Page 63 of Over the Edge

I didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead, I watched him through half-lidded eyes as his touch slid higher, past my knee to my thigh, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

The yacht pitched gently beneath us, the distant sound of music and laughter floating down from the deck above. We were in a bubble, suspended in time, and I was acutely aware of every inch between us—the space narrowing with each breath.

I knew exactly what he was doing. Taking what Moreau wanted. Claiming me like a dog marking his territory.

And, dammit, I didn’t care.

His fingers slipped beneath the edge of my bikini bottoms, and I gasped as he found me already slick with need.

“Already so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice like a rough caress down my spine. “How often did you think about my cock today, princess?”

I couldn’t answer. Could barely think as his fingers circled my still-sensitive clit, sending a tremble through my legs. I fell back on the bed and gave in to the flood of sensation.

“I love seeing you like this, all spread out like a feast for me.”

I studiously ignored his use of the L-word and lifted my hips, grinding against his hand. “Oh, just shut up and finger fuck me before I change my mind.”

“Yes, my princess.” A wolfish grin spread across his face as he pushed the fabric aside and shoved two fingers deep into my pussy. He worked them in and out, fast and hard, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit with each thrust.

“Oh… yes!” My hands fisted in the expensive bedspread, my breath coming in short, desperate pants.

God. This man knew how to use his hands. He knew exactly how to touch me, how to build the pressure until I was trembling on the edge, desperate for the release only he could give me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he said, his free hand sliding beneath my bikini top to roll a nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation—his fingers inside me, his hand on my breast—sent sparks dancing behind my eyelids.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out as the pressure built, coiling tighter with each stroke of his fingers. My thighs began to tremble, my inner walls clenching around him as he drove me higher.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and fierce. “I want to see you when you come.”

My eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the raw hunger I saw there nearly pushed me over the edge. His gaze devoured me, possessive and primal, like nothing else in the world existed but my pleasure.

“That’s it,” he growled, curling his fingers to hit that perfect spot inside me. “Give it to me, Lyric.”

The orgasm crashed through me without warning, violent and all-consuming. I arched off the bed, my body convulsing around his fingers as ecstasy pulsed through every nerve ending. I bit down on my fist to muffle my cries, aware even in this moment of bliss that we weren’t alone on this yacht.

Flynn didn’t stop, drawing out my climax until I was shaking, oversensitive, my hand shooting down to still his wrist.

“Enough,” I gasped, collapsing back against the sheets.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, making me shudder with aftershocks, then brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.

“I’ll never get enough of your taste.”

I reached for his belt, suddenly desperate to feel him inside me, to take him as deep as he could go. “I want?—”

A sharp knock at the door froze us both.

“Ms. Deveraux?” A crisp female voice called through the door. “Mr. Moreau requests your presence on deck in fifteen minutes. We’ll be arriving at our destination shortly.”

The bubble burst, leaving me suddenly, painfully aware of where we were and what we were suppose to be doing. Just like that, I was back on mission, the haze of pleasure evaporating.

I scrambled up from the bed, hastily adjusting my bikini, trying to ignore the way my legs trembled beneath me.

“Tell Monsieur Moreau I’ll be right there,” I called out, my voice impressively steady.

The footsteps retreated down the hallway. I turned to Flynn, who looked like he was ready to finish what we’d started, his eyes still dark with desire, his erection obvious against his tailored pants.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned, pointing a finger at him. “We have to focus.”

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