CHAPTER 7
Declan
Sun-kissed skin…her tongue in my mouth…royal blue halter top bikini that made her tits look fantastic…those tits pressed up against my chest…the slow, torturous way she rubbed that fucking lotion all over her body…her tongue in my mouth…
I stomp my feet angrily through the formal dining room, my thoughts battling between seeing Mackenzie in a bathing suit all day and that fucking kiss last night. Sure, I did whatever I could to not run into her, but that didn’t stop me from creeping around the corner or looking down from the windows of the bridge like some kind of perverted stalker.
Jesus Christ could that woman fill out a bikini.
Ben wouldn’t shut up all day about how hot Brooke looked in her red suit, but I didn’t even notice anyone else out on that sundeck when I caught my first glimpse of Mackenzie after breakfast. Her olive skin got darker as the day went on, bringing out the brightness of her blue eyes whenever she’d take her sunglasses off and roll them at something her idiot family would do. Watching her stretch out those long, toned legs, point her toes and reach her arms above her head after she woke up from a nap made me want to climb on top of her body and feel the warmth from her sun-soaked skin against mine. Seeing her sit up and slowly spread lotion over her shoulders and down across her chest made me want to reach into my shorts and palm my cock while her hand rubbed against her mouth-watering cleavage.
Which is exactly what I did. After I finished watching the show and made sure Ben, Eddie, and Zoe were good setting up the slide, I ran down to the tiny bathroom attached to my bunk, locked the door behind me and jerked myself off until I came in my hand after just a few strokes, with Mackenzie’s name on my lips.
Fucking woman has me tied up in knots and it needs to stop. I thought kissing her would get her out of my system, but all it’s done is light a fire inside me I can’t get rid of. I can’t get her out of my head and I can’t stop wanting her. I’m not a man-whore like Ben, but I’ve been with my share of women and I’ve even been in love once with a woman that had the same background and upbringing as Mackenzie. I don’t care that I’ve never wanted another woman as much as Mackenzie, I’ve been down this road before and I know how it ends. It starts with lust, moves on to something more, and then she realizes you’re not good enough for her and breaks your fucking heart. Been there, done that, bought the Goddamn t-shirt that says “You’re too poor for me, and your goals aren’t big enough to keep me in the lifestyle I’m accustomed to.”
At least Mackenzie left with everyone else on the jetties a little bit ago to go over to the island. I won’t have to worry about running into her, and with her off the ship for the rest of the night, her absence will help me forget all about her.
When I get halfway down the stairs to the galley, I hear hushed voices, the rambling of rapid-fire French words becoming louder the closer I get to the room. Preparing myself to calm down Marcel after the she-beasts once again sent back every dish he’d prepared them for dinner tonight, I come to an abrupt halt when I see Marcel isn’t alone. Mackenzie is standing next to him and he has his head tossed back in laughter. He’s fucking laughing. The man who does nothing but scowl, curse, and throw shit around the galley is standing elbow-to-elbow next to the woman who won’t leave my thoughts, and she just made him laugh.
“Je ne supporte pas ces chiennes auxquelles je suis apparenté.”
Marcel chuckles again when Mackenzie says something in French, and I forget all about his unusual happiness when my dick jumps to attention. So much for thinking that her saying my name last night was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. This woman speaking fluently in French, even though I don’t have the slightest fucking clue what she said, makes me want to drag her into the nearest bunk and make her say shit to me in French all night long while I pound into her.
Jesus Christ, what is happening to me?
Clearing my throat in irritation, Mackenzie jumps in surprise and looks over at me, while the smile on Marcel’s face immediately turns to his usual scowl when he sees me standing there.
“The galley is for crew only,” I growl.
“Vas te faire enculé…” Marcel mumbles under his breath, most likely swearing, still glaring at me.
Mackenzie giggles softly, and I have the sudden urge to grab the closest plate and chuck it across the room when she rests her hand on top of Marcel’s on the counter and gives it a little pat.
“She’s not supposed to be down here,” I mutter angrily to Marcel, but unable to take my eyes off of Mackenzie touching him.
I know I sound like an asshole, and I know I’m acting like an asshole, but I can’t control it. She’s too beautiful, too put-together. She’s still wearing a dress from dinner that looks like it was tailor made for her body. It’s form-fitting, hugs her curves, and ties up around her neck, showcasing those amazing tits I jerked-off to this afternoon. The bright white of the material brings out the tan of her skin and the blue of her eyes and makes her look clean, perfect, classy…everything that doesn’t belong down in these crew quarters. She’s doesn’t belong in this shithole where curses are screamed, pictures of hand-drawn dicks and tits litter the walls, Marcel’s sweat hangs in the air more potent than the dinner he made tonight, and where I’ve caught Ben getting more than one blow job over the years.
“I’m sorry, don’t be mad at Marcel. I came down here on my own,” Mackenzie tells me, finally moving her hand off of his and making me feel less like stabbing him in the throat with a steak knife, but still pissed off that she’s even down here to begin with.