My Maid of Honor Took My Groom, So His Best Man Took Me novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Slip Nine

On his father's sloop Kirsten tells him plainly what she wants and takes it, twice, and in the dark he gives her the date Shea returned his ring; a voicemail from her father ends the night.

I put his phone face down on the console, and I was still shaking, and I did not want the shaking to stop.

"Take me somewhere with a bed," I said.

Brennan stood up out of the chair.

"The Dory Anne," he said. "She's at slip nine. It's a forward bunk and a very small door."

"Is that your boat?"

"She's my father's, and I live on her until October," he said.

"Good. Then there's no one to wake up."

I took my phone from the pile of white skirt and slid it into the pocket of his gray coat.

He wrapped the coat around my shoulders over the slip, and we walked down the empty pier together in the dark.

The boat was a wooden sloop with a varnished rail and a low cabin hatch.

He went down the ladder first and held up his hand for me.

I came down into a space that smelled of cedar and rope and lamp oil.

There was a galley the size of a closet and a little table.

Past it, a narrow bunk was built into the bow, with a blue wool blanket pulled tight.

I stood at the foot of it and turned around.

Brennan filled the cabin from floor to ceiling.

He had to duck his head under the beam.

"Take your shirt off," I said.

He undid his waistcoat, and then his shirt, and dropped both on the table.

His chest was broad and hard, with dark hair across it and a long pale scar along the ribs.

A tattoo of a compass rose sat over his heart.

I put my palm flat on the compass, and under it his heart was going fast.

"You're nervous," I said.

"Yes."

"You captain a hundred-ton boat," I said.

"I'm not nervous about the boat."

I laughed, and I kissed him.

I had not kissed him yet, I realized, and neither of us had expected it to take this long.

His mouth was warm and tasted like coffee and a little of me.

He kissed steadily and without hurry, one hand sliding up into my hair and the other pressed low on my back.

I pulled his belt open.

"Kirsten."

"Tell me," I said against his lips. "What do you want?"

"I want you to do what you want."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one that's true." His voice cracked. "Everything you do to me, I'm going to like."

I pushed his trousers down and wrapped my hand around him.

He was hard and thick and hot in my fist, and heavy, and a drop of wetness was already on the tip.

He groaned and let his head fall back against the beam.

"God. Lindholm."

"Say it again," I said.

"Kirsten."

I stroked him once, from base to tip, and watched his stomach go tight.

"Lie down," I said.

He lay back on the blue blanket.

I peeled off the slip and the stockings and climbed on top of him, naked, with my knees on either side of his hips.

He looked at me for a long, stunned moment.

"Christ," he said. "Look at you."

"Don't just look."

"I'm going to look anyway." His hands came up to my waist. "You are the best thing I have ever seen, and you're sitting on my lap."

I took him in my hand and lined him up, and I sank down onto him slowly.

It hurt a little, the good kind, stretching, and he was so much that I stopped halfway and breathed.

"Easy," he said. "You're doing so well. Take your time."

"Shut up and let me."

"Yes, ma'am."

I took another inch, and another.

I was seated all the way down with him buried deep, and we both made a sound.

"Oh, fuck," I said.

"Yeah." His fingers dug into my hips. "You feel unbelievable. You're so tight, and so hot, I can feel every part of you."

I rocked forward and back, just once, to find it.

Pleasure rolled up my spine.

"There," he said. "That's it. Do that again."

I did it again.

I put my hands on his chest and found a rhythm, slow and deep.

My hips ground down at the bottom of every stroke.

His eyes never left me.

"Look at you move," he said. "God, you're beautiful like this. Take what you want. That's right. Use me."

My whole body flushed hot.

I had never been told to take anything.

Todd had lain on his back and waited for me to finish, and he'd said it was good, and I had believed him.

"Brennan," I said. "Again. Say it again."

"Use me. Ride me. You're doing exactly what I want you to do."

I went faster.

The old bunk creaked under us and the whole boat moved a little at its lines.

