Pleasure Cruise (4 page)

The hot water caressed Clare’s skin, easing the tension she carried in her shoulders. The sensations made her moan in delight. The bathroom suite was almost as large as the bedroom in her apartment. She never understood why someone would want a couch in the bathroom, but this one had two of them. That gave it one more than her apartment had. It was a bit depressing and she tried not to dwell on it.

Actually, it was strange. Everyone she’d talked to warned her that the staterooms were really small and cramped. She’d expected a tiny single sleeper bed hanging on the wall next to a minuscule dresser and wardrobe. How much had Kira paid for these larger rooms?

She and Kira had done well making lives for themselves. They’d come from basically nothing, and now had fabulous educations and great-paying jobs. It didn’t matter that work consumed most of their waking hours, or that the only men they met were colleagues who either used them for their position or just plain old used them. Sure, it was lonely sometimes and it hurt each time a relationship didn’t work out. But what could she do? She and Kira had worked too long and too hard to let the men who ventured into their lives interfere with their plans.

Clare looked up and thought about the room beyond the glass door and shook her head, still not believing she was in a place like this. It had taken her a good five minutes to decide between the large whirlpool tub with interestingly placed massage jets and the gigantic shower. The gaudy little cherubs hugging onto the bathtub faucet had been the deciding factor. As much as she wanted to love the idea of fat little child-like carvings staring at her while she bathed, she couldn’t bring herself to soak in the tub. She chose the shower.

Clare groaned as the tension continued to melt off her, spilling down the drain with the hot water. If not for her telling Kira she’d meet her in an hour for orientation, she would’ve considered taking a little more “personal” time to really relieve the travel tension from her body. Good thing she’d brought a little late night backup in her bag. Battery-operated pleasures were the only form of sex she’d gotten lately. They always did the trick, never complained and, most importantly, never cheated on her.

She frowned at the thought of her last relationship and concentrated on the toy she’d brought on the trip with her. Good thing Kira hadn’t seen it in her bag. Clare would never have heard the end of it. Let her friend think she was completely dead between the legs. Everyone else did. Mr. Jackass—as Kira had so affectionately dubbed him—did. The name fit him perfectly. He was a complete and utter jackass. But damned if he didn’t have a few talents she missed.

Even alone in the shower, Clare blushed and then giggled. She worked her hair back, pulling the long wet strands from her face as she rubbed in conditioner. Well, at least the vibrator worked on command and didn’t tell placating lies to lure her to it. Not to mention it always stayed hard.

A shiver went up her spine. The mood in the room changed and it was as if someone was in there with her. She blinked, turning to quickly rinse the conditioner out of her hair. In her haste, she ended up peering out of one conditioner-filled eye. Clare yelped, shoving her face under the water. The conditioner threatened to burn a hole clean through her head if she didn’t tend to it immediately.

“Kira? Is that you?” No answer. “Kira, if I end up blind because of you, you’re dead. This organic conditioner you gave me sucks, by the way. What is it made out of, acid? And you better stay out of my bags!” As soon as she said it, she regretted it. She’d all but told her friend that her bags contained something she didn’t want her to see. It would be too much for Kira to pass up.

“Kira?” she called, finally able to see out of her right eye again.

Clare waited for an answer, knowing if Kira had been in her room she wouldn’t have been able to resist the setup to make fun of her choice of wardrobe—blue jeans and T-shirts and, lest she forget, the almighty pajama pants. Should Kira manage to stifle her laughter long enough to get past her drab choice of clothing, she’d never let her live down the cotton “granny undies” she’d packed too. They weren’t old lady undies so much as they weren’t Kira’s panties. Normally people called thongs and crotchless panties by their given names but Clare just referred to them as Kira-wear.

If Kira had her way, she’d force Clare to wear dresses—not just any dresses, but ones that just barely covered a thong up her ass. She swore Kira bought her wardrobe at Whores-R-Us and she couldn’t understand her friend’s compelling need to wear nothing but leather and lace. Sure, Kira pulled it off without looking like a hooker, but that was not something Clare could do. The one time Kira had been allowed to play dress-up with her, she’d been propositioned like a whore by about twelve sweaty guys. She’d ended up hiding the whole night in the dance club’s restrooms. Naturally, Kira had jokingly told her she should’ve taken the money.

“Kira?” Clare paused. “Are you in here? Can you help me with something?”

Clare relaxed when Kira didn’t answer, again becoming distracted by the warm water. She moaned, low and throaty, unable to help it as the hip-level showerhead sent a warm sensation between her soaked legs. It was an unexpected but most welcome feeling.

The water’s caress was wonderful. All of a sudden, it felt like strong fingers ran over her flesh in long, tender strokes. She gasped lightly, closing her eyes. One hand gripped onto the shower door, her fingers working absently against the glass, as the other found the far wall. Was it just her imagination or was the shower beating harder against her skin?

Her breasts strained beneath the hot downpour of water. Pleasurable sensations shot throughout her, radiating from her nipples over her body. She gasped for breath. She didn’t know how it happened but she felt her body peaking against the flow of water. The muscles in her lower abdomen tightened, warning of the impending orgasm. She became mindless to everything but the hot, throbbing need for release.

Clare kept her eyes closed tight, fighting her body as it sought its greedy fulfillment.
Not… yet… no.
She clutched a rail, pulling at it to keep standing as her knees buckled. Each swipe of the water pushed her closer to that unseen edge. She imagined the feel of lips on her nipples, sucking gently, making a hot shock of desire flood her limbs. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from crying out—the need to scream became so massive she feared she couldn’t contain it. The last thing she wanted was Kira running in to find her masturbating with water.

