Unbounded, p.2
Unbounded, page 2
When the coil sprang, I didn’t hold back. I cried out, filling our chamber with the sounds of my elation, allowing it to wash over me and release all the glorious tension he’d spent an hour building.
From somewhere in the back of my mind, I might have heard a similar sound leave him, though I was too lost to notice.
My stranger held my ass in one hand while his free arm encircled me. I quivered and shook against him, struggling to draw air into my lungs. He kept me secured to him, engulfing me with little effort and helping to pull my shattered body back together.
I had finally given out, my muscles jellied from the orgasm.
Letting out a stiff breath, my stranger loosened his grip and allowed my legs to slide from his hips until I could stand on my own once more. It’d been difficult to manage, but the cuffs weren’t suspended so high that they took me off my feet. Instead, they allowed me a bit of support.
His eyelids were heavy while a flash of pink swathed his cheeks. His full lips, perfect for biting, were parted with each huffing breath.
“I’m afraid this is the end of our play, my dear.” Genuine disappointment saturated his voice. He reached up to unlatch my wrists, standing so close that the heat of him infected me further. “Truly regrettable.”
I found his accent delicious, the way it affected each syllable and curled the consonants. He had the sort of rich voice that I could listen to for hours.
“Pity,” I said. Regardless of what’d transpired, how exhausted I’d become, I wanted more.
He smiled.
When my wrists had been freed, he retrieved my dress and offered it to me. I put it on while he righted himself, and soon it appeared as though nothing had happened.
My welts brought me back to reality, however. Each scrape of my dress across the raw skin helped remind me that it’d been real, which only served to breathe new life into those smoldering embers.
Out of curiosity, I peered at his groin. A slick sheen had overtaken the dark fabric and I knew not all the dampness had been mine.
“Will there be another performance tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not,” I replied, stomach fluttering at the prospect of spending more time with him. “I actually have to leave Lon—”
My gaze drifted to the clock hanging near the door and my heart dropped. I’d been so invested in our play that I hadn’t been paying attention to the time. At nearly one in the morning, I’d stayed much longer than I’d intended.
“Oh, shit,” I said in shock. “I-I have to go.” I raced for the door and threw it open. “I had fun!” I shouted over my shoulder while I ran down the hall as best as my tight dress and shoes would allow.
* * * *
I’d been lucky to find a taxi unoccupied by a drunk and leaped into it. Within a half-hour, the cabby pulled up to the docks, I paid, and with shoes in one hand, mask in the other, I ran toward the boat.
Shit, shit, shit!
My bare feet clapped against the wooden slats. I prayed there were no splinters waiting to wedge themselves into an unsuspecting passerby.
The Aurora came into view, and I quickened my pace. I had no doubt I looked like an idiot, a woman in a leather tube dress down to her knees, stilettos hanging from her fingertips, a mask and hair waving in the breeze. God only knew what the cabby must have thought.
Before the crew could see me, I jumped onto the yacht as best I could and charged into the belly of the vessel.
I am so late!
Down winding halls, I found my room and ducked inside, but no sooner than I had tossed my shoes onto my bed, I was discovered.
“Well, well, well…”
My heart stopped and my stomach sank. Kennia Freeman, my roommate and best friend, slid into my line of sight, emerging from the tiny bathroom as though she’d been waiting for my arrival. She plopped herself down on my bunk, smirking at me.
“Cuttin’ it a bit close, yeah?” she teased, her Australian accent filling my ears. “Now, either that means you had an encore, or…”
She let her sentence dangle, waiting for me to fill in the blanks, but I said nothing. The moment I removed my dress, she had her answer.
“Oh, wow!” Kennia slid off the bed and disappeared behind me. “Guess ya did find someone. This hurt?”
She poked one of the welts on my ass hard enough to send a shock of pain down my spine. I spun and slapped her hand. She erupted into a fit of laughter.
“You exchange numbers with this one?” She fell onto my bed once again, toying lazily with my heels.
