Page 32 of Bitten & Burned

He took my hand, leading me below deck, carefully down some stairs, and into a large open space. It was full of luxurious furniture and plush carpet as far as I could see, which wasn’t far, because it was dark, but I’d see more of it in the morning.

The hallway to our room was just ahead, but he pulled me close again at the bottom of the stairs. I felt giddy, as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

Just as he leaned in again, intent simmering, lips brushing mine with so much godsforsaken restraint—

“Sir, apologies, but we finished prepping the suite, and the Prosecco has been delivered as requested.”

Anton froze.

I did not.

I buried my face in his shoulder, mortified and giggling. I wanted the plush carpet to swallow me whole. Or maybe the sea. Either would do.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—” He muttered.

The crew member, bless him, had the good sense to backpedal immediately. “Have a good evening, sir… and ma’am,” He stammered before disappearing up the deck stairs once more.

I lifted my face to look up at Anton. “Did you request Prosecco?”

He cleared his throat. “And strawberries. And raspberries… and peaches.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Peaches are my favorite.”

He gave me a knowing look.

“So… you had this whole seduction planned?” I teased.

“No,” he countered, clearing his throat a few times. “I had several.”

He tightened his hold on me, as if he’d only just realized he still had me in his arms. “Now… where were we?”

“Oh no,” I laughed, ducking out of his arms. “You told me there were peaches, and I want to eat peaches now. And drink Prosecco.”

“They’ll keep,” he murmured, grasping me and pulling me back, his fingers carding through my hair as he leaned down to kiss me again.

I pecked his lips and grasped his hands, plucking them from my head as I darted down the corridor towards his suite. “You’ll keep,” I said, darting down the hallway. “I want some peaches now.”

“Gods, you are a little minx, aren’t you?”

I should’ve been frightened. The last time I’d opened myself this way, I’d nearly bled out on a library floor. But Anton wasn’t Quil. He didn’t look at me like he was afraid of himself. He looked at me like I was already his favorite indulgence.

I opened the door and looked around. The room had indeed been prepared.

The bed had been dressed in silk sheets, where it had been bare before.

Electric lanterns, crafted to mimic flickering candles, cast golden light around the room…

and, most importantly, a cart right near the bed where I spotted a bottle chilling in a bucket of ice and several silver platters covered with domes.

It was in the second one of these that I peered under and found the peaches.

“Mmm,” I hummed, taking a bite of the sweet fruit and feeling the juice drip down my fingers.

“Oh, that’s cute, you think you’re eating now,” Anton said with a smirk as he entered the room, leaning against the doorframe.

“Ummm, I don’t think I am. I actually am,” I replied haughtily, popping the rest of the peach slice into my mouth.

“Don’t you know you’re not supposed to have dessert first?” he asked, sauntering closer, his gait coming dangerously close to how a hunter stalks prey. Except, in his eyes, I didn’t feel like prey. I felt alive. Sparkling, pulsing, wanted.

I stuck my tongue out at him and took another peach slice from the tray. “What are you going to do to stop me? Force-feed me my… dinner?”

“I’m not planning on forcing anything tonight,” he murmured, moving closer to me, stepping behind me. I could feel him pressed against my back. He slid both hands down my arms, fingers curling around mine, his grip warm and firm.

“Oh, believe me, you’re not going to have to.”

He leaned in, his mouth tickling my earlobe when he spoke. “Hold on to me.”

“What?” I asked. And he spun me. I had just enough time to wrap my arms around him before we were seemingly flying through the air, hitting the silk sheets and bouncing on the mattress.

“Anton!” I shrieked, still clinging to him, laughter bubbling out before I could stop it. “You tackled me!”

He smirked. “No peaches for you until I’ve had mine.”

I inhaled sharply at the catch in his voice when he said “mine”.

“Oh, you want yours, huh?”

He grinned wickedly.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he said, crawling up my body. “Are the best thing to ever happen to this yacht.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh gods, please… don’t use that line on anyone else ever.”

“Oh, I won’t. That’s the best reaction I’ve ever gotten to it.”

“What, me laughing?”

He nodded, eyes deep and searching mine. “It’s the most glorious sound I’ve ever heard.”

I laughed again. Hard. Guffawed. “Anton, my laugh is the most obnoxious thing...”

He kissed me, making me squeal into his mouth. “It’s not,” he murmured. “It’s beautiful. Like you. Like everything about you. Beautiful… and gods, delicious…”

He began kissing down my collarbone, his hands coming to unbutton my blouse. I pushed up to kiss him, pulling his hands away. “I’ll do it.”

