She tossed her head back again, and he leaned forward so the braid could rub along his nipple, between them. Ah, rough. Good show. He licked her neck and she shivered, moaned. David moaned, too, sounding helpless, close, all but ending it for Brett. Vic went all hot and even slicker between the legs, and fuck, fuck. No point holding back.
He growled and thrust into her hand and came in great, scalding, relieving spurts against her hip, his fingers captured with David’s between her legs as she clenched and cried and came. One of David’s hands on her shoulder–the one next to his own–squeezed, and David took in great gulps of air, frozen tight against her.
The air smelled of their sex, their release. He put his hand over David’s. To fuck with what Mark might think.
Vic had done it again–managed them all right to incredible oblivion. Christ, he loved her.
But tonight, things would go differently. Tonight, she’d learn what it was to let go.
Chapter 20
Griffin was dying. This morning, he and Peyton had taken a vow of fake orgasms, which meant he hadn’t gotten off. All. Day. Long. And he’d been dreaming of Peyton, waiting for their shifts to end. He still couldn’t believe he’d managed it, that none of the women had noticed how empty the condoms were. Now they’d arrived at her cabin–it was closer than his, and he’d begged–but she insisted on showering first. They were having dinner at the table next to the captain’s later, so she’d wanted to stop by here and put on her fanciest clothes. He didn’t understand why–not a snowball’s chance in hell he wouldn’t get them off her before they went up to dinner. So here he sat on the edge of her bed, waiting. That dinky shower in the crew bathrooms wasn’t nearly big enough for the two of them, and besides, he’d gotten off shift before her and showered already.
Fuck. His cock was killing him. Even after their evening together yesterday–just the evening, and then she’d begged off with her pumpkin joke again, and also claimed she needed lots of beauty sleep–and then another early morning bout at breakfast, he couldn’t get enough of her. It seemed to be mutual, and more than sex. Definitely more. Which he hadn’t come here for–fun and sun were all he’d been after, but hey. Love came along at–
Love? Could he possibly love Peyton already? Maybe…yeah. He did. So sue him for being a sensitive dude.
Hell. The logistics of keeping this thing going would be rough. She lived in Salt Lake and he lived in Des Moines. He rubbed his hands over his face and flopped back on the bed.
Wham!
What the hell? Something very hard under his left arm…a book, maybe? Her TV remote? No, this was too big. Christ, he hoped he hadn’t cracked it. He lifted the bedspread, then dug under blanket and sheet. His fingers found cool plastic. Please don’t be broken, not by my big stupid arm.
An iPad? How the hell had she gotten this thing onboard? They were one of the devices specifically listed and definitely banned. Asked about during that all-but-cavity-search prior to boarding.
The firehouse had a couple, donated by the local big box store. All the guys had a great time watching YouTube videos and some more colorful entertainment on them during downtime. But a guy wouldn’t need one of these on a cruise like this.
He powered it on, and swiped the screen open. Not many app icons. Must be fairly new. Where had she been with it? He tapped the Safari icon and a blog came up. Gritty Gossip Girl. Why would she read this shit? Looked like most of it was about the Grants, and not very nice stuff… Brett Grant and mancandy–who Griffin had ID’d as his surfer-swimmer bud–the fucking machine contest… The person writing this shit was onboard, or getting the info from someone onboard. Someone who could maybe email the info using an iPad? No. This stuff was expressly forbidden in their contract.
He hated snooping, but he had to know. Nothing in the Email icon. Whew. But wait…the device had Pages. He opened it, waited for the screen to load. Found the document with all the same stuff as the blog had. Shit. Hit the Documents button and found four more. She’d been blogging the entire trip, talking real shit about the Grants.
Her shower stopped and the door rattled open.
Here came the moment of reckoning.
“Hey baby? Ready for me?” She came out with only a towel on her hair, stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open.
He swallowed hard. “Care to explain?”
She closed her eyes, but already tears were leaking out the corners. Not tears, not tears.
He had to focus. “What the fuck is this? How did you get this on board?”
She backed into the bathroom and shut the door. “Just go away. You need to leave. Now.”