. When he went to sip his champagne, it was on the tail end of a very long breath. “I can get creative. Don’t tempt me, baby.” Rhyett leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table and spinning the flute on its base. “Trust me when I tell you I’ve already pictured you bent over the railing. Clutching the spindles for dear life while I do a little railing of my own.” My mouth suddenly went dry, heart in my throat as my core clenched. So, I turned to trusty alcohol to buy me some brain cells. Only, he wasn’t even done. “As a matter of fact, I can picture the look on your face if I tugged you over to my side. I could slip right under that little blue dress, Ace. Nobody could see what my hands were doing to you beneath the tablecloth. I have an excellent poker face. Do you?”

I squirmed in my seat, enamored with the hunger in his eyes as wet heat pooled between my thighs. “That…that should not turn me on.”

He chuckled. “But it does.”

Glass empty, I nodded, trying my best to swallow as he grabbed the champagne and refilled mine.

“Good,” he said confidently. “Because it isn’t our location holding me back.”

“No?” It was supposed to be strong. Supposed to be a challenge, but it came out eagerly. A headiness settled between us as terror and arousal wrapped around me, pushing my heart rate as desire pooled between my legs. Frantically, my gaze darted around, ensuring no one was within earshot.

“I want to hear you scream my name,” he said, casually running fingers up my arm. The man’s face said we could have been discussing the ship, but I didn’t miss his satisfied smirk as goosebumps speckled my skin. He leaned forward until our cheeks met, his words hot against my ear. “Want to feel you tremble beneath me as I fill you with cum and know that you’re mine.” His low voice and smooth touch hardened my nipples to needy peaks against the dress. What I would have given to be home, to have him suck them into his mouth. “I want you to think that through until I get you off…this damned boat,” he added, quirking his brow. The waiter returned then, salads in his hand with an assortment of dressing. I stared out at the water a little too intently, wishing I could control the flush in my cheeks and neck. I was burning alive. And for once in my life, it wasn’t the fault of the freaking Florida sun. He’d been outshone by an Alaskan entrepreneur with a smile just as radiant.

“Fuck,” I gasped as the server stepped out of earshot.

“Soon, baby,” Rhyett promised darkly.

How could he have swagger holding still? It made literally no sense, but he did, braced against the table. The next courses were a blur—all impeccable selections of soup with sourdough, steak with seasonal veggies, and a New York cheesecake a woman would murder for during certain weeks of the month. They might as well have been properly portioned pools of sawdust for how much attention I gave them. My mouth was watering, but it was for the memory of his cock and the promise in his words. All the while, Rhyett ran agonizing lines up and down my leg beneath the table, fingers just tracing the crease where my thigh met my hip before retreating. His endless teasing was driving me mad.

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