“There was never any emotion when I f**ked women in Caraica. I only focused on how it felt to me physically.”

“And that’s different now?”

“It’s different with you,” he admits. “Just a few moments ago… I was trying to f**k you like I’d f**k a Caraican woman. Absolute control, zero emotion. I was trying to prove to myself that I’m in control of my life.”

“You are in control,” I assure him as my fingers glide up to stroke his face.

“Not with you,” he murmurs. “Not totally.”

“Zach… I have no problem at all with surrendering my will to you when we are intimate. You can put me on bended knee time and time again, and I’ll love it. But only if you don’t hold back. You have to promise to never hold yourself back from me. As a modern woman… it’s something I need. I can’t keep emotion out of this.”

His eyes go soft, and he smiles gently as he nods in understanding. “Duly noted.”

Zach brings one hand to my breast and pinches my nipple. “But just because we’re having this conversation about feelings and emotion doesn’t mean that I’m not going to f**k you so hard right now that you’ll feel it for an eternity. I’m going to make you a slave to my cock. You may walk away a little bruised and a whole lot sore when we’re done, but you’ll be begging me to do it all over again to you. I promise you that.”

My eyes go wide at the aggressive tone in his voice, and my body practically melts underneath him. “There’s my uncivilized man,” I whisper.

Yeah… I’m sore. After Zach threw my legs up over his shoulders, proceeded to pound my body with brute force, and after he made me come twice that way, he flipped me over and continued on. Any time he got close to coming, he’d slow down, sometimes pulling all the way out of me, and just caress and kiss my body. It was torture, but only for a while before he’d slam back home.

Yes… he enslaved my body.

And he held nothing back.

He moaned, grunted, and cursed over the pleasure he was feeling. Digging his fingers into my flesh, he lashed at me with his tongue. He spoke filthy words to me, courtesy of Google, and it turned me on even more.

When he finally came, he did it with a roar that practically shook the rafters before collapsing on top of me. I was afraid Randall would come barging into the room. Thankfully, I think his room is in another wing of the house.

Zach rolls off me to lie on his back. His breathing is harsh, and his skin moist with sweat. I don’t hesitate for a second, but slide my body next to his and lay my head on his shoulder. He doesn’t move or touch me in any way, and I listen for a while as his breathing finally comes back under control.

Bringing my hand over, I lay it on his chest and softly caress the hard muscles there. I can feel them leap to my touch.

“Do men and women only sleep together in the same bed after they’re married? I remember my parents slept in the same bed together,” Zach asks me.

I smile to myself and sit upward so I can look down at Zach. Balancing one hand on his chest, I tell him, “No, you don’t have to be married to do that. Why do you ask?”

Zach shrugs his shoulders. “Just wondering. We’ve never done that before.”

“Do you want to sleep together? Do you want me to stay here with you tonight?”

Reaching over his body, Zach grabs my hand and moves it down his body until my fingers nudge his cock. He’s completely soft yet still amazingly large, his skin still slightly moist. Pushing on my fingers, he urges me to take him in hand, and I never think once about denying him.

I stroke him softly and he makes a low, humming sound in his throat, his c**k pulsing against my palm.

“I think it’s best you stay here tonight,” he says with a sly grin on his face. “I don’t think I’m finished with you yet.”

God, I hope he’s never finished with me.

Chapter 17

Zach

I sit at the back of the boat as Clint motors across the lake water. My eyes dart between Moira to my left, and Cara to my right. I compare the two ladies because I find it fascinating that I’m in the company of two equally beautiful women, yet only one really appeals to me.

What is it about Moira that sets her apart?

Is it the fact I know her body intimately? Is it because she’s knows me better than Cara does?

Or is it because she lets me dominate her and that appeals to my inherent need for control?

I don’t think that’s it… not totally anyway, because I’m finding the concept of control is subjective.

For example, Cara is quite lovely. She’s wearing a hot pink bikini that’s not much more than a few triangles of shimmery material that barely covers her br**sts and pu**y. Her long, blonde hair is loose and blowing in the wind. Her lips are full, and I’m betting she would give an amazing blow job.

But she doesn’t have much going on in the brains department. She only seems to want to talk about herself and what nail polish would go best with her tan. I had to suppress a laugh when Cara swung a long leg across, placed her foot on my thigh, and asked me what I thought about the color of her toenails.

Like I could give a shit.

Moira just rolled her eyes and turned her gaze out over the water.

While Cara is almost completely naked, Moira is wearing a T-shirt over her bathing suit and a pair of denim shorts. I do notice that her toenails are painted a pale pink and it makes me want to worship her feet, which just goes to show you… maybe the color does make a difference.