“Good,” she said. “Let’s make some sins we’ll never forget.”
She hung up.
And I just stood there, staring at myself in the mirror again, shaking from the inside out.. This was it. The beginning of everything. The summer that would destroy me in the best possible way.
Okay wait before I open this door, before I see him again, before I do the dumbest, filthiest thing I’ve ever done in my life-I need to say something.
To you.
Yeah, you. The one reading this with your thighs tight and your lip bitten so hard it’s basically bruised. Don’t even pretend you’re not already wet, because I know you are. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.
Welcome to my disaster.
No, scratch that.
Welcome to my dirty, unholy, p***y-throbbing descent into madness.
Because what’s coming? Is not cute. It’s not slow-burn. It’s not romance. It’s something you haven’t read before.
You better have your toy charged. The real one. The one that doesn’t stop until you’re crying and breathless. Because this story?
It’s not for the soft-hearted. It’s for the ones who love filth.
So be a good little slut.
Flip the page.
And don’t say I didn’t warn you.
**Lily**
I’ve never sweat through a sundress before. Not like this. Not with the sun barely even up and my thighs already soaked from the way I’ve been rubbing them together in the back of this damn cab like some heat-struck little pervert.
I’m trying so hard to look normal, to act like I’m just an innocent eighteen-year-old girl on a luxury yacht cruise with her best friend’s family, but every time I blink I see him.
I see the way he looked last summer, shirtless and wet, his muscles tight and flexing while he poured himself a drink by the pool like the world was his. I see the way his mouth curved when he said my name.
I see the little silver ring on his pinky finger and the veins on his forearms and the deep, deep line between his brows that only comes out when he’s focused.
And I don’t even know what he was focused on that day, but God, I pretended it was me. I walked around that whole villa in tiny shorts and no bra, pretending I didn’t feel his eyes burning into my back, and when I heard his bedroom door close late that night, I swear I touched myself so hard I saw stars.
And now? Now I’m back. I’m legal. I’m dripping through my lace panties. And I’m about to step out of this cab and face the man I’ve been obsessing over since before I even understood why my body reacted to his voice the way it does.
I lick my lips as the car rolls to a stop and my stomach does this wild, dangerous flip that makes my whole body buzz.
This is it. This is the dock. This is the moment. The yacht is right there. Big and white and sparkling in the Spanish sun like it’s made of secrets and s*x and scandal.
The crew is loading the last of the bags, the waves are lapping at the dock, and I can hear laughter and champagne corks popping somewhere on the upper deck, but none of that matters because as soon as the car door opens.
I see him.
Connor.
Walking down the stairs of the yacht like a f*****g sin in motion.
I don’t breathe. I don’t blink. I don’t move a muscle except for the way my knees damn near buckle at the sight of him. He’s not wearing a jacket.
His shirt is black and unbuttoned just enough to make me want to bite his chest, and it’s tucked into white linen pants that make his waist look lethal.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his skin is tan and golden and glowing, and I swear if I die right now, I’ll die wet.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stops at the bottom of the steps and stares. Like he’s trying to figure out what the hell I’ve turned into since last summer. Like he knows I’m not a girl anymore. Like he can smell what’s happening between my thighs.
Because I’m pretty sure he can.
His eyes drag from my hair to my lips to the bare skin above my neckline to the soft swell of my t**s barely held up by the thin straps of my white sundress. I didn’t wear a bra. I didn’t want to. I wanted this. I wanted his eyes on them. And now that I have them, I swear my c**t is throbbing so hard I might faint.
“Lily,” he says.
Just that. One word. My name. But the way he says it is low and slow and thick with something he’s trying to hide, and it makes my entire spine lock up because holy f*****g hell, I am not okay. My p***y clenches. My throat goes dry.
My n*****s stiffen so fast they hurt, and all I can think is that this man is standing six feet away from me and already my body wants to crawl into his hands.
“H-hi,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice from breaking, but it cracks anyway and I probably sound like a virgin in a porno. “Hi, Mr. Blackwood.”
His jaw tightens.
His eyes narrow just a little.
“Connor’s fine.”
And just like that, I know I’m not surviving this cruise.
Because that tone? That name? That casual drop of formality?
That’s an invitation. That’s him stepping over the line, even just an inch. That’s him saying I see you. That’s him saying you’re not a child anymore. That’s him giving me just enough to drown in.
“Connor,” I repeat, and the name tastes like sin on my tongue.
He stares a second longer, and for a split second, I see it – I feel it – the flash of heat in his eyes. The flare of Alpha tension in the air. The way his chest lifts just slightly like he had to breathe me in. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. It’s instinct. Raw, primal instinct.
And my slick pulses between my legs like it knows what’s coming.
Then-of f*****g course-Bella bursts out of nowhere like a human cockblock wrapped in pink sunglasses and excitement. She throws her arms around me before I can even process what just happened and starts squealing in my ear about champagne and rooms and how hot the boys are upstairs.
“Oh my God, you made it!” she shouts, hugging me like she didn’t just interrupt a silent, full-body orgasm. “I thought you were gonna miss it! The boat’s insane, Lily. You are not ready. Come on, come on, everyone’s waiting! Wait ’til you see the rooms.”
She grabs my wrist and pulls me toward the ramp, still chattering about bikinis and booze, and I have no choice but to follow her, legs like jelly, heart in my throat, p***y soaked and throbbing and practically screaming at the fact that I just locked eyes with Connor Blackwood and survived.
Barely.
But I can feel him behind me.
I can feel his eyes on my ass.
I can feel his control slipping – just a little.
And that’s all I need.
****
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