She’s (Still) Too Young (She’s Too Young #2)(9)

"Not long enough," I growl, my teeth gritted from the agony of blue balls. "I meant to have you at least twice on the plane, but-"

"I fell asleep. I promise I'll make up for it," she murmurs, running her flattened palms down the front of my shirt. "It's been a while since I … "

A down low punch of need makes me groan. "Since you sucked my cock?"

She chews her lower lip and nods. And fuck, it has been a while. In fact, she's only done it a grand total of once since we met, beside the pool in my Tribeca home. She left me that same afternoon, and my sole focus has been her pleasure since she returned, so although I've been burning up with the desire to see my dick disappearing into her pretty mouth, I've held off on asking. Or demanding.

"You don't have to make up for anything, angel." I drag my thumb roughly across her lips because I can't help it. Can't help being aggressive when the topic of getting Veda on her knees is being discussed. "But if it's something you want, just know that I would die to feel your mouth down there again."

Her smile is radiant. "Okay, Ramsey." Biting back another obscene groan, I lean back against the seat so she can unzip my pants, my pulse escalating until I can barely hear, but she pushes the car door open and bounds out of the vehicle instead of freeing my aching erection. "Later for sure," she calls back cheerfully.





Chapter Four





I've been to Amsterdam several times on business, but most of the time I don't even leave the hotel until it's time for an off-site meeting. Being isolated is something I've been accustomed to since childhood. The only child being tutored in the quiet, opulent den of my family's home. No one showing up at boarding school on my birthday, an unsigned card arriving in the mail instead. Staying late at the office when everyone had gone home. This has been my life.

Until Veda danced out onto the roof of my Manhattan building, I never realized isolation had dulled my senses until I wouldn't have felt my skin burning if I was on fire. Hearing her voice was like taking my first gasp of air after waking from a coma. My blood runs for her. It changes color according to her mood.

So while my instincts-and maybe even something in my DNA-urge me to keep her to myself, locked away where she can't escape or find someone who didn't spend their entire life broken, I am even more intent on giving her experiences. One thing I am confident in is this: No one can give her the experiences I can. No one. And I plan to show her so much of the world, she can describe its every corner in vivid detail. Maybe if I show her enough color, exhilarate her enough with everything life has to offer, she'll feel an ounce of how I do when she walks into a room. 

When we arrive at the boat, I can tell it's not what she was expecting. Really, she should expect the best by now, but it's a goddamn pleasure to watch her react when the boat pulls up. In true Dutch style, the boat is long and low, a lot like the ones sailing up and down the canals, packed with tourists. Ours, however, is made almost entirely of glass windows. Late afternoon sunshine glints off the polished surface, making it look like a jewel where it bobs in the canal at the end of a dock.

"Is that for us?" Veda spins around on one pointed toe like a ballerina and leaps into my arms, her face glowing. "It is, isn't it?" I make a sound of confirmation, my throat too clogged for an appropriate response. "You're never going to top this birthday present."

"Watch me," I say.

"Mr. Beckett." The captain approaches with an outstretched hand, and we shake, his eyes widening a little when he turns his attention to Veda. "M-Ms. Rose. I'm so pleased to meet you both." His Adam's apple lifts and plummets, but he manages to tear his eyes off my girlfriend in the nick of time. "Right this way please and we'll begin your tour."

I'm satisfied when we climb inside the boat and everything is as I requested. The floor is made up of plush carpeting and dozens of oversized pillows arranged on one end, a small but efficiently stocked bar in the opposite corner, champagne chilling on ice. An ornate chandelier hangs from the ceiling, turned down low, along with the thrumming music.

Veda glides through the space, turning around and around, looking stunned. She runs her fingers along one of the glass walls that look out over the canal. "Everyone can see us in here?"

"No," I answer. "We can see out, but they can't see in."

"Wow." As if she's forgotten the captain's presence, she throws herself down on the massive mountain of pillows, stretching out with a girlish laugh, the conservative white dress she's wearing becoming revealing as it rides up her thighs. High. Enough that her thong peeks out where it runs up between her ass cheeks. "This is so amazing," she breathes, probably unaware that more than one cock is rising to the occasion. "The only boat I've ever been on is the Staten Island Ferry."