I gave her a look, twisting my features in a way that told her of course not. She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“One o’ these days, you might wanna see someone more than once.”
“What for?” I threaded my arms through a work shirt and pulled it on. “That’s not what these clubs are about.”
“Maybe, but don’t ya ever just wanna have somebody there? Not even a boyfriend, just someone you got things in common with that you can spend time around.”
I smiled softly while I pulled my hair into a tight bun at the top of my head, ignoring the hairspray I hadn’t bothered to brush out.
“There’s no point. We’re always working, and we don’t spend enough time docked for it to matter.” I shrugged at her and tried to ignore the sad look in her eyes. “It is what it is.”
Kennia seemed resigned to the fact that she wouldn’t convince me otherwise.
With a pair of scissors, I snipped off my paper bracelet. It held a surprising number of memories, all centralized around the Italian. In all honesty, if I had a normal life, I might have gone to see him again. He’d managed to touch on so many buttons, so many things I liked without my telling him. That was a very rare person.
I set the bracelet in the spine of a book and left my bunk.
Kennia meant well. She always meant well, but I genuinely believed there was no point in forming a long-term relationship with anyone. As a steward on a yacht, I couldn’t offer anyone enough personal time to be a girlfriend, and I’d hit my limit for boyfriends. Perhaps it’d been a bit cynical, but when everyone I’d ever dated had left after learning what I like, I stopped telling them. I stopped dating.
What was the point? My perfect package didn’t exist. Besides, I was far from the kind of person people wanted to be with. Too much baggage.
Chapter Two
Six years later
The phone call had been unexpected, but what could one do when a friend needed help? One flies to Italy, of course.
Kennia had become a deckhand on the super-yacht known as The Silver Wind. She’d been with that particular vessel for just over a year when a member of the crew had been hurt on duty.
Janice, a stewardess, had fallen on some slick stairs. There’d been a pop when she’d hit the deck. A doctor’s visit later and they’d learned that she’d dislocated her shoulder. Surgery hadn’t been required, but she would be down for the count for some time.
While in the off season, the injury wouldn’t have been a problem. She’d have the chance to recuperate and heal, given minimal duties in the meantime. The trouble was The Silver Wind had a charter less than a week after she’d been injured. Janice wouldn’t have time to recover on the ship, and the crew would be lacking.
Down a stewardess, my name had crossed Kennia’s mind. I’d filled the position for a few years, but it’d been a while since then. Some skills tended to fade upon return to the civilian world. For example, I no longer vacuumed the walls of my apartment or crawled on my hands and knees to wipe away any and every fingerprint.
Since singing in bars didn’t pay all my bills, I’d been more than willing to give it a chance. I had the skills, even if I was a bit anemic, and was available on short notice. With Kennia to vouch for me, the opportunity had been presented and accepted.
I flew into Genoa, Italy, and took a cab to the docks to meet her. It’d been a long time since I’d traveled, and though I could’ve done without the multi-hour plane trip, I couldn’t deny the end result was worth it.
The sea glittered, sparkling when the waves rolled toward the shore. Mountains were decorated with buildings, both residential and commercial, but all old and unique. Genoa was a beautiful place, a glimpse into the past and without words.
When the taxi arrived, I paid, took my bag and headed for the water with Kennia’s directions rattling around in my head. In the end, it didn’t much matter. She met me near the street. I assumed she’d done so to avoid me getting lost.
Kennia’s face ignited with a thousand-watt smile, and she raced for me. She’d changed since the last time I’d seen her in person little more than a year ago.
Her dark skin played against her white uniform shirt and was just as perfect as it had always been. Being out at sea, even for a short charter, my skin tended to break out. It always had for some reason, but not Kennia’s. She could be on the water for months and no one would ever know. The woman had a complexion most anyone would kill for.
In fact, there were many times I guessed that the ocean air somehow made her skin glow even more than normal. Lucky.
“Oh, I’m so glad y’made it!” She looped her arms around me and squeezed.
