Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
I nod. “We’ll hold off. Thank you though.”
“Sounds good,” Oliver says. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me, otherwise … I’ll make myself scarce.”
“I have a surprise for you,” I tell Campbell as we finish our snacks. “But it’s in the bedroom.”
“Mr. Delacorte, you’ve had me twice today,” she pretends to be appalled, but the smile on her face says she’s thinking what I’m thinking. “But I suppose one more time won’t hurt …”
Slipping my hand over hers, I take her to the bedroom where a bottle of Cristal is nestled in a bucket of ice (thanks to Oliver), along with the two champagne saucers we picked out when we did our registry shopping.
“I know you said you’re not a champagne person,” I tell her. “But I promise you’ve never enjoyed champagne the proper way before.”
“Oh, with the bigger surface area and all that,” she says. “I remember you explained it to me before. I still don’t think it’ll make that big of a difference, but I’ll try it. For you.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say. She cocks a brow. “Here. I’ll show you.”
She watches in silence as I uncork the bottle and pour the shimmering gold liquid into our matching saucers and place them aside. Then with one tug, I untie her sarong, letting it fall to the floor before unfastening her bikini top. Taking a sip of champagne, I leave a small liquid in my mouth before tasting one of her exposed nipples.
She releases a breathy sigh as the cold and bubbles mix with the warmth of my tongue on her flesh.
Swallowing, I take another sip and move for her mouth next, letting the champagne pass from my tongue to hers.
She shivers against me and I pull her into my arms.
“You’re right,” she says, “I’ve never had champagne like this before.”
And I’m only getting started …
Slipping my fingers under the waist of her bikini bottoms, I tug them off. She stumbles back onto the bed, giggling in anticipation.
With a champagne saucer in hand, I trickle some onto her stomach, which caves in response to the merciless temperature. Pressing my lips against her warm skin, I drink the bubbles from her belly button before pouring another splash lower and repeating it until I’m between her thighs.
Tipping the saucer, I let a splash drip down her slit before slowly running my tongue along it, collecting every drop. Over and over, I drink champagne from between her legs, swirling the cold bubbles with my tongue against her most sensitive area. She sucks in a breath, her body trembling as she grips fistfuls of bedding, and it isn’t long before she’s writhing against my mouth, sticky with Cristal and arousal.
Sweet intoxication.
36
Campbell
Slade’s half of the bed is empty when I wake Saturday morning. My head is pounding and my mind is dazed and my stomach turns. The ship is rocking more than it was before. Or maybe I’m just hungover.
After Slade’s champagne adventure last night, we got a little carried away. It wasn’t until we were deliriously spent that we wandered out for a snack shortly after midnight, fed our faces, then sauntered back to our room to crash.
Shrugging into a cashmere robe, I tie the belt and head out.
“Slade?” I call, bracing myself against the nearest wall as the yacht leans.
I check the bathroom, debating whether or not I should grab a quick shower since I’m sticky from last night, but something doesn’t feel right. Climbing the stairs out of the cabin, I’m met with the bright morning sun and the sound of waves lapping against the side of the ship.
“Slade?” I yell again. “Where are you?”
I can hear someone talking, but I can’t tell if it’s Slade or Oliver. Heading up to the helm next, I’m expecting to find Oliver behind the wheel, only he’s nowhere in sight. It’s just Slade, pacing, dragging his hands through his hair.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Slade says.
“What? Slade, what’s going on? Where’s Oliver?”
“That son of a bitch is dead to me. I’m going to destroy him, he’s—”
“—hey,” I grip his arm, giving it a shake. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Jesus, Campbell.” His eyes come into focus and he stops pacing. “Don’t panic … but I can’t find Oliver.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find Oliver?”
“He’s … gone.”
“What are you talking about?” I hear his words crystal clear, but they’re not computing. It’s like my brain refuses to comprehend what he’s saying.
“I … I … came up here this morning to ask him something and he wasn’t there, so I checked his cabin room and the bed was made. It didn’t even look like he’d slept there last night. So then I checked around the rest of the ship.” He bites his lower lip for a moment, nearly drawing blood. “It’s like he was never here … I don’t understand …”