26:Back to Basics

As Jon held out a hand to help her board, Charlie was forced to admit that the boat was exquisite. Sleek and sexy with a teakwood deck, it was outrageously extravagant in its understated elegance – a perfect toy for the rich and famous.

The “boat” was also a hundred foot yacht that would easily lodge both of their families for the night, furthering her opinion that it was overkill for a night of debauchery.  She really shouldn’t complain.  The asshole would be lucky if she let him in between her legs again tonight and, if she didn’t, Charlie would be grateful for the undoubtedly large selection of sleeping quarters below deck.

The erotic itinerary he was spouting in the car didn’t leave much time for sleep.

The narration to that cruel and inhumane torture in the car did make it sound like this wasn’t intended to be a night for beauty rest, but that didn’t make it any less cruel or inhumane.  What kind of man took a woman that close to the edge and then jerked her back like a dog on a short leash – in the name of providing a “needed distraction”?  Charlie was pissed and would remain that way until the scales of justice had been properly balanced. 

With that resolve firmly in place and her feet firmly on the deck, she discreetly snatched her hand from his with a resentful, “Thank you.”

She smirked at the thundercloud that darkened his features, thinking that he deserved to be every bit as ticked off as she was.  More so, if she could manage it.

“Get your ass down below,” he ordered in a deadly soft voice, shifting their bags from his possession to hers.  “Take these with you, and find that goddamn muzzle of yours while I talk to the captain.”

“I threw it overboard already.”

Because she wasn’t already torqued enough, he now had to exert his frigging authority?  How had Dorothea put up with this man for so long?  Those long tours of his must have extended their marriage by years, she hypothesized while descending the stairs that he had stabbed a finger toward.

When she reached the deck below, what greeted her was almost enough to melt Charlie’s anger.  She had never been on a yacht before and never considered how one would be outfitted. 

This deck, she saw while putting his duffel and her beach bag next to the bar, was a combination living area and dining room.  The white sofas and navy chairs with their complementary mixture of cushions were appropriately nautical in feel, but it wasn’t the kitschy kind of nautical that reeked of anchors, seashells and the like.  Everything was done with a casual elegance that was pleasing to the eye yet totally serviceable.

And the windows…

Her sandals slapped lightly against the glossy dark hardwood floors as she approached one of the windows that went almost all the way from floor to ceiling.  There were six of them altogether – three on each side of the rectangular seating area with a center table the same color wood as the floors – and just on the other side of all that glass were exterior walkways and the water. 

The view would be phenomenal from here once they got underway, and she was curious as to whether the bedroom had similar windows.  Having sex with a gorgeous view of the water as the sun set stirred what little bit of romance still lived in her soul.

Charlie had just reached the dining table on her way to seek out the master suite – or whatever it was called in yacht terms – when the tapping of Jon’s shoes prompted her to turn.   The frown lines were furrowed as deeply as she’d ever seen them around his mouth and, from the way his jaw moved rhythmically from side to side, she thought he might be grinding his teeth.

He left you hanging.  You’re pissed, remember?

Yes.  Yes she was, and her arms crossed boldly over her chest so that he remembered it, too, and proceeded to disparage the very thing she’d just been admiring and even romanticizing.

“I still say you’re stupid for doing this.”

“No shit,” he scoffed with contempt while moving behind the bar and looking at the offerings.  “Hooking up with you is like hooking up with a praying mantis that bites off her mate’s head before sex.”

“That’s not what I was talking about, rude ass.  I was talking about this whole elaborate sailing to the Vineyard thing.”

Plunking a bottle of wine on the counter and unsealing the bottle, Jon scowled darkly in her direction. 

“Wanna know why I did it, Counselor?” he spat peevishly, screwing the opener into the cork.  “Because you made a noteworthy gesture in offering to muzzle the bitch.  I thought that the least I could do was meet you halfway and make a gesture of my own by treating you like a date instead of a pro bono prostitute.  This is my goddamn muzzle, and you’ve thrown yours overboard.  Ironic, isn’t it?”

She blinked at him a handful of times, almost ashamed of herself.  That offer had been made with a heartfelt intention to try, and she was trying until he pulled that stunt in the car.

“I’d still be wearing the frigging muzzle if you hadn’t been so… so… such a dick!  Did you enjoy that, by the way?  I bet it makes you feel potent to work me up until my senses are so filled with you that I lose touch with reality, just so you can callously leave me hanging.  You probably planned it all along!”

The cork squeaked out of the bottle and Jon slammed the opener down onto the bar’s surface.   

“I didn’t leave you hanging against the guest house, did I?” he demanded loudly.  “Or in the pool?  In case you’re having trouble remembering, let me help you out with that answer.  No.  I fucking well did NOT!”

A wine glass hit the bar with what she thought was enough force to break and the bottle clattered precariously on its edge so that he could transfer wine from one vessel to the other. 

“I left you as wrecked and satisfied as I was, Counselor, so don’t tell me my sole objective in life is to abandon you on the verge of orgasm.  I’m the guy who came here with the sole intention of giving you half a dozen of the goddamn things, and it might’ve happened if I was the cold and callous son of a bitch you paint me be.  I should’ve just let you have your motherfucking anxiety attack and picked up the pieces later.  Lesson.  Learned!”

