Page 1 of Stalked By the Yacht Captain

CHAPTER

ONE

Andrew

The relentless sun beats down on the teak deck of the Sea Serenade, and I can feel its warmth seeping into my skin. As captain of this floating palace, I steer through the waves with a practiced hand, feeling the yacht respond to my slightest touch. It's another day in paradise, another day of making sure my guests bask in luxury while they sail the azure waters.

"Anchor's set, Captain," my first mate calls out, snapping me back from the horizon to the here and now.

"Thanks, Liam," I reply, giving him a nod before my gaze drifts over the group of sunbathers lounging like Greek gods and goddesses. That's when I see her.

She's sprawled elegantly on a chaise longue, her golden hair fanning out, her eyes hidden behind designer shades. What color are they? Blue as the ocean before or green as emeralds?

The sight of her hits me hard, like a rogue wave, unexpected and powerful.

I'm not usually one to pore over the guest log, but for this girl? I make an exception. Flipping through the pages under the pretense of routine checks, I find her name etched in neat cursive.

Sandy Whitmore.

The name dances in my head, as intoxicating as the salty sea air.

Later, hunched over my laptop in the privacy of my cabin, I do what any red-blooded male would do—I Google her. Turns out, she’s not just any heiress. Just in her early twenties, she's sailing royalty, her family name synonymous with yachts that are more art than vessel. And art's her game too, a patron with an eye for beauty that could probably see straight through my rugged facade—if she cared to look.

I close the laptop and let a sigh escape me.

She’s eons out of my league.

But something about her pulls me like the tide, and I can't help myself. I spend the next couple of days watching her from a distance, noting how she moves with a grace that matches the swell of the sea. She laughs easily, tossing her head back in a way that makes her hair catch the sunlight — a sight that’s painfully beautiful.

My nights are sleepless.

And as I lay there and try to go to sleep, all I can think of is how Sandy looked on the deck earlier in her little bikini and oversized sunglasses. That million dollar smile she was smiling.

How I wish it was for me and only me.

My cock grows hard in my shorts.

I try to ignore it, but then I feel a wet spot leaking through the fabric and curse.

Fuck, I’m precumming so much just thinking about her and I haven’t even touched myself yet.

I lay there a moment longer, trying to get control of myself, and then…

Fuck it.

I pull my aching cock from my shorts and start to stroke it.

I close my eyes, letting the fantasy take hold. The gentle sway of the yacht syncs with the rhythm of my hand, and it's like we're moving together—Sandy and I, riding the waves. Her image burns bright behind my lids, those striking green eyes filled with secrets and promises.

The sound of the sea outside blends with the quiet moans that escape my lips as I imagine her soft, warm body against mine, her hands exploring me with the same curiosity she reserves for her beloved art.

"Sandy," I whisper her name like a prayer, or maybe a curse—because what she’s doing to me should be sinful.

In my mind, I see her straddling me right here in this cabin, her slender fingers pushing against my chest as she rides me slowly. The thought alone is enough to drive me wild. Her hair cascades around us like golden silk, shielding us from the world. Her hips move in slow circles, grinding down onto me in a torturous rhythm that has my hands gripping her waist tight enough to leave marks.

God, I want to taste every inch of her—those soft lips, her creamy thighs, the salt on her skin that speaks of the ocean we both love so much. As my hand moves faster over my length, I picture her head thrown back in ecstasy, calling out my name on a breath that’s half-moan, half-whisper.

The heat builds at the base of my spine. I'm close now—so damn close. My other hand balls into the sheets, clutching them with the same desperation that I want to clutch her body.

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