Title: Private Charter
Author: N.R. Walker
Publication Date: August 24, 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Stuart Jenner’s job is high stress, high stakes, and everything he’s strived for. So why, when the apex of his career is within reach, does he stumble? At his doctor’s insistence, he books a privately chartered yacht to sail around the Whitsundays for two weeks of sun, surf, and sex. When his friend-with-benefits bails on him at the last minute, Stuart decides to go alone.
Foster Knight left the rat race behind six years ago, bought a yacht, and now calls the Great Barrier Reef his home. Sailing tourists around tropical waters is all in a day’s work, and he’s never been happier. When his next client arrives alone, the two-week charter will be the most private job he’s ever had.
Foster can see how stressed and exhausted Stuart is, and he promises him extensive rest and relaxation. Stuart slowly realizes his original plan for two weeks of sun, surf, and sex might not be host yet. Confined to a yacht, isolated by aqua-colored oceans and the sweltering sun, Stuart and Foster are about to find out just how hot the tropic can get.
While he ducked downstairs to crab his things, I dropped anchor and pulled over the sun visor. Stuart came back up, vest gone, towel draped over his arm, and the bottle of sunscreen in his hand. He held it out to me. “Would you mind?”
I took it and rolled my eyes. “It’s not exactly a hardship.”
He chuckled and turned around, giving me his back. I applied sunscreen, covering his back and nape of his neck, rubbing his shoulders, and even giving him a little massage. “You’re not so tense today,” I said.
“Imagine how relaxed you could get me,” he said, his voice low. I dug my thumbs into the knot of his shoulders, intending it as a jab to what he said, but he moaned instead. “Jesus, your hands…”
I dropped them and took a small step back. “You’re done.”
He turned to face me, his imploring gaze full of mischief. “Would you mind terribly doing me front? I’d hate to get sunscreen on your yacht.”
I stared at him. and Jesus, he was being serious.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He looked around the cockpit. ” I know. That’s why I asked, I’d hate to get sunscreen on your seat or your ladder when I hold on.”
I fought a smile. “That’s not what I meant.”
Oh, I know.” He sighed dramatically. “Well, if you won’t do it for me, could you watch me do it and point out any parts I miss? I’d hate to get sun burnt.” He dropped his towel onto the seat and made a show of pouring sunscreen onto his palm. How could he make that sexual? God, it may as well be honey, or lube, or any-fucking-thing I’d like to lick off him.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, then he rubbed it all over his chest, his abs, down below his navel… and his eyes never left mine. His tongue peeked out at the corner of his mouth, and he stretched his neck and rubbed one hand over his throat while his other hand slipped just under his speed o. It made me look at the bulge barely concealed by his swimmers. “Did I get everywhere, Foster?”
I swallowed hard and forced myself to make eye contact. “You were pretty thorough, yeah.”
One corner of his mouth rose in a sexy-as-hell smirk. “I’ve been told that before.”
My nostrils flared. “You don’t play fair.”
He shook his head slowly. “I’m not playing.”
Sure, it was summer, and sure it was the tropics, but that had nothing to do with the sweat that beaded all over my body. I let out a shaky breath and reached up to a line of sunscreen he’d missed under his eye and smeared it with the pad of my thumb. I wanted to slide my thumb across his lip, I wanted to slip into his mouth, let him suck on it…
“Join me,” he whispered. “You know you want to.”
I knew exactly where we’d end up if we got into the water together. “I was going to make a start on an early lunch,” I replied. There was no conviction in my voice, and he knew it.
He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I’m not hungry for food.” Then he turned, collected his towel, which he dropped near the ladder, and dived into the water.
I all but collapsed onto the seat, taking in deep breaths. I wiped my forehead, my face, and felt my heart hammering in my chest. Jesus, Lord have mercy, he was going to kill me.
I shouldn’t encourage this. I should have told him when this whole playful flirting thing started that it was a no-go. I had rules in place for a reason. I had a business, a reputation.
I also had a hard-on that wasn’t going away any time soon.
I had urges and desires that I hadn’t wanted to act on with anyone else. Then Stuart Fucking Jenner boarded my yacht and everything went to hell.
I should go down to the galley and prepare some lunch. I should turn on the TV for a distraction, or read a book, or go into my bathroom and take care of my aching dick, thinking about anything but him.
Him in the water, just a few meters away. Him, with the come-fuck-me eyes, who wants me to join him—and not just join him in the water. Him, with the scorching hot body who’s offering himself to me. Him, yes him.
I should not want him. I should not want this. And most of all, I should not get into the water with him. I knew how it would end. I would dive into the water with him, and he’d swim over to me with that devastating smile, and he’d reach out for me and I’d pull him close. He’d wrap his legs around me and I’d tread water, holding us both up, and he’d crush his mouth to mine. I’d finally get to taste him, to have that gorgeous pink tongue of his in my mouth, and then we’d bring it on board. On the deck, on the cockpit seat, down in the cabin, on the floor, on the table, in his bed, in mine.
