Page 82 of Phobia
Alana had no such issues. She took what she wanted then proudly boasted to me about it afterward. I had decided to take a page from her book and attempt to do the same, though admittedly, I’d been impulsive when I’d kissed the farmhand outside.
I shouldn’t have done it, not when I knew I had years ahead of me to taste.
Not without planning, at least.
ButI was nineteen years old, and my cock ached to be buried into something squishy and wet—and maybe…god. Maybe, for just a moment I had wished to be something other than the emotionally repressed Lord I’d been conditioned to become.
Maybe I wanted to feel.
However, the flicker I’d felt for the farmhand had been but a spark in comparison to the flame I felt for Oliver White. I could no longer ignore his unruly dark hair, and the patches that were sewn haphazardly on all his clothing. The mischief in his eyes, those broad shoulders—and the tight taper of his waist. The way when he bent over, the round swell of his ass tested the worn seams of his trousers. Hetauntedme, provoked me, tempted me without ever having to utter a single word.
Oliver…certainlymade me feel.
He always had. From the day I’d met him and he’d scrunched his nose in disgust at me then turned back to the ship deck he was scrubbing. His lovely back had arched, all long lean limbs, bowed as he paid me no heed, like it washewho was the Lord—and I was nothing but a servant.
I hadn’t noticed the heat in his eyes then, but I did now.
He wanted me.
I could see the desire written plainly on his face. It was too bad I had never understood it for what it was before that moment. I was still too young, too inexperienced. There was so much lost time between us. So many days I could’ve spent with my dick tucked snug inside him while he squealed and scratched, sucking me deeper.
I couldn’t help the way my breath left in an overwhelmed gust as my cock jerked at the thought.
Oliver licked his lips, and I groaned—unable to help myself.
“What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse as thunder rumbled overhead, and with a sudden rush, water spilled down upon us from the heavens above, icy and unforgiving.
It seemed I’d found a sufficient distraction from the depths that swirled beneath us.
One I couldn’t wait to taste.
Chapter 4
My lashes were wet as I blinked away the storm, my heart thundering as I eyed the ravenous, desperate look in Henry’s eyes. Never, in all my life, had I imagined he could make a face like that. I certainly hadn’t thought all that desire could ever be directed at me.
But here we were.
His hands were hot on my ankles, his hair wavy and damp as he slowly, surely, rose to his knees. I knew what came next. He’d slip between my sprawled legs and crowd overtop my body. His soft baritone would croon against my ear—and as the storm raged above us, we’d lose ourselves in each other, instead of fear.
If I gave in, we would have a far happier evening than if we continued to sit wet and cold and terrified.
Maybe we’d die.
I didn’t want to think about that.
In fact, I’d do literally anything to enjoy my last few moments, should the waves swallow us whole.
“You think I’m ungrateful,” Henry murmured in the space between us. It was steadily closing as he moved closer and closer, shuffling on his knees slowly like he expected me to bolt.
There was nowhere to run. So honestly, I was lucky I wanted this just as much as he did.
Heat had been simmering under my skin from the moment he’d touched me.
“I do,” I echoed, surprised by how breathless I sounded. I never was like this. Sex, when it happened, was rarely for pleasure—and always as a means to an end.
I couldn’t see this—whatever it was—with Henry being anything other than a delight. It was almost ridiculous now, how searching for pleasure had been the reason I’d gotten into this mess to begin with. Though, with those dark hungry brown eyes on me, I was beginning to be grateful rather than pissed my night had ended up this way.
“You think I’m ignorant,” he shuffled even closer till his quads bled heat against my inner thighs and his big body was bent over mine. The boat rocked, and I latched on to his shoulders, fingers biting into the muscle as panic overtook me. What was he doing?! Surely the boat would tip if we— “And you’re right.”
