Page 64 of Ruined Vows
I stand behind her and show her how to grip the rod. Oh, God, I wish she had my cock between her gorgeous hands and that I was watching her fingernails, painted blood-red, moving over my shaft.
My cock springs to life, and I’m helpless to control it. So, I work harder to keep my cock from pressing into her firm body. I try not to think of her naked, under me, and taking my nine-inch cock in one thrust.
I stifle my groan. I try to hide my desire and guide her hands on the pole. But I hear her breath hitch when my fingersgraze hers. She doesn’t pull away. She never does when it counts.
She’s never held a fishing pole before, and I enjoy helping her, and it gives me a great excuse to wrap my arms around her.
The sun rises, a molten orange ball, slow and burning on the horizon. We don’t talk, but she watches me land a fish within fifteen minutes.
Then another.
She doesn't catch shit.
Her frustration comes in little waves—eyebrows drawn, jaw set, lips pursed. Then, she places her small hand on her hip as she turns to me.
“I swear this rod is broken,” she mutters.
“No,” I say. “You’re just impatient.”
“Or you’re cheating.”
I smirk. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you.”
“Bite me, Petrovic.”
I lean in. “Gladly.” It’s a retort that renders her speechless.
I’m winning. I would gloat if it were anyone else, but not with her. No, never with her.
The ocean is choppy. I’m used to rougher seas, but she’s not. She keeps her eyes on the horizon, and it’s what one would do if they’re feeling sick. And, an hour in, I see the shift in her demeanor, then I notice her look of concern. Her face turns white, and she looks drained.
Then she blinks—slow and disoriented. I know that look—sea sickness.
“Bianca,” I say low, setting my gear down. “Come here.”
“I’m fine,” she says. It’s a lie—even her voice wavers.
“No, you’re not.”
She sways. I catch her before she falls.
I swoop her into my arms and carry her to the cabin, where it’s cool. I lay her down on the bench and peel off her life jacket. Even in the dim lighting, she’s gorgeous.
She looks so small like this. Sonot invincible.
I wet a cloth in the tiny sink and pressed it gently to her forehead.
She winces. “You don’t have to?—”
“Shut up,” I murmur. “I do.”
She blinks up at me. Her defenses drop like anchors. No fight. No sass.
Just Bianca. Soft and real. Vulnerable.
“You okay?” I ask. I shouldn’t have gone out today. The winds are high, making the sea rough.
She nods. Barely.
