Wicked: Whispering Cove, Book 3 (3 page)

She was still awkward, but somehow not. Clearly she still had the talking and tripping issues, but she hadn’t spilled anything. And damn if she hadn’t turned into the proverbial swan, even if it was with help from Victoria at the Whispering Salon.

“Nice boat.”

“Shit!” Braydon lurched up, tossed the rag and can of polish into the air, slipped on the newly polished surface and fell overboard with a giant splash.

Treading the cool water, he eyed Danica as she moved to the rail. No, she hadn’t spilled anything. She’d moved on to dumping him off boats.

“Do you need help?”

“No! Just move to the cockpit before you hurt yourself.” Rather than wait to see if she responded, he swam to the back of the boat where their small watercrafts were tied and climbed aboard.

She opened the gate part of the back edge of the boat. Rather than swing it in toward her, she swung it out, smacked him in the forehead and sent him falling backward a second time with a lancing pain to his head. He fell into the inflatable dingy, which was somewhat padded, but his hand slammed into the motor and his left ankle crashed against the boat with a resounding crack.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Damn it. Sorry.” Danica’s voice didn’t rise to frantic levels, but he could imagine her flapping her hands in hysteria.

Instead, she climbed down the few steps and got into the dingy with him. “Don’t move.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.” She pulled her T-shirt over her head with no apparent thought to anyone on nearby boats, leaned over him and pressed it against his forehead to staunch the bleeding.

Her white, lace-covered nipples hovered just in front of his mouth. His cock hardened again. His body urged him to listen to desire, to lean forward and pull a nipple into his mouth. To taste more than her tempting mouth.

She moved the T-shirt, now half-soaked with blood, and put it immediately back to the cut. “This is bad.”

“I’m fine.” Ignoring his body’s impulses, he replaced her hand on the T-shirt with one of his own. “I’ve got this, Danica.”

“You’re going to need stitches.”

“I’ve had worse.” He moved to sit up. The boat rolled beneath him from dizziness and nausea rather than waves. Maybe he hadn’t had worse.

“I’m the doctor here. You need to move slowly, and you need stitches.”

“Okay.” If she wanted to play doctor without her top, he wasn’t going to argue. No straight man would. “Help me to the cockpit. There’s a first-aid kit there.”

“My office at the house would be better.”

As tempting as following her home was, there was no reason. “I have everything you could need.”

“If you say so.” She refrained from calling him stubborn, but he heard the suggestion underlying her words.

Neither of them spoke again while she helped him out of the constantly bouncing dingy and up the few stairs. She followed his instructions to find the first-aid kit.

He sat in the captain’s seat with the sun shining down and watched her move around the boat comfortably. With all the supplies gathered, she stood in front of him and cleaned the wound. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t push the door. That latch smacked the frame and it bounced back.”

“So your intention wasn’t to decapitate me?”

“No, Braydon.” She scrunched up her nose, crinkling the thin scar into microscopic puckers, and concentrated on tying off the first stitch. “I took a vow to heal rather than harm people.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to see what happened if you set out to harm me.” He smiled through a wince to make sure she knew he was kidding. She was talking without her regular awkwardness and he wanted to keep her doing so.

She chuckled. “I’ve never been accident prone, but judging by the state of your emergency kit, the same can’t be said for you.”

He ignored her remark on the battered case and supplies he’d restocked many times, adding to them with each injury. “So it’s only me who knocks you off your game?”

“I’ll admit you do something to me.”

Damn, but the possibility flopped happily in his gut. A speed boat zipped past, rocking the boat. Danica froze with her needle poised above his eye. He grabbed her hips to steady her. Though she seemed to be well-balanced on her own feet, he didn’t release her. Instead, he wondered if she wore panties to match her bra.

“Something? You won’t be more specific?” He worked his thumbs in small circles over her pelvis. Fully in doctor mode, she didn’t respond.

“No. And stop moving.” She snipped the thread off. “I only have two stitches to go.”

His forehead tingled beneath her touch. The pulse in his neck pounded painfully, and it wasn’t entirely due to the blood loss. Her nipples stiffened behind the thin lace bra with little bumps circling them. His balls tightened. “Am I going to have a charming scar like yours?”

“What?”

“The scar lining your nose. How’d you get it?”

“Fishing hook gone awry.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. The hook didn’t catch in the fish’s mouth right. I pulled it out of the water. It opened its mouth. The hook flipped back and caught me.” She tapped her glasses and smiled. “Now I have a scar and get to live with glasses.”

“It went into your eye?” He studied her face, looking for more scarring than the thin line. There was none. Someone had done great work, yet the lingering imperfection made her more appealing.

“Yeah. Could’ve been a lot worse. I mean, think about it. What’s sanitary about a fishing hook fresh from the fish’s mouth with the bait still on it?”

“Not a damn thing.” He would have laughed at the oh-my-gag-that’s-repulsive look on her face if she didn’t have a needle in his forehead. “When did it happen?”

“Summer before freshman year.” She tied and cut off the last stitch and set the scissors aside. “There. Keep it clean and the stitches will need to come out in four or five days. If you use Vitamin E after that you won’t scar.”

He hooked his index fingers into the waist of her shorts and pulled her closer so she stood between his legs. “Are you that good?”

“I trained with a plastic surgeon and worked in a New York City emergency room.” Her breasts rose and fell with choppy breaths. “If you’re going to be hit in the head and need stitches—”

“You’re the woman to do the hitting.”

“The stitching at the very least.”

“Tell me something, Danica.” He slid his palms over her stomach, tracing the subtle edges of her abs with his fingertips and slowly edged toward her breasts. “What are you doing here?”

“Huh?”

His thumb tweaked her nipple. “Why did you come to my boat?”

