Rebel(24)
Chapter 11: Angie
Gavin gets up and adjusts himself to hide the huge bulge in his pants. The memory of it pressing against my stomach while he was spanking me... spanking me flashes through my mind and without thinking about it, I put a hand against the spot where it rubbed.
His hands, his cock, the memory of their touch feels branded into my skin. He was in full control. I’d been completely at his mercy, and I’d loved it. But it’s Gavin. Asshole, stepbrother, playboy. Not my boyfriend. I don’t want to need him like that. He’d chew up my heart and spit it out. Except I can think that all I want, but it doesn’t make me any less wet.
Crap.
I throw on one of my beach wraps like a robe and go see who’s at the door. Gavin’s standing there looking like raw sex and pissed to be interrupted. Next to him, the steward at the door looks like a kid playing dress up in an oversized sailor suit.
“Good morning, Sir. I sincerely hope I didn’t disturb you,” The steward manages to squeak out.
Gavin snorts. “You did. What do you want?”
The kid swallows. “I was asked by the captain to bring you this message.” He hands over a silver plate with a card on it. “It’s an invitation for you and your lovely fiancée to join Captain Melbourne at his table for dinner tonight.”
My eyes widen at that. At the captain’s table? That sounds fancy, and I mostly brought bikinis and t-shirts. Crap. “Gavin, tell him we can’t—”
“Thank you. Please tell the captain we’d be honored.” Gavin’s reply is silky smooth. He sounds like his dad, all wealth and courtesy. It suits him. But it’s also the wrong answer.
“Gavin—”
The steward continues, “He also asked me to let you know that all arrangements are in place for Sunday, just as you requested.”
“Arrangements?” Gavin runs a hand through his messy hair, sounding as confused as I am.
“Yes, Sir. For...” He trails off, then nods his head in my direction as if I can’t see it. “The arrangements, Sir. At 6:00 PM on Sunday.”
I still don’t think Gavin gets it. I know I don’t, but he nods. “Right. Of course. Tell Captain Melbourne thank you, and that we’ll join him for dinner tonight. At what time?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s at eight, Sir.”
“Excellent. Write yourself a tip for the favor and put it on this room. A hundred bucks.”
The steward’s eyes go wide just like mine do, but to his credit his mouth doesn’t drop open, unlike mine. For all I know, that’s standard tipping fare on a ship like this, but I suspect not. “Thank you, Sir. That’s very generous.”
“Consider it a deposit on leaving a fucking note next time. You got me?” Gavin, apparently done with keeping up appearances, shuts the door in his face and turns to me. “Dinner with the captain, huh?”
“Gavin!” I hiss, clutching my wrap around me. “I don’t have anything to wear. And a hundred bucks in tip?”
“That’s alright. I think you look great in what you’ve got on, to be honest. Unless I can talk you out of it.” He grins, crossing his thick arms over his chest and leaning up against the liquor cabinet.
The heat of my blush rushes to my face, my thoughts suddenly back on being over his knee and his fingers probing my... “I’m serious! I didn’t bring clothes for a fancy dinner. I was figuring on living on buffets and fruity drinks while I lounged by the pool.”
He looks at me curiously, like he doesn’t get the problem. “Alright. So we’ll pick some up then. There’s plenty of shopping on board.”
A couple days ago I was worrying about not having a summer job so I could buy books and gas money. If I could afford designer clothes I wouldn’t have a Charlie’s Chicken application on my desk back home. “Are you insane? I can’t afford to buy new clothes, especially here, where they probably double the prices.”
He laughs. “Probably triple, at least. But, babe. You can afford it.”
I’m sick of his babe shtick, but I let it go because it’s by far not my biggest problem. “Afford it? Did I win the lottery or something?”
He tilts his head and looks at me like I’m an idiot. “No, but your mom did.”
“Okay, for starters, no matter what it says on the ticket, I’m not my mom. And also? They’re not even married yet.”
“Close enough. I’ll cover it, and if you feel really guilty, I do accept sexual favors in currency. Come on.”
I follow him back to the bedroom, sputtering in indignation. Facing his suitcase and away from me, he drops his pants, letting them fall to his ankles before he steps out of them. My mouth dries up and my arguments fade. Oh my God, that ass. Tight and dimpled, it’s made for grabbing. The curved end of a tattoo twines down over the right side, and I feel jealous of the needle that got to do it.