“Oh God, Kennia.” I groaned when she held me tighter. “You trying to crush me?”
The woman might’ve been small in stature, but, Jesus, she was stronger than most grown men.
“Sorry.” She giggled and released her death-grip.
“Hair looks nice. What’s left of it, at least.”
She glared playfully, and while she knew I was kidding, she still ran her hand over her shorn locks.
Kennia used to have curls for days. Straightened, it fell to her shoulders, but because of the humidity at sea, seeing her let the curls run free had been more common. But regardless of the once-untamed mane, Kennia looked just as striking with her hair buzzed short.
“Yeah.” A crooked smile curled her lips. “I’s gettin’ bit tired of the hassle. Cut it ‘bout a year ago, actually.”
“How would I know?”
“Get a bloody Insta and you can follow me, hmm?” she said with a mocking edge. “Come on.” She hooked her elbow to mine. “Let’s get you situated, yeah?”
Arm in arm, we headed for the massive security gate that separated the street from the docks. She typed in the code and, once we entered, guided me down the path, filling my ears with the basic rundown of the situation.
We walked for what felt like miles, passing slip after slip after slip. We had gone so far that I began to wonder whether or not there even was a boat, until we reached the end of the line. The reason for the trek had become clear.
“An’ there she is,” Kennia said. “The Silver Wind.”
The yacht in question was enormous, beautiful and shining in the afternoon sun, but if I were being honest, it looked like every other over-priced vessel. The only real difference from the outside had been the color scheme. Instead of being so pristine and white that it could blind an onlooker from the right angle, The Silver Wind was, well, silver. A silver body with black, white and chrome accents did make it easier to spot in a crowd of floating money.
I let out a long, low whistle. “Two-hundred?”
“Close. Two-hundred and thirty-six feet.”
Who needs a boat that big?
“Layout’s a bit wonky,” she said as we boarded. “But all in all, you’ll get it.”
Kennia took me to the cabin we’d be sharing. She’d claimed the top bunk, as always, so I tossed my bag onto the bottom, and we left for the tour.
Two staples would be and always had been my anchors. The bridge was the highest point, so the captain could see everything. And the lowest point, the ‘below deck’, always had engineering, toys, sea deck and the entire living quarters for the staff, including the galley and the laundry room.
The two decks in between were a bit different and would take some time to memorize, but I was certain I could do it. I was less certain about the hidden stairwells and doors, however. Those would take a while.
Kennia led me to the bridge to meet the man in charge, Captain Gus Reeves. We found him standing at the computers checking an unknown number of important things. A tall man, slender in frame with stark-white hair, he looked like someone who could be the captain of a yacht.
“Gus,” Kennia said, alerting him to our presence. The captain glanced up, his pale-colored eyes sparkling through the lenses of his glasses. “This is my friend I’s tellin’ you ‘bout.”
“Ah.” He set his pen and reading glasses down. Flashing a smile, he rose to his feet and offered his hand. “Gus Reeves. Pleasure to meet you.”
He was American like me, which had been more surprising than people might assume. In my experience, most of the staff on a yacht tended to be Australian, from New Zealand or British. Maybe it was true of all yachts, maybe not, but I had worked with a very small percentage of people from the States.
“You too, sir.” I gave him a firm handshake.
“May I ask you a question?” Judging by his tone, I suspected what he planned to ask, so I chose to speak first.
“Yes, it’s my real name,” I replied. His thick brows rose in surprise.
“Really?”
“Yes, sir. My name really is Basil.”
From somewhere behind me, Kennia snickered. While I wanted to jerk back and smack her in the gut for it, I didn’t. It’d been a common response to my name.
Most people had an issue with it for the simple fact that it was strange. In England, Basil was a man’s name and, while not incredibly common, it was used. Perhaps the pronunciation also offered a bit of leeway. In America, though, and assigned to a woman, Basil remained weird. Many people had told me so.
