Dirty Damage: Chapter 24

“I can’t believe you actually jumped in.” Oleg’s voice carries across the water the moment I break the surface.

I swipe the saltwater from my eyes, gasping from the cold. My limbs feel frozen as I tread in place, trying to keep myself afloat while also hiding my naked body beneath the waves.

“You dared me to. I never back down from a dare.”

“Is that so?” He prowls closer through the gentle current. “You shouldn’t have told me that. I could dare you to do all kinds of dangerous things.”

“Skinny dipping with a scary Russian doesn’t count as dangerous?”

“Not even close.”

Taking a cold shower is supposed to clear your head, but mine is still foggy. The longer I look at Oleg—water streaming down his neck and shoulders, his powerful arms resting on the surface of the water like it takes no effort at all for him to float—the more I think he wouldn’t have to dare me, after all.

I’d climb him just for the fun of it.

“I figured you’d be more worried about what else was in this water.”

I tear my eyes from him to glance around. “What do you mean? What’s in the water? Are there sharks?!”

His laugh is low and rough. “Are you worried about sharks?”

“Everyone is worried about sharks, Oleg! Especially when they’re swimming naked in the ocean. Some of us have seen Jaws twelve times.”

“You watch too many movies.” He circles me slowly, like a shark himself. “The only predator you need to worry about out here is me.”

His leg brushes mind underwater and goosebumps explode across my skin. “Is that supposed to be reassuring? Because it’s not.”

“No?” He moves closer, sending little ripples across the surface. “Then why are you still here?”

The question hangs between us, weighted with meaning.

Why am I still here?

With him, on this boat, in his life?

He caught me at a low point, but I’ve clawed my way from the pits before, all without Oleg’s help. I could do it again if I wanted to.

Except maybe I don’t want to.

He’s moving closer, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips again and again.

“Maybe I like a little danger,” I whisper.

Suddenly, his strong arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against the hard wall of his chest. “Be careful what you wish for, princess.”

Then his mouth comes down on mine, and everything else—the ocean, the stars, my own racing thoughts—slip through my fingers like water through a sieve.

The only thing I can hold onto is him.

I’ve never been kissed like this before. Like I’m being consumed, devoured, claimed.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding and possessive. My hands grip his broad shoulders, fingers tangling in his wet hair as he deepens the kiss.

Time becomes fluid, meaningless. There’s only sensation—the cool slide of water against our skin, the heat of his mouth, the solid length of his desire pressed between my legs.

I roll myself against him and memorize the groan that claws out of his chest.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and trembling.

“Still worried about sharks?” he murmurs against my lips.

Honestly, no.

I’m just afraid he’ll never kiss me like this again.

And even more afraid of that admission.

So I curl my arm around his neck and pull him back to me until there’s only Oleg, and the endless night sky above us, and the growing certainty that I’m in way over my head.

But for once in my life, I don’t care about drowning.

His hands slide down my back, cupping my ass and pulling me closer. The water laps gently between us, but I can feel how hard he is against my stomach.

My nipples tighten into aching peaks, only partly from the cool water.

“We should get back to the boat,” he says.

“Why?” I wrap my legs around his waist, boldly grinding against him. “Are you afraid of sharks?”

“No. I’m afraid I’m going to fuck you right here in the ocean.”

Heat blooms between my legs. “What if I dared you?”

“No.” His voice is firm. “When I take you tonight, I want to see every inch of you. I want to watch you come apart under me. I can’t do that in murky water.”

He starts swimming back towards the yacht, pulling me along with powerful strokes.

My skin tingles with anticipation.

The ladder is cold against my feet as I climb up. Before I can reach the top, Oleg grabs me by the wrists and hauls me the rest of the way, plopping me on the teak deck between his dripping feet.

His hands steady me, then slide possessively down my sides.

I should feel exposed, vulnerable, standing naked on the deck while rivulets of cold water drip down my skin.

Instead, I feel powerful.

Desired.

The way Oleg is looking at me makes me feel more beautiful than any boudoir shoot ever could.

In one fluid motion, he has me pressed against the railing, his mouth hot on my neck.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters between kisses. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I really don’t. Because the memory of the man I saw sitting tall and proud behind his desk this morning feels like it’s from another lifetime.

I tip my head back as he kisses fire down my chest, staring up at the blanket of stars above us.

All of this is completely surreal.

I curl my fingers in Oleg’s damp hair, pulling him closer, arching myself into him. “Show me.”

He growls—actually growls—and lifts me like I weigh nothing, carrying me to the cushioned seats in the bow. The night air is cool on my wet skin, but his body is blazing hot as he covers me.

