I’m giving Cindy my most menacing glare, but she isn’t flinching in the face of it. God, no. She looks even more determined. And I’m shocked as hell when she leans in and kisses me, slowly, thoroughly, purring in the back of her throat. Just when I’m reaching the point of no return, ready to toss her down on the bed and hump, hump until I go blind, Cindy pulls back. “Come up one more floor with me. The one just below the deck.”
I start to pant like a dog. “What do I get?”
Her palms mold to the sides of my face. “What do you want?”
My hands trace up the backs of her thighs to massage the supple cheeks of her ass, the harsh sound of my groan filling the bunk area. “Everything. Everything I can’t have.”
Cindy regards me for several seconds in charged silence. “I don’t know a lot about m-men, but I know they’re always talking about…” Her face reddens. “C-couldn’t I use my mouth on you?”
Before I know my own actions, I’m surging to my feet, coming up between her thighs and lifting her off the ground. Her cunt presses down tight to my hardness, her feet dangling a couple of feet from the floor. And she whines, her head falling back on her shoulders. I bounce her once, twice and that whine turns into a whimper. “What don’t you understand about my cock being too big to fit?” I take several steps and pin her against a wall, rolling my hips, capturing her gasp with a hard kiss. “You think that doesn’t include your mouth? Your throat?”
“I…I…”
“I bet you struggle to wrap that little mouth around a popsicle.”
She labors to breathe. “What else can I give you?”
“You will strip,” I respond, my voice unsteady at what I’m suggesting. “You will give me a striptease. And then you’ll let me talk you through an orgasm. You’ll lie down naked in front of me and finger fuck that wet-ass cunt for Daddy. I’m going to jerk off all over you while you do it.”
Cindy’s head lolls to one side, as if the knowledge of what we’re about to do is too heavy. Maybe it is, because I don’t know what happens afterward. The more time I spend with Cindy, the more ways she lets me in physically, emotionally, the less likely I am to let her go. And yet when she slides down between me and the wall, strutting to the staircase and beckoning me with her eyes to follow, I support my heavy, aching cock in one hand and trail after her like a lovesick fool.
Chapter Five
Cindy
One floor down from the top deck is where the storage rooms are located, along with the kitchens and locker room facilities. My pulse is zinging in my veins as I walk toward a room marked “laundry” and push open the door, finding a large space with washers and dryers around the perimeter, a low table positioned in the center. It’s likely used for folding clothes…
But apparently I’m going to be using it for an entirely different purpose.
You will strip. You will give me a striptease. And then you’ll let me talk you through an orgasm. You’ll lie down naked in front of me and finger fuck that wet-ass cunt for Daddy. I’m going to jerk off all over you while you do it.
If you told me this morning that a man would be saying these words to me, I would have responded by vowing to make it his last day on earth. Those words coming from any other mouth would sound vile, but from Butch…they simply don’t. Maybe it’s his utter desperation or the way he looks at me like I’m an angel being beamed down from heaven. But when he speaks to me that way or calls himself Daddy, my knees threaten to buckle from pure, never before experienced lust. Because he’s not saying those things to assert his alpha status. He’s telling me he needs me. He’s impressing upon me how much with his eyes, his touch, the earthquake in his voice.
And I can’t deny him.
I’m trying to coax him to the surface, though. Off the rig.
I can’t forget that.
This is a mission. My future hinges on this man leaving this place. There are worse ways for a man to be convinced of something, right? I’m not hurting him. I’m giving him my body—as much of it as possible, anyway.
I just have to make sure I’m not falling for him in the process.
Swallowing hard, I glance back over my shoulder and find Butch looming behind me, hands fisted at his sides, that thick protrusion jutting out from his lap and stretching the confines of his jeans. He’s right. I don’t think it could fit…well, anywhere, really. Lord, it looks like three Coke cans stacked on top of each other.
But I can’t pretend I’m not excited to watch him touch it.
I can’t pretend I didn’t have the best nap of my life in his arms, that steady heartbeat thunking against my forehead and lulling me to sleep. This is a good man. This is a man who houses a lot of pain, is rough around the edges, but wouldn’t hurt me for all the money in the world. Like I said, he would have done it by now.
He would have pushed my legs open and wedged that thickness deep, deep inside of me and rutted me hard. Then he’d be my true Daddy.
Why am I suddenly breathing like I’ve run twenty blocks?
I’m not wearing panties or they would be sodden. As it is, there is wetness clinging to the tops of my inner thighs, the folds of my sex. My nipples are in aching peaks and when I close my eyes, all I can think about is Butch striping my body with milky, white liquid, the way I watched a man do in a pornographic internet video once, when I was curious and lonely. I thought it might help me climax, but it didn’t. It only made the ache worse and frustrated me further.
Now I know what pleasure feels like.
Butch showed me—and I want more.
More than that, I want to give him some. Want to give him physical relief, as well as the emotional kind. Every time I ask about his time as a Marine, he shuts down, but there’s a tug in my gut, refusing to let me give up. He needs help.
He needs me.
That thought causes a lump to rise in my throat and I swallow past it, turning around once I reach the low laundry folding table. Butch is in front of me instantly, picking me up and setting me on the edge of the piece of furniture, pressing his face into my throat. Until I notice his huge shoulders heaving, sweat soaking through the back of his shirt, I don’t realize what a hard time he’s having, being this close to the top deck. The outside world.
“Hey,” I whisper, cradling his head to my neck. “It’s okay.”
His arms wrap around me like steel bands, crushing me to his much larger body. “Just give me a minute,” he says hoarsely. “I can…hear the waves. The water. It sounds close.”
So it does. If I listen closely, I can hear swells lapping against the side of the rig. To someone who hasn’t been topside in years, those crashing waves must sound like explosions. “Butch,” I whisper, running my hands up and over his thick back muscles, my heart twisting over the scars encountered by my palms. “Just focus on where we are right now. It’s you and me. And we’re in no rush to move.”
My fingertips travel over a particularly gruesome scar and Butch growls, low and dangerous, into my neck, freezing my movements.
“I’m sorry,” I manage. “Does that one hurt more than the others?”