He slid a hand between us, and his thumb found my clit and rubbed it in tight little circles.

"Oh. Oh, my God."

"You're close. I can feel you getting tighter." His voice was ragged. "Come on my cock, Kirsten. Let me feel it. You're so good at this, you're so fucking good."

I came hard.

It broke up through my belly and I cried out, and my hips jerked down on him.

I heard myself say his name over and over.

He held me through it with both big hands on my waist.

When I sagged forward onto his chest, he rolled us over so smoothly that I only felt the blanket under my back.

He braced over me on his forearms, still inside me.

"Don't stop," I said.

"I'm not going to stop," he said. "I haven't finished."

He started to move, deep and steady, and I wrapped my legs around his back and dragged him closer.

"Harder."

He gave it to me.

He drove into me with long strokes that rocked the bunk against the hull.

The sound of it was slick and wet and filthy.

"Look at me," he said.

I opened my eyes.

His face was right above mine, flushed, and his jaw was clenched, and he was looking at me and nothing else.

"That's it. Stay with me. I'm going to come inside you."

"Yes," I said.

"Say you want it."

"I want it. Brennan, I want it, I want all of it."

He thrust twice more, hard, and his whole body locked.

He groaned my name into my neck, and I felt him pulse inside me, hot and long.

I held him there until he stopped.

He stayed, breathing hard, with his forehead on my shoulder.

Slowly the boat settled.

After a while he turned his face and kissed my collarbone.

"I wasn't planning that," he said.

"Which part?"

"Any of it. I planned to drive you to your father's and stand on the porch," he said.

"I'm glad you didn't."

"So am I."

We lay there for a while in the dark with the water slapping the hull.

He pulled the blanket up over my shoulder and over his own, and I traced the scar on his ribs with one finger.

"What's this one?"

"A mooring cleat. I was nineteen and stupid," he said.

"And the tattoo?"

"A compass. My father's idea." He caught my hand. "Shea used to say it was cliché."

I held still.

"She said she gave you the ring back in March," I said.

"The ninth. A Monday. In my truck, in the ferry lot."

"And she asked you to stay quiet."

"Until after your summer." He looked at the beam. "She cried. I'm not good with that."

"No."

"She told me a lot of things about you," he said. "I won't repeat them. I want to find out for myself."

"Shea told me a lot of things too."

He did not say anything else.

Neither did I, and eventually his arm came around me and the rocking of the boat took us both.

Some time later his hand woke me, warm and slow, moving down my hip.

The cabin was black and the hull ticked in the cold.

He lay behind me with his chest against my back, and he was hard again, pressed along the cleft of my ass.

"Tell me if I'm too much," he murmured into my hair.

"You're not."

"Tell me what you want, then. I like hearing it."

"I want you inside me again," I said. "Like this. Slow."

"Lift your knee."

I lifted it, and he guided himself into me from behind, an inch at a time, and I felt every inch of it.

My breath left me in a long shaking sigh.

"There you go," he said. "You take me so well. You're so wet, you're still open from before."

He did not hurry.

His arm came under my neck and the other hand slid around my front.

His fingers found my clit and rolled over it, lazy and sure.

"Just feel it," he said. "You don't have to do anything. I'll do it all."

"Brennan."

"I know. I've got you. You're getting tight again. You're going to come for me twice in one night, aren't you?" he said.

"Maybe."

"Yes, you are," he said, and he was right.

It rose through me slow, a long tide, and I came with my mouth open against the pillow, silent, shuddering in his arms.

He followed me with a low groan and a deep last thrust, and I felt him spill inside me again.

I fell asleep with his hand still spread low on my belly.

Hours later I woke in the dark with my phone buzzing in the pocket of the coat on the floor.

Forty-one missed calls.

Most of them were Todd.

The last one was a voicemail from a number I knew by heart.

I put it to my ear.

"Kirsten, it's Dad. Todd's mother called me. She said there was some kind of a scene." A pause, and the sound of him breathing. "Are you hurt? Call me. I'm awake."

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