Page 21 of Etched In Stone
“Yes, sir, though we may need to adjust our overnight positioning.” He gestured toward the weather display, where satellite imagery showed a swirling mass of clouds several hundred miles to our north. The system appeared well-organized and potentially troublesome. “The weather service is tracking a tropical disturbance that’s likely to bring deteriorating conditions to our planned route. Nothing catastrophic, but potentially uncomfortable if you still planned on leaving tonight.”
I studied the display more closely, noting the storm’s projected path, intensity, and timing. The Caribbean was notorious for its rapidly changing weather patterns, particularly during the late summer months when water temperatures and atmospheric conditions could spawn significant storms with little warning. What appeared to be perfect sailing weather could transform into something entirely different in a matter of hours.
“Hurricane potential?” I asked.
“Unlikely in the short term, sir. The sea and air temperatures aren’t quite aligned for it. But it could easily bring sustained winds of twenty-five to thirty knots and seas in the six-to-eight-foot range to our area during the overnight. Not dangerous for a vessel of The Lucy’s capabilities, but certainly not comfortable for Mrs. Stone.”
I nodded, appreciating both his professional assessment and his consideration for Krystina’s comfort.
“What are your recommendations?”
“I’d suggest we reposition to the island’s lee side for the night,” he said, indicating the proposed anchorage on the chart display. “The land mass should provide substantial protection from both wind and wave. We can ride out the worst of the weather in relative comfort, then reassess conditions at first light.”
“Agreed. Make it happen.”
“Very good, sir. Will there be anything else after we get her repositioned?”
“No, Isaac. You and your crew have earned your rest. Just maintain the usual anchor watch and continue monitoring weather developments.”
Isaac nodded, his response immediate and professional. Turning toward the other crew members, he began issuing orders with calm authority. Within minutes, The Lucy started to move through the water with the grace of a thoroughbred. Trusting my yacht was in good hands, I turned my attention to more important matters—my naked wife who was awaiting my return.
Leaving them to it, I walked across the large open deck. Away from the harsh city lights, the stars shone brightly, illuminating the sky like shimmering diamonds. They reflected on the large double glass doors that led to the salon. After sliding the door closed behind me, I moved to the small galley kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I was pleased to see Isaac had restocked everything precisely as I’d requested, making it easy for me to assemble a quick, no-cook meal.
Fresh provisions lined the shelves in careful arrangement—vegetables, artisanal cheeses aged to perfection, fruits selected for both peak flavor and elegant presentation. The wine selection had been curated specifically for this voyage, with bottles chosen to complement both the tropical setting and the romantic nature of our extended honeymoon.
I arranged tomatoes, red onion, olives, green peppers, and cucumbers on a platter. I topped it with cubed feta, seasoned oil, and vinegar dressing to complete the traditional Greek salad. Once that was finished, I prepared another nuts and a medley of fruits. Hearty crackers paired with velvety hummus and creamy tzatziki completed the simple meal. Even Vivian, my invaluable housekeeper and cook, would be impressed. It may not have been one of her seven-course spreads, but it would suffice.
I placed both platters on a serving tray, grabbed two wine glasses and a chilled bottle of Louis Jadot Le Montrachet Grand Cru 2016, and went to the primary suite. As I approached the doors, my thoughts were entirely focused on the woman waiting beyond them and the promise of an evening ahead.
Stepping into the bedroom, my breath immediately caught in my throat. I froze, completely mesmerized by the stunning woman kneeling near the foot of the bed with her arms behind her back and her knees apart. She defined the meaning of perfection. Desire gripped me, and I suppressed a groan.
She glanced up at me curiously, then quickly lowered her head in submission. The brief moment that our eyes met, I saw the silent invitation.
She knew her body belonged to me.
Chapter 11
Alexander
Tearing my eyes away from her delicate and creamy skin, I set the tray of food down on the small table in the corner and lit the candles already strategically placed around the room. The candlelight cast shadows that seemed to amplify the sizzling desire in the air.
Walking over to the settee, I picked up a coil of black nylon rope that draped over the back. Tonight, on the last night of our honeymoon, Krystina would be rendered helpless. I would own her, demanding her submission until every one of my desires was satiated.
I took off my shirt and moved to stand behind her. My eyes ran down the length of her flawless spine and settled on the curvature of her impeccable ass. A vision of those luscious hips opened to me flooded my brain.
Not yet.
I was nothing if not patient, and I knew the reward would be worth the wait. Squatting down behind her, I looped the rope around her wrists and went to work.
Sexual tension hung heavy in the air. The sensation of Krystina’s wrists in my grip, the feeling of her vulnerability and trust, was intoxicating. It fueled the pure, carnal need that coursed through my veins. I watched as her hands, delicate and graceful, succumbed to my binding. As my fingers brushed against her skin, she trembled, a thrilling response to the impending restraint. There was a moment of resistance, a flicker of uncertainty before she willingly yielded to the erotic tension.
It was a dance of dominance and submission, a sensual interplay of power and trust that left us both breathless. I gripped her neck and angled her head back to look at me. Her eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and surrender. She held my gaze, and at that moment, we were bound not just by restraints but by an unspoken understanding of mutual pleasure.
I stood and moved to the stereo system. With a few quick taps, Demi Lovato’s “Body Say” spilled from the speakers, low and throbbing. The sultry beat and seductive lyrics filled the air, the kind of music that demanded skin on skin, every note dripping with desire and raw hunger. It was a soundtrack made for surrender.
Once the music was set, I shifted to the table and retrieved the tray of food and drink. Selecting a succulent strawberry, I brought the crimson fruit to her mouth. With deliberate slowness, she parted her lips to accept the offering. Her teeth grazed it delicately with a hint of a knowing smile playing on her mouth.
This went on for the next thirty minutes. Each morsel I offered her, each shared bite, became an intimate exchange of desire and pleasure until I thought I might combust. I wanted her more than ever before. It was an unexplainable need of epic proportions.
