Christian bursts through the wooden door of the boathouse and pauses to flick on some
lights. Fluorescents ping and buzz in sequence as harsh white light floods the large wooden
building. From my upside-down view, I can see an impressive motor launch in the dock
floating gently on the dark water, but I only get a brief look before he’s carrying me up
some wooden stairs to the room above.
He pauses at the doorway and touches another switch – halogens this time, they are
softer, on a dimmer – and we’re in an attic room with sloping ceilings. It’s decorated with
a nautical New England theme: navy blues and creams with a dash of red. The furnishings
are sparse, just a couple of couches are all I can see.
Christian sets me on my feet on the wooden floor. I don’t have time to examine my
surroundings – my eyes can’t leave him. I am mesmerized… watching him like one would
watch a rare and dangerous predator, waiting for him to strike. His breathing is harsh but
then he’s just carried me across the lawn and up a flight of stairs. Gray eyes blaze with
anger, need, and pure unadulterated lust.
Holy shit. I could spontaneously combust from his look alone.
“Please don’t hit me,” I whisper, pleading.
His brow furrows, his eyes widening. He blinks twice.
“I don’t want you to spank me, not here, not now. Please don’t.”His mouth drops open slightly in surprise, and beyond brave, I tentatively reach up and
run my fingers down his cheek, along the edge of his sideburn, to the stubble on his chin.
It’s a curious mixture of soft and prickly. Slowly closing his eyes, he leans his face into
my touch, and his breath hitches in his throat. Reaching up with my other hand, I run my
fingers into his hair. I love his hair. His soft moan is barely audible, and when he opens his
eyes, his look is – wary, like he doesn’t understand what I’m doing.
Stepping forward so I am flush against him, I pull gently on his hair, bringing his
mouth down to mine, and I kiss him, forcing my tongue between his lips and into his
mouth. He groans, and his arms embrace me, pulling me to him. His hands find their way
into my hair, and he kisses me back, hard and possessive. His tongue and my tongue twist
and turn together, consuming each other. He tastes divine.
He pulls back suddenly, our collective breathing ragged and mingling. My hands drop
to his arms and he glares down at me.
“What are you doing to me?” he whispers confused.
“Kissing you.”
“You said no.”
“What?” No to what?
“At the dinner table, with your legs.”
Oh… that’s what this is all about.
“But we were at your parents’ dining table.” I stare up at him, completely bewildered.
“No one’s ever said no to me before. And it’s so – hot.”
