I wash myself thoroughly, thinking vicious thoughts, wondering if I really am wrong about those glimpses of real feeling I’ve seen from him. I mean, guy’s kind of sociopathic, I know that. He’s a killer, and he lives his life storing things in little boxes in his mind like that’ll help keep his psyche in order.
Therapy would be a fucking disaster for him. He’d have a complete mental break if he ever had to look at what’s inside some of those boxes.
But I really did think he was coming around. We were finding a balance between ourselves over dinner. Don’t treat hired help like scum versus don’t challenge me in front of other people. And he really did seem interested in learning from me about social graces and all that shit.
And the way we made love last night—because that’s what it was, even in the cold light of day. Not just a fuck, no matter what crass shit he said afterwards.
It cuts deep when he turns around and says all that cold bullshit to me, but I don’t believe it. The way he kisses me, the way he lets out a long breath when he slides his cock into me, like he’s finally come home…
Not to mention that finch tattoo right there on his arm.
Surely he can see what a great team we’d make?
He’ll come around eventually. This marriage is going to work, and I’m going to show that dumbass just how great he can be. Lady Macbeth ain’t got nothing on me.
So now I’ve decided to be cheerful, I just need to find something to do. I wander down to have breakfast in the dining room, where Nunzio’s wife has baked fresh croissants and biscotti, and made cute little individual tropical fruit salads topped with tart yogurt. Yum. I eat three of everything. Hey, it’s my honeymoon, I’ll pack on a pooch over my washboard abs if I want to. Besides, my awful wedded husband hasn’t had the balls to show his face at the breakfast table, and I don’t see why all this amazing food should go to waste.
After breakfast I dress in my hot-pink Speedos and head to the pool. I bake myself in the warm morning sunshine for a while, but my attention is distracted by the island coming closer and closer. It looks busy and bustling, and I’ve traveled most of the world in my tender years, but I’ve never been in this part of it, and it looks like fun. I’m itching to get off the yacht and go exploring.
It’s not just stretching my legs, either. I miss people. I’m a social animal. Luca’s not. That’d be fine if he’d actually spend time with me, his long-suffering husband.
But he won’t.
By eleven the Maddalena has dropped anchor at the dock, and I stare longingly over the rails at the bright colors and cheerful people going about their business on shore. I even wave at some, and they wave back.
“Don’t draw attention to yourself,” says a sharp voice behind me.
I turn with a sigh. “It’s called being friendly. Something you might learn from.”
“I’m not here to make friends.” Luca is wearing that horrific suit again, and cheap dark sunglasses, although the shades do make him look sexy. If only the man understood clothes.
“You should wear shorts if you wanna blend,” I tell him in my most-bored voice, and turn back to lean on the rail and watch the definitely-more-fun stuff going on in port.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “Behave yourself until I do.” I hear him walking closer to me and then his hand slides between my thighs, cupping my balls under my Speedos. I can’t help myself; I moan and push into his hand. He leans over me and his lips brush my ear. “If you do behave, you’ll get a reward again tonight.”
I turn my head a little, eyes shut. “And if I don’t behave? If I make a break for it and beg for asylum in the islands?”
His hand tightens up around my nuts, not enough to be painful, but not comfortable either. “Then I will find you and drag you back to the boat, and leave you tied up in the smallest bathroom on board for the rest of the voyage.”
He totally would, too, I think to myself as he walks away. But I can’t help finding the idea weirdly hot, and I’m still hard by the time I see Luca walking down the dock ten minutes later. He’s wearing cargo shorts and a tee, just like I told him to.
He looks as sexy as ever.
I watch him until he disappears into the back streets leading away from the port.
I wander down below deck and find the crew, just for someone to talk to. The deckhands are gathered in a tiny room, smoking weed and cigarettes and playing cards like something out of an old movie, but they look so startled and uncomfortable to see me that I just back out again, apologizing. Nunzio’s wife hustles me out of the kitchen insistently, and according to her, Nunzio himself has gone ashore on her orders with a shopping list to replenish the cupboards.
I guess I could go bug the captain, but he’s a wizened old sea dog who has no interest in making conversation.
I’m so tempted to sneak off the yacht. I could swan dive off the back and swim ashore, and no one would even notice. But the dirty promise of Luca’s hand on my balls and lips against my ears keep me tied here.
I want him. And if I flit out of my cage, I know it’ll end badly for me. And there’d be no more sex, because I know Luca meant what he said. I’m starting to identify his I’m real damn serious tone from his I can be pushed a little tone, and it was definitely the former when