I stood up, pulled my shirt over my head, took two long strides, and dived headfirst into the water.
“You know what we do need?” he said, standing up and disappearing down into the cabin. He appeared a second later with a bottle in one hand, two lemons in his other. “Tequila.”
I snorted out a laugh. “My favorite cocktail mixer. A shot of tequila with a dash of good intentions and you have a cocktail aptly named ‘What the Fuck Have I Done’.”
Stuart laughed as he trudged up the stairs. His towel was long gone; just his tiny scrap of swimwear remained. “Well, two What the Fuck Have I done? coming right up.”
He sat back beside me and held up the bottle. “What even is this?”
“Alquimia Reverva de Don Adolfo Extra Anejo,” I replied. “The world’s best tequila. Goes down easy, so be careful.”
He gave me a sultry grin. “Oh, believe me. I love things that go down easy.” I rolled my eyes, but he laughed as he quartered the two lemons on the plate. When he was done, he took the lid off the bottle and a piece of lemon. “Lick, sip, suck. Your game?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He chuckled. “Well, you do. But I can see in your eyes what you want. You just need a little Mexican courage.”
I looked at the bottle and then the lemon he was holding. “You don’t have any salt.”
His voice was rough and he grinned salaciously. “Oh yes, I do.”
Then he leaned in, and licked up my chest to my neck. I was stunned, speechless, and he laughed, took a small swig of tequila, then sucked on the lemon. He shook his head and breathed through the burn of alcohol and sour lemon.
“Oh, that is good,” he said. I didn’t know whether he was talking about licking the salt off my skin or the tequila. “Your turn.”
He shoved the bottle in my hand and held out a piece of lemon. I was done with the push-and-pull game. I was done with not touching or tasting the platter of pan on offer in front of me. I could still feel the burn of his tongue on my skin.
I took the lemon, but I held it up to his mouth. “Open.”
His pupils dilated, his nostrils flared. Oh, he likes being told what to do. Then he parted his lips, just enough for me to slide the lemon in. I leaned right in, almost pushing him backward so I was over him, and I licked from his collarbone to the edge of his jaw. The salt on his skin from the ocean, from the humidity, was tangy on my tongue. He moaned as I licked up and nipped the angle of his jaw with my teeth. I took a quick swig of tequila, then held the back of his head and took the lemon from his mouth.
It was a tangle of salty lips, sweet tongues, and sour lemon. It was the most delicious kiss I’d ever had.
I pulled back with the slice of lemon between my lips and slowly drew it out of my mouth. He was panting, his lips wet, his chest heaving, his cock hard across his hip barely confined in his Speed o.
He snatched the bottle from me, took a piece of lemon, then stood up and straddled me.
We played around in the water, floating and laughing for a bit, then Stuart grabbed the snorkel gear and we swam for what felt like hours, diving down to look at the reef and the fish.
It was so perfect, an I had to keep reminding myself he was a client.
A client who, I had no doubt, I would be having sex with later that night. As far as sexual tension went, we were now off the Richter scale.
He was back to his grinning self, bright-eyed and enthusiastic about everything he found under the surface. At one point, a fish startled him, and I laughed so hard I had to pull up to the surface for air. He followed up and pulled off his mask just to tell me to piss off and splash me, but he was smiling.
And his demeanor now, his happiness, was vastly different from how he’d been this morning. He’d kind of played it off as being a bit hungover, but I doubted that was it. He’d been pale when he went into his room for a while, and it hadn’t looked like a hangover to me. There had been something in his eyes that told me otherwise. So I’d left him alone, thinking he just needed some downtime, but by lunchtime, he still hadn’t come out, so I knocked on his door. I hadn’t thought he’d be asleep. As soon as I realized he was, I pulled back, but he stirred.
The sheet was covering him, though I could see a partial thigh and hip. He looked peaceful for the briefest second. And absolutely beautiful. Then he sat up, the sheet tangled around his hips, his hair was kind of mussed, and he squinted and scratched his head.
It was adorable.
I’d wanted to climb into bed with him and muss him up some more.
Same when he climbed up the ladder into the yacht before me. I got a glorious view of his arse in those red briefs, and when he met me at the top, he handed me a towel. He scrubbed his towel over his hair, making it stick up all over. His smile was devastating.
And those red briefs were pretty spectacular dry, but wet? I wanted to meet Calvin Klein and kiss him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, a curious smile in his eyes.
“That Calvin Klein is a genius.”
He looked down at himself, then back up at me and grinned, “Mr. Klein can’t take all the credit.”
I snorted. “No, he can’t.”
About the Author
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance. She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.
She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don’t let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.
She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things…but likes it even more when they fall in love.
She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.
She’s been writing ever since…
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