Fiancée's Betrayal, Dante's Inferno novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: The Marguerite

She followed me down the dock without a word, carrying her toolbox.

It was almost dark.

The river was the color of pewter, and the lights in the marina office behind us had gone out.

At the Marguerite she stopped on the gunwale and looked down into the cabin.

"You've been living in this?"

"Three nights."

"There's a sock on the stove."

"It's drying."

"On the burner."

"It's not lit."

"You are a danger to my favorite boat," she said, and stepped down into the cabin with the toolbox swinging.

She set it on the table.

Then she turned around, and the little cabin was suddenly very small.

There were four feet between us.

The bunk was behind me, and the door behind her.

The lantern lit one side of her face and her braid and the freckles across her nose.

"I've been wanting to do this since Saturday," she said.

"Saturday I was sitting on this boat with a wrench."

"You were sitting in the dark in dress blues with your jaw like that," she said. "I nearly dropped mine."

She stepped in.

Her hand came up flat against my chest, over the ribbons I hadn't taken off.

She pushed me back until my knees hit the bunk.

I sat.

She stood over me with her thumbs in the straps of her coveralls.

"Tell me to stop," she said, "and I'll go back to my truck."

"Don't."

"Good."

She leaned down and kissed me.

It wasn't polite.

Her mouth was warm and sure and tasted like the coffee she'd drunk at noon.

She bit my lower lip, and I made a noise I hadn't made in fourteen months.

My hands found her hips and pulled her in between my knees.

She let out a breath into my mouth, half a laugh.

"There he is," she said.

I unbuckled the straps.

The coveralls dropped to her waist, and under them was the gray tank top, damp at the collar from the day.

I pulled it up over her head.

She wore a plain cotton bra, sturdy and a little worn.

Her breasts were heavy and freckled, and I put my mouth on the swell of one before she could say anything.

She dug her fingers into my hair.

"God, yes," she said. "Right there."

I pulled the cup down with my teeth and took her nipple into my mouth and sucked, slow and then harder.

She arched.

Her thighs shook against my arms.

"You've got no idea how long men have looked at me like a tool they can borrow," she said, breathing hard.

"You looked at me like you wanted to eat."

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