The heavy bottom of the wine bottle slammed against marble when he put it down with excessive force.  Jon tipped up the glass for a long, deep swallow while continuing to glare at her over the rim.

Pure, white-hot anger radiated from him in waves.  His eyes were hard enough to cut glass.  The grip on his wine stem was powerful enough to snap it in two.  Nostrils flared to allow his breathing keep pace with the undoubtedly accelerated rate of his heart. 

If there were a mirror mounted behind him, she had no doubt that there would be just as many outward signs of her own blistering temper, and the realization brought with it the reminder of a very simple lesson learned long ago.  It was basic first year law that taught her not to let emotions create an obstacle to achieving the final objective.  Argue with the opponent until blue in the face, if that’s what it took, but never let them see you sweat or make you lose control.

Her legal basics were slightly off-kilter for this particular scenario, considering that she wanted to eventually lose control, but that was a different kind of control altogether.  The basic principle here was still sound and the objective was a night filled with hot sex and a little aggression.  Their aggression had seriously exceeded the limit.  

“Well?” Jon prodded with a harsh lift of his chin.  “You’re missing your cue to go off on me again.  Keep up with this fucking thing, would you?”

So what are you gonna do it about it?

It was more like what she wasn’t going to do about it. 

She wasn’t going to let her healthy/unhealthy, warranted/unwarranted musician issues dictate the course of this… date.  Odds were more highly in favor of her being struck by lightning than ever finding another man who would arrange for a private yacht just to have her in his bed for a night.  She would be a fucking idiot to waste an experience that the entire female population would sacrifice both boobs, both ovaries and at least one of their kids to have.

Yacht aside, Charlie craved what he could give her physically.  Their kind of chemistry wasn’t exactly a dime a dozen, and he could take her places she hadn’t known she wanted to go.  It would be foolish to deny herself that.

“I’m done.”

The short, concise words hung in the air between them until he finally narrowed his eyes and ridiculed, “What do you mean, you’re ‘done’?  Because if you’re done with this night, you’re done with it on board this boat.”

She followed the tilt of his head to look out the window to find they were surrounded completely by water and already underway to the Vineyard.  If she wanted off this thing, her options were swim like hell or drown.  Good thing she didn’t want off.

Sliding her gaze back to him, she calmly clarified, “I’m done going off on you.”

The wineglass was placed more carefully on the bar this time and his features were painted with perplexity as he did.  “What just happened here?”

Her footsteps were slow and even as she moved across the deck to stand across the bar from him.  Leaning one forearm against the marble top, Charlie leisurely curled her fingers around the stem of his glass and lifted it to her lips.  After draining the remainder of his wine, she made sure the glass went gingerly back to the spot from which she’d taken it.

“A shift in priorities.  I’d like a martini, if you don’t mind.  The one you fixed at your house the other night was perfect.”

His head shook sharply from side to side as though he were trying to shake water from his hair, and she noticed for the first time just how sculptured his cheeks were.  Charlie bet women drooled over those cheekbones.

“Counselor-“

“Chiara,” she murmured.  “I like it better when you call me that.”

Bewildered eyes riveted themselves to hers and she met them with a rare display of cordiality, pleasantly surprised that this change of tactic was allowing her to appreciate far more interesting things than her anger.  He was a beautiful man and an amazing lover – her lover tonight.  The man who had openly expressed his desire to eat her for dessert, take her from behind and make her scream with pleasure.  It was enough to make a woman realize the understated power she held.

With a single nod of acceptance, he yielded to her wishes. “Chiara.  Does this mean you’re done busting my balls?”

His hands were capable as they handled the gin bottle, then deftly dropped the olives into her drink.  They had proven equally capable of manipulating her body, and she shivered while staring at the two thick fingers that had wreaked such havoc today. 

“I’m never going to be the passive woman you think you want me to be.  Fighting you for control is more stimulating than a lot of orgasms I’ve had, but I’m done with the rest of it.  At least for tonight.”

The martini glass delicately clinked against marble as he presented it to her, then crossed arms thoughtfully over his chest.  “I have no fucking idea what to make of this.”

“Don’t make anything of it,” was her advice, sipping the cocktail he’d prepared.  “Just be happy I’ve ditched the plan to suck your dick inside out and walk away before you lose your load.”

He came around the bar to sidle up and swivel her around by the waist, stepping close enough for their hips to touch.  “You wouldn’t have dared.”

“The hell I wouldn’t,” she chuckled, hoping it was true.  With the way things seemed to work between them, Charlie probably would have been instantly addicted to his taste and been unable to pry her lips loose until she swallowed everything he could give her.  “That’s pretty much what you did to me.”

Dipping his head, Jon breathed over her lips.  “I wanted you in that goddamn car.  If there had been enough time I would have-“

Her hormones were stirred by the lustiness of both his breath and his words, but as much as she found herself responding, Charlie knew she’d be more responsive to something else.

Darting her tongue out to lick his bottom lip, she curtailed the impending verbal imagery to persuade, “Don’t tell me.  Show me.”