“And I have a sister named Sage, and another named Rosemary. We’re waiting on the twins, Tarragon and Coriander.”
Captain Gus’ mouth fell slack and hung there for a moment. He seemed to struggle to say something, or at the very least think of something to say, but nothing emerged.
“She’s kiddin’,” Kennia told him. Gus relaxed a bit. “About the twins at least.”
I nodded. “There really is a Sage and a Rosemary. And I go by Bay.”
“Unique names.”
“Mom’s a hippie.”
He cleared his throat, nodded briskly and said, “Fair enough. Now, all your paperwork’s been filled out?”
“Yes, sir.” I’d been more than willing to move on, too.
“And the NDA?”
“Yes, sir.”
Working on a yacht meant hearing people’s secrets or witnessing them doing things they probably wouldn’t want someone on the outside to see. With usual clients ranging from celebrities, to politicians, to CEOs, an NDA was standard practice. Oh, the stories I could tell if I were allowed.
“Good. The clients will be here in the morning. It’s an eleven-day charter, and we’ll dock in Venice. Sound good?”
I smiled. “Sounds good, sir.”
“All right.” He gave a deep nod then turned his attention to Kennia. “Give her a nametag, the tour, introduce her to everyone and make sure she’s got some uniforms.”
Kennia stood up straight, clicking her heels together when she did, and saluted him.
“Aye, aye, Cap’n!”
He chuckled and shook his head while he returned to his work. Like before, Kennia hooked her elbow with mine and guided me out of the bridge. The tour commenced in more detail than before.
There were multiple sundecks, elegant dining rooms, an incredible kitchen and a few bars, living rooms, bedrooms, lavish bathrooms and a movie theater. I think I spotted a small gym as well. There was a pool, a sauna and a hot tub, too.
Who needs so much shit?
The Silver Wind was, in essence, a hotel on the water.
It would have been a lot to maintain, but I soon found out that, in a crew of fifteen, I would be one of five stewards, which had been a relief, but still meant I’d be working my ass off.
A fair bit of the crew had congregated in the galley during the few minutes I’d been gone, and the second she spotted them, Kennia began to introduce me. I had never been great with names, but the tags everyone had to wear would help.
“And that’s Chris.” Kennia pointed to a young man who looked barely out of high school sitting at a table. If his bearing hadn’t alluded to him being older, it might have freaked me out a bit.
“Pleasure, darlin’.”
His British accent was lovely, and while I could have been weirded out by his choice of pet names, it didn’t bother me. It held no undertone of any kind, instead sounding no different than an American ‘man’ or ‘dude’ tacked onto the end of a casual greeting.
I liked him, and being a fellow steward meant we would be spending a lot of time with each other.
Another stewardess had been Mandy, a Kiwi who had playful fights with Kennia on a regular basis about which country had better sporting teams. There was Tommy, a deckhand, and Ryan the chef, who offered a passing hello on his way to the kitchen to give the inventory one last check.
No sooner than he’d scampered off did Kennia spot me glancing him over. She whispered that he was currently taken, and I had been far from his type. With a coy smile, she jutted her chin in Chris’ direction. It seemed the two of them had been together for nearly ten months. That was a commendable time frame, considering working in close quarters with a partner could destroy a relationship as easily as build it.
Beyond those few, everyone else had either been asleep or tending to their duties.
I became certain in that moment that I would enjoy working on The Silver Wind.
* * * *
The following morning, mine and Kennia’s alarms began their horrendous chorus at seven a.m. We both tumbled out of bed and pulled on our uniforms that consisted of a polo shirt and dark slacks, shorts or a skirt. Kennia and I chose shorts.
While Kennia did her makeup, I tied my dark hair into a braid and secured it to the back of my head in a bun. As I painted my face in makeup, Kennia finished up in the bathroom then we switched again. I’d been glad that we fell into the routine we’d developed years prior—otherwise, we’d have spent the morning running into each other. Crew bunks were only a few feet by a few feet.
