Page 3 of The Admiral's Daughter

We fall silent as we change into our PT gear.

“How was it though?” Cheddar asks with a wolfish grin.

I laugh. “I can’t fucking remember!”

Boot spins around. “After all that, you don’t even know if it was a good lay?”

I shrug. “There was a strap slung on the floor, so I’m guessing it got pretty wild.”

“And the woman?” Kit asks, tying up her trainers.

“Redhead. That’s all I got. Didn’t stick around long enough to see her face.”

“So a total blackout.” Cheddar scoffs. “What a waste.”

“It’ll come back to me eventually.”

This isn’t the first time I got so drunk I can’t remember who I fucked. Usually I’m tipsy. Not enough to affect my abilities in the sheets. After all, I’m a giver and offer a premium service.

Yeah, I sound like a bigheaded arsehole, but the proof’s in the pudding. There’s a reason I’m called River ‘Romeo’ Dawson. I know how to treat a woman right. Until the next morning, that is. Then, I’m pretty sure my name is cursed out for all to hear.

That being said, I’m always upfront before I take a woman to bed. I do sex and that’s it. No good morning kisses, breakfast or coffee. No exchanging numbers or last names. Just a bunch of orgasms and a hell of a good time.

“For your sake I hope it does,” Kit comments. “Because after next week we won’t be seeing land for a while.”

Boot jogs on the spot, warming up. “If we’re delayed, we should get another night off.”

I stretch my glutes, trying to undo the strain of last night’s activities. “I’ll make sure it’s memorable then.”

Cheddar laughs. “One day, Romeo, a woman will come along who’ll knock you right on your arse.”

“I don’t mind it a little rough,” I joke.

She shakes her head. “Nah, this won’t be about sex. She’s gonna break through to your squishy emotions. You’ll be a lovesick sap!”

“God, I’d pay to see that.” Kit laughs.

Scoffing, I head to the door. “Not bloody likely. I’m perfectly happy as I am, thanks. I don’t do love and commitment. The day that happens, you lot can throw me overboard.”

I jog ahead of them toward the main deck, shaking out my sore legs. My head’s pounding, my body’s knackered, and I’ve got WO Benson breathing down my neck for the foreseeable.

But I’m free. No strings, no commitments, no woman waiting for a text I’ll never send. Just me, the sea, and whatever port we hit next.

Fucking perfect.

2

Cleo

River Dawson. Where tostart? The beginning, I guess. Not a love story for the ages. Well, it wasn’t. Let me explain…

What a colossal mistake. Not just the drinking, which I regret with every cell in my now nauseated body, but the woman I brought home. The sailor.

Goddammit!

I swore to myself years ago I’d never sleep with another fuckboi sailor. They’re cocky, think themselves God’s gift to women, and have major commitment issues. Well, of the ones I’ve met, and believe me, I’ve met many. That’s what happens when your father is Admiral of the Royal Navy.

When I was younger, I was enamoured with sapphic sailors. Who wouldn’t be, especially when they dressed in their number one uniforms? I was a sucker for the bowl hatand shiny boots. Iwasenamoured. Not anymore. I got my heart broken enough times I learned my lesson.