Page 42 of Hired By the Enemy
“Honey baby, not only do I have a ship, but it’s a long one,” he says.
My groan now sounds like a wailing cat.
He gives me a wink. “Would you mind if I fired my cannon through your porthole?”
And that causes me to lose it completely, doubling over, almost wheezing with laughter.
“You two look like you had a good time,” Henrietta says as she and Carl approach us. They’re both grinning at me. I manage to control my laughter enough to straighten up.
“We certainly did.” Liam slings his arm around my waist. He pulls me close to him. “Back to the villa?” he murmurs in my ear.
“Definitely,” I say.
My cock throbs in anticipation as we walk up from the marina to our villa.
Once we’re inside, Liam grabs my hand and puts it on his cock.
“You certainly put the shiver in my timber,” he says.
“We’ve morphed into pirate jokes now, have we?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Well, you raise my Jolly Roger.” He gives me a nip to my lips, which morphs into a deeply hot kiss.
“I know where you can bury your treasure,” I gasp when he draws back, and Liam laughs at me.
“You’re guilty of being hot. I sentence you to walking my plank.”
He slams his lips down onto mine again, which leads to us stumbling back to the bed, where we forget all about pirates for a while as we take each other apart.
The next day, the group activity is volleyball.
“Oh, awesome, another athletic activity,” I mutter when we reach the nets set up on the sand. Why do I suspect Paul chose these activities with the anticipation I would be useless at them? I mean, nothing about me screams athletic, so he must have suspected they wouldn’t be areas where I excel.
“Hey, don’t forget you’ve got me as your teammate,” Liam says.
“For some reason, I don’t associate you being my volleyball teammate with positive memories,” I reply.
Liam rubs the back of his neck, looking guilty, and I wonder if he’s remembering how Ms. Beauton’s strategy in sixth grade to try to stop us from antagonizing each other was to put us on the same team. Liam was a gun volleyball player, but when I was on his team, he lost the ability to serve the ball anywhere but the back of my head.
“Pretty sure that was the year I couldn’t touch anything without getting an electric shock,” he counters.
Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about my little portable electric shock machine I’d rigged to turn anything metal into a shocking device.
It was a genius invention if I do say so myself.
“Tell you what, you refrain from hitting balls atthe back of my head and I’ll refrain from trying to electrocute you in retaliation.”
“Sounds like a deal,” he says.
Our eyes meet, and there’s some emotion flickering in his hazel eyes that I don’t quite recognize.
“But it still doesn’t change my volleyball ability,” I say.
“I can teach you how to play.”
“Uh…you remember me in gym class, right?”
“It’s pretty ingrained in my memory.” He flashes me a grin, reducing the sting of his comment. “But you’ve never had me coaching you before.”
