I was coming before I even realized what was happening. The spasms came in short, intense bursts and lasted for minutes. Just when I thought they’d stop, he’d press himself harder against me or adjust his head. My back lifted off the bench and I actually—much to my eternal embarrassment—squealed!
I couldn’t help it, though. It was just that good.
But even though I felt like a wet rag that had been wrung out, I realized, when he settled next to me again, that he was right. We had only just begun. And now, it was his turn to take pleasure from me.
“You liked that, did you?” he said, appearing immensely proud of himself.
I smiled. “No. Hated every minute of it.”
He leaned down and kissed me then. A deep, soulful kiss. It lasted for long moments and with each passing second, I could feel the urgency build within him. I ran my hands over the supple ridges of his chest, around to his back, cupping his shoulder blades, pulling him down on me.
He didn’t break the kiss to unbutton his khakis. It was so quiet out here, with only the sounds of the boat and the lapping of the ocean around us. I heard his zipper and an icy thread of fear shot through me. It was niggling—minor—but I tried not to think about what was about to happen. Knew that my fear was silly—unfounded. Knew that afterward, I would be relieved to have it over with.
With a deep breath, I opened my legs so he could settle between them. He was fighting himself to keep his hands out of my hair, I could tell. One hand would approach my hairline and then drop to my shoulder or back. I appreciated it, even though forcing himself to remember probably yanked him out of the moment. I opened my eyes and saw him watching me. When our gazes met, he pulled back and broke the kiss.
He was breathing heavily. “Emilia,” he said, and then kissed me again, pulling me closer. His erection nudged against my inner thigh and he groaned, his arms tightening around me. I adjusted my hips underneath him, wondering why he was hesitating.
“Fuck me, Adam,” I said, between clenched teeth.
Another groan and he shifted. He was about to enter me. The tip of him brushed against my heat, but then he stiffened, tearing himself out of my arms.
I sat up, watching him in shock as he grabbed his boxer briefs and khakis, pulling them on with a face frozen in something that looked like disgust.
“What the hell?” I said, still completely naked under the blanket.
He shook his head, grabbing his shoes and standing up—his shirt still completely open and exposing his perfect chest.
“This isn’t happening,” he said in a distant voice. “Get dressed. You can stay in a guest room.”
And without waiting for me to reply, he spun and moved down the stairs to the lower deck, leaving me with my mouth hanging open in shock. I watched him go, utterly lost. My whole body shook and my face burned with humiliation. My breath came fast and anger shot a heated streak down through my entrails. How the fuck dare he?
With jerky movements I pulled on my clothes, trying to ignore the sinking sensation that made me wish the sea would rise up and swallow me here and now.
Had I done something wrong? Had I not responded to him the way he wanted? In my mind I retraced everything that led up to the moment where he’d stiffened and pulled away. Had I touched him in a place he didn’t like or—oh, God—had he been fantasizing about someone else? My hands shook with fury as I dressed.
***
What the hell was that? I couldn’t help but wonder. It wasn’t even ten o’clock when I checked the clock in my room—the guest room just down from his. His door was open, light off, so I assumed he wasn’t in his quarters.
What had made him react so strongly? Why that look of revulsion on his face? Was Adam screwed up about sex? Maybe he’d been abused as a child or teen. The thought turned my stomach but alleviated some of my anger. What if he couldn’t help it? But he’d obviously had sexual relationships with other women—at least one of whom I’d met, Lindsay. But maybe it was something about my being a virgin? Of course if that repelled him, why bid on the auction?
I paced in a tight circle for a while before deciding there was no way I could keep still. I slipped on my shorts and running shoes and headed down to the yacht’s little gym. Adam had showed it to me on my tour that afternoon—a room with a treadmill, elliptical machine, weights. I could use a nice long run to clear my head.
With my trusty mp3 player and earbuds in, I descended a deck and—after a couple wrong turns—finally found the room I was seeking. I had the light shining from the doorway to thank for being able to find it. So this was where he’d run to.