Enslaved by the Ocean
Page 27

He gives me a look, and then turns us both and leads me out of the dining room. I can’t lie and say I don’t enjoy the feeling of having his arms around me, drunk or not. When we get to his room, he walks me in and takes me over to the sofa, gently dropping me down. I flop back, giggling.
“Were you impressed by my pirate jokes?” I grin.
He grins at me. “You should have been a comedian, now go to bed.”
“I don’t want to. This might be the last night of fun I’ll ever have.”
His eyes grow serious, and he stares down at me. “Sleep, inocencia.”
I shake my head, and lean back, staring up at him. “How did you become a pirate?”
He tilts his head to the side, and watches me for a moment, before pulling out a flask and taking a swig.
“I got tangled up in some bullshit when I was fifteen, I had some things go down and eventually, when I was about twenty-five, I started forming a crew. Being out on the ocean away from it all, it made me feel free. I also realized running illegal stuff was easier out here, and so here we are.”
“And it’s okay with you, to live a life on a ship?”
“A life is only as good as you make it.”
“So wise.” I giggle.
He shakes his head, digging around in his pockets until he finds a cigarette. He lights it, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. Why does he look so good when he does that?
“You need to get some rest,” he says when he lowers it.
He stubs it out on the ashtray sitting on the coffee table, and then he turns and goes to walk out.
“The scars are from him,” I blurt out.
He stops and turns, staring down at me.
“How long?”
I know what he’s asking. How long was he beating me?
“Over two years.”
“He got charged?”
“Yes,” I hiccup. “After I shot him. He threatened me when he got out, so I got on a yacht and ran…and here I am.”
Hendrix stares at me, his eyes holding an expression my drunken mind can’t read. “And he’s after you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. If he is, he won’t find me here.”
He makes a grunting sound, and then goes to turn again.
“Hendrix?” I call, my voice loud and high-pitched.
He turns again.
“I don’t think you’re as bad as you think you are.”
His eyes search my face, and his jaw flexes. “You don’t know me.”
“Would you let me know you?”
He studies my face, and then turns and walks to the door. Just before he gets to it, he murmurs, “No,” and then he steps out and closes it behind him.
Well, he can “no” me all he likes.
I’m not giving up.
Shiver me timbers!
I blink, and my head spins. It’s dark and I can’t see a thing. I need to pee, but the idea of getting off this sofa is really not appealing. I manage to struggle up into a sitting position, and I try to reach forward for the coffee table. I reach too far in the wrong direction, and end up crashing onto the ground with a loud squeal. I fumble around on the floor. Goddammit, I can’t see. My head is still spinning and I am disorientated. I pat the ground, trying to find something to give me an indication of where I am.
I touch a set of feet.
Oh.
Hendrix.
If I wasn’t drunk, I’m sure I wouldn’t have done what I do next, but I am drunk, so I blame that. I reach up, as if going for his hand, only to grab his cock. I literally grip hold of it, and wrap my fingers around it. He hisses, I realize what I’ve done and squeal, and I launch myself backwards, landing against the coffee table with a cry. Hendrix is there in a second, lifting me into the air. I lose my footing and fall into him, wrapping my fingers around his arms.
I stop breathing.
I’m almost sure he does, too.
His body is pressed against mine, and I force myself to take one little moment to feel every inch of it. His hard, bare chest is warm against my cheek, and he smells divine. His abs are pressing against my belly, and I can feel them flexing. His arms are firm and strong beneath my fingers and his…oh…oh, my…his cock is hard. My head spins, and my body heats all over as I feel him pressing against my pelvis, and when he pulses, my world spins. Shit. Fuck.
I want him.
I lift my head, and turn it, before lowering back down and pressing my lips to his chest. I don’t know why I do it. I know I shouldn’t. I should be pretending to seduce him, not actually enjoying it. He tenses all over. His skin is so goddamned hot, and I can’t resist the urge so I slide my tongue out and taste the flesh there. Oh. Lovely. Hendrix has his hand on my hip. I didn’t even notice until now, but that hand moves down until he’s gripping my ass. His fingers bite into my skin as he jerks me forward, lowering his body just enough so that my pussy rides against his erection.
I groan.
He snarls.
And then he begins to grind.
Everything in my world stops. My head is spinning, my body is tingling all over, and my pussy is so damned wet I can feel my arousal dampening my panties. Hendrix grips my ass harder, and he rubs his erection up and down the thin layer of cotton over my sex. All I’m wearing is a long shirt and panties. I must have managed to change myself during the evening some time. I spread my legs a little, and my core begins to heat with each grind of his hips.
“I can feel you, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers. I just barely hear him.