Page 49 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Connor

She hesitates. A myriad of emotions cross her face.

Eagerness, lust, then a flash of apprehension.

A part of me is disappointed that she didn’t say yes right away.

That my wife…had to think before answering whether she could give herself to me completely.

It’s up to me to change that. It’s up to me to coax that level of surrender from her.

If she doesn’t feel comfortable accepting me completely, if she’s unable to trust me fully, then I haven’t done a very good job of giving her the reason to do so.

Conviction tightens my chest. A surge of determination turns my insides into a river of need.

"I want to say yes," she whispers.

"Say yes," I coax her.

Her eyelids flutter, a sheen of awareness of exactly what that means gleaming at the bottom of those almost completely green mirrors to her soul.

Then she lowers her chin. "Yes," she says on a breath.

"I didn’t hear you, Fever."

She tips up her chin. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

A flash of defiance turns the green into sparkling silver. "Yes, I won’t hold back. Are you satisfied now?"

Not likely. Not until you say it without hesitation. Not until you show me with your body. Not until you mean it with your mind.

Outwardly, I nod. Then I lift her in my arms.

"Hey." She clutches at my shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"Carrying you to the yacht."

"I can walk.”

"Not bloody likely in those heels.”

“They’re kitten heels. And low ones, at that,” she protests.

“The ground is uneven. And by the way, I do love you in them and I want you to have them on when I fuck you.”

"Oh."

I glance down to find her features flushed and her looking at me with stunned amazement and eyelids weighed down with lust.

"If you keep staring like that, I’ll have to pull down your panties and take you right here, and I don’t want to be picked up for indecent exposure."

She clears her throat, then presses her palm to my chest. "Your heart’s racing. I don’t think you’re up for such strenuous exercise."

I spot the humor in her voice and make a growling sound.

"Definitely growling. And grumpier than when I first met you. All that—holding yourself back—is telling on you," she says in that sweet voice which seems designed to edge my desire.

I increase the pace of my steps. Not far now to the yacht. I can see it anchored off the jetty.

"You underestimate my self-control," I say in a steely tone.

I need to simply get to the yacht, dismiss the captain so we can have privacy, and then get it out into the harbor and to my favorite cove, not twenty minutes away, where I can drop anchor and?—

“It starts slowly. Subtly." Her voice dips in tenor. "A flicker of blood flow, a shift in pressure. The parasympathetic nervous system kicks in—heart rate elevates, pupils dilate, blood rushes to the pelvic floor, muscles tense in anticipation."

My steps falter. My groin tightens. I squeeze her closer to my chest, and a gust of air leaves her lips.

"Everything heightens—sensation, sensitivity, breath." She swallows. "It’s not just physical, though. The brain is in on it, too. Dopamine floods the system, ramping up desire. Oxytocin stirs, priming you for connection."

"I take it you’re describing the sensations you’re going to feel when I lick your pussy?"

She shudders. To my intense satisfaction, she squeezes her thighs together, and I swear, the caramel-laced scent of her arousal fills the air.

"Touch becomes magnified…" Her voice falters. "Th-thought narrows. The body starts chasing a single point of release—like every nerve ending is being drawn forward, pulled taut, until it’s almost unbearable. Until it has to snap."

I keep going. Keep my eyes on the yacht, now less than a five-minute walk away.

"And when it does? Every muscle contracts. The pelvic floor spasms. The abdominal wall quivers. A full-body seizure of pleasure. And then… A collapse."

"This must be how you’re going to feel when I lick into your cunt and the cleavage between your butt cheeks."

A moan spills from her lips. She digs her fingers into the lapel of my jacket, and a trembling grips her.

Reaching the jetty, I turn in. I’m almost running now. Not far… Twenty steps. Ten…

"A wash of serotonin. A flood of calm. It’s the most controlled loss of control the body allows. And it leaves you wrecked." She raises her head to press her nose to the underside of my chin and breathes deeply. That viselike grip at the base of my spine tightens.

Desire is a demanding mistress, urging me to reach the yacht and climb aboard.

"Rewired. Sometimes, wrecked for good." She presses her breasts into my chest, whimpering with need.

That’s it. Something inside me snaps. I stop at the edge of the gangway which leads to the yacht.

I lower my head as she raises hers, and our lips clash. Our mouths fuse. Our tongues tangle. Teeth, breath, a mingling of our saliva, of that sweet essence of hers which goes straight to my head. I kiss her deeply, and she holds onto me and kisses me right back. I’m drowning in her.