“Did you know the human body can function without a brain?”

“Good. You can shut yours off and just respond.” He didn’t care why she’d come to his boat. He’d endured her hands on him for as long as he could. She was there. She was half naked. He was all for getting her completely naked.

Braydon leaned forward and kissed the edge of her bra, swiping his tongue beneath the lace edge. She moaned and canted closer. He popped the button of her shorts and lowered her zipper. His body begged from his goose-pimpling flesh to his tingling scalp to his pulsing cock.
Release. Soon. Very soon.

“Be sure, Danica.”

She kissed his ear lobe, pulling the tender skin between her teeth. “I’m sure.”

He didn’t need more encouragement. He shoved her shorts to the ground and pulled back enough to see her underwear. She stood before him with a white lace thong hugging her hips, which flared out from the indentation of her hourglass waist.

“Holy shit, woman. I didn’t think bodies like yours existed.” He licked his mouth in anticipation. “Makes me wonder what secrets you hide.”

“Thanks.” She tugged him to his feet. “Do I get to see yours?”

Another speed boat zipped by, rocking the boat. A group of men whooped and wolf whistled. He hungered for Danica, wanted to spread her before him with the sun beaming down, but not with the other boaters rushing by. “Yeah, but not up here.”

He nudged her toward the cabin door. Down in the cabin, too impatient to go to his bedroom, he backed her to the couch. She released the button and zipper of his shorts and pushed them down. His cock sprang free and swelled more with the freedom.

The expert hands that had sewn him together cupped and squeezed his balls and threatened to shred him apart. “You’re not going to drag this out are you?”

“Hell no.” Wherever the shy Danica with a fondness for the ground before her had gone, she could stay gone. For a very long while.

“Good.” She squeezed him in time with the purr rolling on her tone. “I’ve waited long enough for this.” With her free hand she cupped his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.

Eager to indulge, to take them both farther, he unhooked her bra and set her breasts free. With a gentle nudge he knocked her to the couch, pulled off her thong and tossed it behind him. She lay before him wearing only her glasses, a smile and temptation.

He braced a knee between her legs and bent over her. “I am going to discover your secrets. Know you.”

“Sex now.” The good doctor shifted below him, dropped her left knee aside, offering an unimpeded view of her pussy. “Discoveries later.”

“You’re bossy.” Compelled by her beauty, sexuality and the touches of shyness lurking beneath the surface, he traced a fingertip from the indent of her throat to her belly button to her neatly trimmed mound.

“You’re going to be late for dinner. Your grandparents eat early.”

“You’re worth it.” And Grandfather Byron would understand. Once a man, always a man. And a man never stopped appreciating a naked woman like Danica.

“Prove it.”

“Gladly.” Done wasting time, he lowered himself.

She arched her hips, and when he’d have gone slowly, she thrust up, taking him in. Her blunt, square-tipped nails dug into his hips. Wet and tight and hot, she gripped his cock.

“Danica.”

“Do it, or flip us over and I will.”

The idea of her riding him, of her controlling how fast they got to the edge, thrilled him. Tension gripped the base of his spine. Following her request, he grabbed her close and moved so he was sitting and she straddled him.

Danica wasted zero seconds in her new position. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she took him in deeper and sighed huskily. Then she began her ride. Up and down, rolling her hips, fast and slow, rolling the other way. Her pussy walls pulsed and squeezed.

His balls drew tighter. The tension gripping his spine spread across his back and radiated up. His cock throbbed. His head buzzed.

More quickly than he’d thought he wanted, she drove his body toward release.

She rose, stopping just before complete withdrawal. She paused. Waiting. Breathing. Kissing him, she invited his tongue into her mouth and devoured him as hungrily as he devoured her. She carried him higher when he hadn’t thought he could get higher. With her arousal slickening his cock, she hovered until his vision blurred with a rainbow of color.

Then she dropped, taking him in again to resume her ride, faster and faster. Sweat dripped from his forehead and dotted her hairline. She didn’t stop riding.

She groaned into his mouth as her inner muscles convulsed. The orgasm spread from his balls and screamed through his dick, shooting into her with abandon.

Danica lurched up and rode him, milked him. Her scream bounced off the cabin walls and incited a new wave of arousal.

“Damn.” Straightening her bra and mumbling to herself, Danica sat on the couch where Braydon had just rocketed her to orgasm for a third time. Four orgasms were more than she’d had in…well, a long time. In one day? Never.

He’d only intended to give her the last three, which showed just how sensitized her body had become during her sexual dehydration. The first sign of interest, and years of work to build her confidence up crumbled. She’d willingly led Braydon to believe she was free-spirited and eager for any attention or touch he wanted to offer.

Her body applauded the falsehood. Her mind and heart awaited the damaging judgment.

“Wow.” Part curiosity, part hunger, it had all been wow, but she’d allowed things to go too far.

“Yeah.” Braydon stepped out of his bedroom with a neatly folded T-shirt, not that he’d taken time to dress. His grin—soft and a lot wicked—smelled like amused sexual satisfaction. “I’m not sure I want to loan you a shirt. I could enjoy knowing you’re trapped here.”

He stepped closer with wicked intentions in his gaze. Danica stepped back and held her hand out.

“The shirt, Braydon. I have things to do.”
Like avoid a repeat performance.
“You have a dinner to get to.”

“Granddad will understand.” He stepped forward.

“I don’t care that he’ll understand.” She stepped back.

“You were invited.” Another step closer.

“I’m not going.” Another step away.

“Will you come back later?”

“I’ll return the shirt.”
Via the mail.
She was running out of room for evading unless she went topside in her undies. With the sun still shining and boaters still cruising the area, she’d rather not show everyone everything.