It had been so long since her body had been excited to such an extent. She was afraid to look, afraid to move, afraid to open her eyes, afraid it would stop if she did. She panted in ragged breaths, gasping mindlessly for air. Senseless, she gyrated against the water, letting the pounding droplets skim over her clit. She could almost feel the hovering heat of a cock head near her wet pussy, even though nothing was there. It rubbed lightly along her wet slit, up and down, up and down, teasing her ready opening with its presence. Her hips strained, searching for it, searching for the sweet feeling of release. Never had her imagination felt so real.

Had it been so long that she now was forced to recreate the pleasure of a cock in her mind? The answer to that question scared her. She buried the thought deep within her brain and locked it away.

The shower hit harder upon her clit, sending liquid waves of desire coursing through her blood as it vibrated hard and hot against her tender flesh. She rocked herself against it, enjoying the erotic feel as tremors racked at her body. She clutched at the wall, the door, herself. She slid her hands over her breasts, toying with her now tender nipples, dipping to part the folds of her clenching pussy. Each stroke sent her muscles into tightening fits. Clare rode the waves of her orgasm one right after another. She’d never been a very orgasmic woman and was surprised to find herself brought to such a fierce climax by a shower.

Clare whimpered softly as pleasure ran rampant through her, knowing she had to stay quiet lest Kira hear her and come running. Her head fell back on her shoulders as she once more fought for control over her shaking limbs. It was almost too much to bear.

A low moan sounded. Clare stopped. Did she just make that sound? She stood, shower beating in a steady rhythm as she listened. All beyond the shower was silent.

She chuckled nervously, as images of possible voyeurs played in her head. Wouldn’t that have been lovely? It would just be her luck that she’d find her first real orgasm in nearly a year and the creepy, oversized porter would be the one to share it with her.

“Have a nice day.” She heard the monotone voice in her head.

Taking a deep breath, she turned off the shower. Pushing the hair back from her face, she wrung what water she could from it. Then, pushing open the stall door, she stepped out on wobbly legs. It bounced shut behind her, making a loud crash. The temperature in the bathroom was perfect and she was glad she’d remembered to turn the thermostat on.

Rubbing the water from her eyes, she blinked, reaching to the side of the shower for her towel. Her fingers met with the wall. She glanced up, frowning, arms still outreached and searching.

“
Mm
,” came a deep voice as smooth as silk. “The brochure didn’t mention this in its list of entertainments. I’d have been inclined to book a cruise sooner if it had.”

Clare jolted in surprise. She blinked as she turned to the sound. Her mouth fell open in shock. That was no creepy porter sitting on the small couch along the bathroom wall. For a moment she couldn’t move, couldn’t comprehend that the most gorgeous guy she’d ever laid eyes on had watched her take a shower—had been watching her as she pleasured herself, as she played with her nipples, as she came over and… Clare was speechless. She stared, fearfully waiting for the man to disappear. Her mind raced as she tried to remember what they’d taught her in self-defense class.

His short dark hair was tipped with blond highlights, not so much in a “streaky boy band” way, but more of a “sexy adult you want to eat him for breakfast” sort of way. His hair was longer on top and a stray lock fell over his temple, directing her gaze to his dark, penetrating eyes. Orbs of deep brown gazed lazily at her, sated from the sex show she’d just starred in. His expression seemed almost playful, kind, like he was only teasing her. He seemed familiar. It was almost as if she knew him. But that was impossible.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. Confusion passed over his face. “Could you not detect me here?”

Clare blinked, wondering at the strange sense of calmness that washed over her at his words. Her body relaxed and she no longer felt scared. It was almost like the emotions were coming from outside her. She shook her head, not understanding.

Shouldn’t she try to run? The man’s eyes turned away briefly to the floor, his posture non-threatening. Clare was overwhelmed with a sense of safety.

“This is crazy,” she whispered, mesmerized. “Who are you?”

The man wore a fitted black shirt. It molded to his muscles, leaving nothing to the imagination. Clare’s body responded instantly. A wave of pleasure swept throughout her again. No doubt leftovers from the stimulating shower experience.

Mere seconds passed like minutes. She was sure it was just the aftermath of pleasure from the showerhead that made her knees weak and her heart race, but he was so perfect, so close, so cute. Her gaze drifted over his flat stomach to where his tight leather pants molded to his hips and legs. A foot rested leisurely over a knee, framing the biggest bulge she’d ever seen between a man’s thighs.

Clare gasped and couldn’t look away. The man’s smile was deliberate and sultry. His gaze traveled over her naked flesh in ill-concealed appreciation. A low sound emerged from the back of his throat, animalistic and raw.

He smiled, not moving from his seat. A chill went over her at the sound of his voice. It was as if he caressed her without touching her. His tone gentle, he added, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Clare shook herself back to reality. What was she doing just standing there? She screamed, though the sound of it was odd after having stood for so long staring. Glancing at the door, she tried to hide her body from him with her hands and arms. All she wanted was to be covered. Now.

“Would you like a towel?” he asked. Her eyes flew to his and he offered up a small hand towel to her, swinging it back and forth between them. “It’s the only one I can find over here. I’d stand up to look, but I’m afraid you’ll try to hurt me.”

Was he serious?

Clare screamed again, not knowing how else to react. Bending down, she grabbed the small trash bin and threw it at him. It cracked him in the forehead. He looked shocked by her actions but she really didn’t care. The only other thing even close to her was a fake plant on the floor. Grabbing it, she hurled it at him and ran past him, through the bathroom door to the bedroom. She looked for her duffel bag full of clothes. It was missing. Seeing the red silk coverlet on the bed, she dove onto the mattress. Within seconds, she had the silk wrapped to her wet, naked body. Snatching a rather odd-shaped lamp off the nightstand, she jerked the cord from the wall and held it above her head as she searched the room for a phone. She’d call security and get this man’s sexy ass tossed overboard. Who did he think he was?