“I’m glad you approve.” My voice sounds breathy. I’m standing there in only a T-shirt and bra. The window facing the ocean is open, and the cool night air teases my already soaked cunt until I am right there on the edge, waiting to go over, and wanting that push so badly that I’m not sure I can survive the anticipation.

“No more,” he says, and it takes me a moment to realize he means the panties.

“I—what?”

“Don’t wear them.” He meets my eyes. “When I think of you, I want to think of you bare. But do wear the necklace. From now on. Until I say otherwise.”

“Oh.” Little tremors of pleasure course through me. The necklace is a chain with a small pendant that is actually a vibrator. It’s lovely and classy and deliciously effective. And I haven’t worn it since before we left for Santa Fe.

I nod. “Yes,” I say. And when he lifts a brow, I amend to, “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. But you’re still not naked.”

“Oh.” I’d gotten distracted. “Right.” I pull my shirt off and toss it on the deck, then drop my bra on top of it.

“You’re so beautiful.” He brushes a single fingertip up the curve of my hip. “It’s a rare thing to get to touch something of such beauty.” As he speaks, he draws his finger higher, the contact light but oh-so powerful. He traces a line beneath my breast. The touch is as gentle as a butterfly’s kiss, and yet so intense it sends shuddering waves of electricity rolling through me.

When he pulls his finger away, breaking the contact between us, I whimper.

“In museums, the rules are clear. Anyplace, in fact, where there is something of beauty, no touching is allowed.”

He bends to whisper in my ear. He is not touching me, but his breath as he speaks is as potent as a caress. “But those rules don’t apply to an owner. So tell me, Sylvia. Are you mine?”

“Yes. Oh, god yes.”

“Touching,” he repeats as if I hadn’t spoken. “Exploring and teasing.” As if in illustration of his words, he draws a single fingertip lightly over my body. My arms. My shoulders. The back of my neck.

There is nothing particularly sensual about any of the places he explores, and yet he fires my senses everywhere he touches, and threads of electricity stream from his fingertips all the way to my core, making me weak and wet and terribly impatient.

He drops to his knees, his hands now holding me steady at my hips. He tilts his head back and I look down and meet his eyes, and the desire and heat I see there humbles me.

He eases forward, pressing his mouth to my abdomen, then trails kisses down, lower and lower, following the landing strip of pubic hair to the soft skin at the juncture of my thighs. I am lost now, floating in some wild place where I have been reduced to little more than sensation and need, desire and demand. And when he uses his tongue to gently lave my clit, I arch back as crackling threads of pleasure shoot through me to converge at my sex.

I’m right there, floating on the edge, and all I need is one tiny push to send me over. Another flick of his tongue. Another stroke of his finger. I have been reduced to pure need, to desperate want.

Jackson, however, denies me.

He takes his hands from my hips. He pulls his mouth from my body. And then he rises slowly, his smug grin making clear that he knows exactly what he is doing to me.

“Go down below,” he says in a voice that promises all sorts of wicked pleasures. “Get on the bed. Spread your legs, and close your eyes.”

I hurry down to the staterooms below. I look back once to see if he’s coming, but he’s not there. I hesitate, but only for a moment. This is a game, I know. This is what we need. This is a way to get lost in each other. To forget what is coming. And, yes, to have something to hold on to later.

I settle myself on the bed and lay there spread open for him, my eyes closed, my imagination humming. He likes this. Me waiting for him. Me wet for him, wanting him. Laying here, wide open, for him to use however he wishes.

And the truth is, I like it, too. The anticipation that comes with being spread out naked and wet. The soft kiss of the air over my skin. The tease of the boat’s creaks and jolts, which keep my body thrumming because I am not sure if it is the sound of the boat or the sound of footsteps that I hear.

But what I like most is the pleasure of giving in to his demands. Of letting myself go completely and knowing that not only will he take me far, but that he will bring me back safely.

I don’t know how much time has passed when I feel a shift in the air. I turn my head to the side and my ear brushes his lips.