Losing sight of my surroundings, wanting to take her below deck, but also wanting the evening to unfold as I planned.

Knowing I need to stop before we're spotted, when the sound of someone clearing their throat reaches me.

She must hear it at the same time as me because she freezes. We stare into each other’s eyes—hers gone dark with desire. No doubt, mine must show my frustration and my crazed desire, which I’m fighting hard to bring under control.

"Mr. Davenport, the yacht is prepped as per your specifications. You have everything you need for your trip," the crew member who readied the craft says. There’s a hint of apology in his voice.

Without taking my gaze off my wife, I nod in his direction. "Thank you, Simon."

"I’ve made the final checks, so with your permission, my team and I will leave. If you need anything at any time?—"

"I’ll radio you."

Simon leaves, accompanied by another man and a woman. His footsteps fade away.

"We’re taking a trip?" Fever’s voice is more composed, but her eyes hold the lingering effects of our earlier kiss.

"We are."

She glances toward the sleek craft moored on the other side of the gangway. “That one’s yours?”

I nod. Then walk with her in my arms, across the gangway, and onto the side deck.

“Carrying me over the threshold?” Her voice is soft, almost shy.

I glance down at her flushed cheeks. “You didn’t think I’d pass up the chance, did you?”

She nuzzles into my chest. “You are the most romantic man on the planet.”

“And this”—I brush a kiss to her temple—”is only the beginning, baby.”

I step inside the main salon. It’s a sunken living space with rich walnut flooring, oversized, cream, modular sofas, and a glass ceiling strip to let in sunlight.

Floor-to-ceiling windows on both sides frame the ocean.

Sunlight bounces off the waves, and in the distance is the outline of islands, with the occasional sail from other boats billowing at intervals.

"Breathtaking," she breathes.

"It is." I watch her take in the surroundings.

She looks up to catch me watching her and blushes further. "I was talking about the view."

"So was I."

She chuckles. "Charmer."

"Only because I can’t stop myself from appreciating my good fortune."

She looks taken aback, then something like sadness filters into her eyes, before it’s replaced by a determination. She locks her arm about my neck and juts out her chin. "Are you going to show me the yacht?"

I want to ask her what brought about that wistful expression on her features but decide to save it for later.

"Your wish is my command, milady," I say lightly, drawing a giggle from her. Glad I lightened her mood; I nod toward the space we’re in.

"This is the main salon, or the main deck, as it’s called.

" I head toward the adjacent kitchen. A steel island separates the prep area from the living space.

"This is the galley." I jerk my chin in the direction of the gleaming appliances.

Then I carry her up a short flight of steps and into the wheelhouse.

"This is the pilot’s cabin." She takes in the curved console which constitutes the helm, the twin leather captain’s chairs, the holographic navigational maps glowing softly on the dash. "Every dial and screen is voice activated, or fingerprint activated.”

"Very modern." She nods.

"I had it updated recently." I demonstrate with a voice command that turns the floor-to-ceiling window that offers a view of the horizon opaque; then use another command to turn it transparent again.

"Wow."

For some reason, I feel like I’m a teenager showing off my first car to my girlfriend. Strange, how being with her makes me want to impress her, and take care of her, and own her, simultaneously.

"Aren’t you tired of carrying me?" She looks up at me from under her eyelashes.

"I’ll never get tired of carrying you."

A pleased look lights up her features.

"Besides, I haven’t shown you the living quarters yet." Turning, I make my way past the galley, then the living space, down the steps to the lower deck, and into the master suite.

When I put her down, her heels sink into the luxurious carpeting.

She makes a slow turn, taking in the king-sized bed, fitted with crisp linen, a black silk throw, and pillows. The walls are paneled in warm-toned teak. A curved leather chaise lounges by the oversized porthole.

She peeks into the private en-suite bathroom which features his-and-hers sinks, and a rain shower with a skylight above.

"Whoa, that’s some tub." She stares at the deep Japanese soaking tub set in the middle of the room.

It faces a view of the ocean through a one-way window.

Plush towels are folded, along with other essentials, on a shelf built into the wall.

"The floors are heated, too," she exclaims, looking at me over her shoulder.

"I don’t skimp when it comes to my comfort, or yours."

"Hmm…" She walks over and slips her arm about my waist.