“I already was,” he countered, still kissing me.

“I know, but you’re slow; I could have had it off by now.”

“So why don’t you…”

“You keep distracting me with your… lips.”

He chuckled, low and warm, pushing the top off my shoulders and helping me slip my arms out of it.

“Wait, wait…” I said, sliding back out of the bed to peel off my blouse completely. With it, I shimmied out of my skirt and even slid my hands into the top of my corset to begin to undo the busk, but he’d crawled over to me, on his knees on the bed, kissing me deeply while he pulled my hands away.

“Let me do that… It’s my favorite part.”

“That’s your favorite part?” I asked.

“Mmm,” he hummed against my skin, low as his fingers traced down the line of hooks at the front of my corset. One by one, he unfastened the busk with slow precision, each release sending a shiver through me as the pressure eased.

The last hook gave way, and the corset gaped open. The sudden release of pressure made me sigh before I could stop it. My chemise clung thin and sheer to my skin, the only barrier left between me and his gaze.

Anton slid the corset from my body with deliberate care, then slipped his fingers under the edge of my chemise. “This,” he murmured, tugging the fabric up and over my head, “might be my actual favorite part.”

I let it slide from my arms, and he sat back on his heels, eyes roaming over my bare chest, drinking me in like he’d been parched.

I took the momentary lapse in his brain activity to start working on the buttons on his shirt.

His shirt fell open under my fingers, revealing warm skin dusted with dark hair that tapered into a faint trail leading towards his waist. I ached to follow it with my mouth.

The faint scent of sea salt and cinnamon clung to his skin—dizzying, sweet, and entirely Anton.

And he sat there, on his knees on the mattress, letting me.

“Gods,” he groaned. “I think watching you undress me is better than stripping you myself…”

The hair on his chest was coarser than I expected, catching lightly on my fingertips as I threaded them through. A contrast to the velvet heat of his skin beneath.

“I like your chest hair,” I murmured, leaning over to kiss his throat.

“You do?” he asked, sounding almost surprised. As if he weren’t a complete specimen of perfection. “Why?”

I huffed out a laugh. “It’s… nice. Tactile.” I demonstrated by running my fingers through it.

“Nice. Tactile. I suppose it’s a good thing I’m so damned pettable,” he murmured, catching my hands and pulling me back onto the bed.

I went willingly, even helped him a little.

Soon, I was under him, my thighs wrapped around his hips as he kissed and sucked on my throat.

I arched up beneath him, reaching down between us. “You’re still wearing pants. That’s not fair.”

“No, I don’t suppose that is fair,” he murmured, still kissing my throat. His stubble rasped against the soft skin there, each scrape leaving sparks in its wake before he soothed the spot with his tongue. “Why don’t you do something about that, darling?”

I tried to reach for the button on his trousers, but he pushed both my hands up over my head, grinding between my legs as he sucked softly on my neck.

The press of his fingers against my wrists wasn’t rough, but it was unyielding—his strength clearly eclipsing my own.

The silk sheets rustled beneath my arms, cool where my skin pressed into them.

“Hold on to the headboard.”

“But I want—”

“I will,” he murmured. “But first, I want to taste you, and if you’re taking off more of my clothes, I won’t get to it. “And believe me. I need to get to it... Speaking of… are you overly attached to these?” He let his fingers trail over my slip shorts, glancing up at me.

“To these?” I asked.

“Yes, these.”

“Why?”

He dropped his head for a moment, his shoulders shook twice, and he looked back up at me, laughing. “Because gods, Rowena—I want to rip them off you.”

“Oh… well, what are you waiting for?” I asked.

“Permission…”

“Oh, sorry. Yes. Yes, Anton, please ruin my underthings.”

“You’re going to regret giving me that kind of encouragement…” he murmured.

Rrrriip!

I gasped at the sudden sound, staring at the tattered remains of my plain cotton slip shorts dangling from his hand like a trophy. He grinned up at me, wicked.

The ruined fabric hit the floor with a careless flick, and then he leaned closer, voice low and conspiratorial. “I’m buying you lace next time. Easier to tear off in a hurry.”

I laughed, and he beamed, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his knuckles grazing my jaw. “Gods, I love that sound… but not nearly as much as I’m going to love how you taste…”

Anton ducked his head down, licking a long stripe along my slit. Once. Twice. Licking me open, savoring me. I was already trembling by the time he touched my clit.

His tongue circled once. Twice. A third time—before flattening wide, catching my clit with a deep stroke that made me groan.