No. Way. How?
“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.” Those big blues looked up to me, shiny with tears, and I added a mental note to set up a regular flower delivery for her. “Come on. Don’t cry. I wouldn’t have brought them if I’d known you’d react like this.”
She air swatted her face and bent her head back to stare up at the ceiling, saying something about how I was going to ruin her mascara. I held the door open for her and watched her laugh at herself, fanning her face. She wore tight leather leggings, black boots, and a sweater.
“Do you want to grab a coat?” I asked as an afterthought.
“It’s not that cold, is it?”
“No, but it’ll be chilly on the boat, especially when we come back after dinner.”
“You have a boat?”
“Gotta have one to live on an island like this. I don’t want to be dependent on the ferry.”
“I suppose, if one has the money and the skill.”
“Skill?” I scoffed as I ushered her out. She held a sweatshirt coat over her arm. I made a mental note to buy her some new coats. At the very least, she needed a good waterproof option.
“I can’t drive a boat.”
“Ah, well, maybe I’ll teach you.”
We walked from her place to the marina gate. As we passed through, she fingered the sign hanging on the gate that declared the marina open only to boat owners.
“I feel like I’m going into a forbidden land.”
“You live ten feet away. This is your back yard.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have access.”
“Anyone can walk down here.” Not only that, but people did all the time. People loved to glimpse inside the yachts as much as they loved admiring the houses along the beach.
“Which one is yours?” We were strolling past a few of the larger million-dollar yachts. I hadn’t bought one of those. Overkill for what I needed.
I led her up to my Boston Whaler. “Right here.” Even though it wasn’t the biggest or most expensive, she gaped at it as if it was the biggest she’d ever seen. My twisted brain carried that idea into the bedroom, and I couldn’t hold back a smirk.
She raised an eyebrow in question.
“Nothing. I’m glad you like my boat.”
“She’s beautiful. What’s her name mean?”
“Bull? It’s something I thought up on the spur of the moment. For the bull market.” She didn’t seem to get it. “Probably a dull-witted idea. Madoff named his boat Bull.”
“Who’s Madoff?”
“A guy. Not the kind of guy to look up to, but in an article years ago, I read his boat's name, and I always liked it. So…” I focused my attention on the control board. “Anyway, I like this boat. She’s big enough to crush the waves for a smooth ride, and small enough to easily maneuver in the marina and through the channel in low tide. Those yachts are good when you’re actually going to be spending time at sea. They’re a bitch to maneuver in tight spaces.”
I started her up then quickly untied us. My plan for our date included a scenic boat ride down the inlet, then dinner at Smoke on the Water, a restaurant right on the river.
It was a clear evening, and the stars twinkled in the sky, as did all the lights in homes along the waterfront. No boats were out, and we were the lone light on the waterway.
“Want to steer?” I asked.
“Oh, no.” She hunkered down in the passenger seat, pulling the ridiculous sweatshirt coat around her shoulders. I slid off my Barbour jacket and handed it to her.
“Wear this. It’ll block the wind.”
“No, you need it. I’m fine.”
“I really don’t. Please take it.”
“Would you stop? I’m warm enough. I promise.”
She huddled, and her teeth chattered. Stubborn woman.
“You’re being ridiculous. Take my coat.”
“Then you’ll be cold.”
“I’m not wearing it anyway.” I pointedly moved my coat over to her chair.
Minutes passed, and my frustration level rose. But as we entered a narrower portion of the river, I slowed our speed, and the wind transitioned to a light breeze. Poppy’s grip on her flimsy jacket loosened as she became entranced in our view of golden lights reflecting off dark waters. As her shivers subsided, my muscles relaxed.
When we arrived and docked, Poppy dropped her sweatshirt jacket down in the hull of the boat, claiming she didn’t need it. I suspected she was aware the coat looked ridiculous with her outfit, so I didn’t argue, though my preference would have been she take it, since she didn’t appear amenable to taking an offered coat if needed.
As someone who had perused all her photos, signed up for her VIP subscriber package, and eagerly paid $7.99 for each private posting, I possessed familiarity with her smoking curves. The sweater draped over her large breasts in a way that hid her gorgeous figure and cloaked her curvy ass. Even so, her almost cartoon-like oversized blue eyes and blonde hair attracted plenty of men’s stares as we were guided to the reserved table by the window. In my opinion, those blue eyes were as responsible as her breasts for a large portion of those fans. In fact, a great number of her photos were of her face or of her eyes. Her make-up tutorials often garnered as many likes as the photos of her tits.
After ordering, she gazed out over the inlet. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Yes, it is.” Without taking my eyes off the cover girl before me, I concurred. She bowed her head, bashful, as she comprehended my meaning.
“You know, I’m a big fan of yours.”
“You are?” she asked.
“I check your postings each night before I go to bed.”
“You do?”
“I do. I didn’t know much about OnlyFans before I met you. I had in my head—”
“Porn. You expected porn. Most men do.”
“Yeah, and maybe prostitution.”
“I think that’s more in Europe. Where it’s legal.”
I tapped my finger on the table, as understanding dawned that she was actually quite naive. She hadn’t done a full review of her marketplace.
“Yeah. But your photos surprised