He kisses my throat and my collarbone. When his lips close around my nipple, I cry out, arching off the cushions.

He scrapes his teeth against my sensitive skin, sending sparks of pleasure-pain through me.

“Oleg.” His name stutters on my lips. “Please.”

He raises his head, gold eyes burning into mine. “Tell me what you want, Sutton.”

I don’t know what I want. Or, really, I can’t narrow it down.

Because I want it all. Everything he can give me.

I want to lose myself in him completely.

But that’s dangerous. It’s beyond the bounds of our contract, and I can’t ask him for that.

So I say the only safe thing I can.

“You. I want you.”

His lips curve into a predatory smile. Then he spreads my thighs wider and settles his broad body between them like he belongs there.

Like I was made for him.

His cock presses against me, thick and hard and all him.

I dig my nails into his shoulders, afraid he’s going to run away again. “Oleg…”

He studies my face, jaw clenched with determination. I can’t read his expression, can’t begin to guess what he’s thinking.

Maybe it’s better that way. This thing between us is complicated enough without trying to decipher the emotions swimming in those eyes.

A shiver runs through me—anticipation, not fear. I cling to him tighter, feeling the simmering strength in his muscles. The long stroke of his bare skin against me.

It hits me suddenly that this feels like my first time all over again. It’s the first time anyone has ever been inside of me skin-to-skin.

But instead of dreading what comes next, I’m aching for it.

“Oleg, please…”

He pushes inside me in one slow, powerful stroke. I cry out, my back arching off the cushions as I stare up at the star-strewn sky.

He’s huge—I knew that already, but feeling him fill me completely is something else entirely.

But I’m ready for him.

I’m soaking wet as he slides deeper, stretching me in the most delicious way.

My body has never responded like this before, never wanted someone this badly. He peppers hot kisses down my neck and chest, thrusting into me with a caged control that makes me want to scream.

When his tongue circles my nipple, I buck against him, silently begging for more.

I raise my hips to meet each thrust, my body moving on pure instinct because sex has never been like this.

Not with anyone.

But this is what I’ve been missing. This is the kind of sex everyone writes songs about, makes movies about, loses their minds over.

His fingers lace through mine as our eyes lock. The intensity in his gaze steals my breath.

His jaw tightens, those mesmerizing eyes growing brighter and brighter as his thrusts become deeper, harder.

I’m drowning in sensation, losing all control over my body. It doesn’t feel like mine anymore—it belongs to him, responds to him, exists only for his touch.

“Oh, God!” The cry bursts from me as pleasure builds unexpectedly in my core. I’ve never felt anything like this swelling, consuming heat.

Then it explodes.

I cry out as I cling to Oleg, clenching around him to the frantic beat of my heart.

He gasps like he can’t believe it, either.

Like, somehow, unbelievably, this might be a new experience for him, too.

He roars as he drives into me, cradling the top of my head with his hand to keep me from bashing my skull into the side of the yacht.

Even in the middle of an orgasm, he’s taking care of me.

I can’t believe I was ever afraid of him. That I thought he was a monster.

We come down to earth together, breathing hard.

I’m still limp when Oleg disentangles himself and goes looking for our clothes.

As I lie there alone, I can’t help but wonder if I’m letting myself be played for a fool. If I’m falling into the trap of my mother and my sister, letting sex blind me to every other fault.

Am I selling my body to the devil?

I don’t have an answer. But if it feels this good, I’m not sure I care.

A while later, we’re on the flybridge, watching the distant shoreline draw closer.

The sight of lights and buildings is a rude intrusion after the intimacy we’ve shared.

The real world, creeping back in uninvited.

Oleg pulls me onto his lap as he steers, his lips brushing my shoulder. For once, I don’t overthink the gesture.

“How old were you when you learned to sail?” I ask, genuinely curious about this side of him.

His arms tighten around me fractionally. “Very young. My sister and I were six when our father started teaching us.” A pause. “Oriana wasn’t as interested as I was, but she ended up being the better sailor.”

I twist to look at him. “You have a sister?”

“Had. I had a sister. Oriana was my twin.”

The darkness in his eyes when I was talking about Sydney earlier makes terrible sense now. The weight of the loss in his voice makes me want to cry.

“God, Oleg. I’m so sorry.”

He stares out at the dark water, expression distant. “It was a long time ago.”

“I don’t think time matters much with something like that,” I say softly. “If I lost Sydney… I can’t even imagine. Not if I lived for a hundred years.”

His eyes meet mine, the color in them softer now. “Yes. I suppose that’s true for me, too.”

My heart aches for him, for the boy he must have been. I want to hold him, comfort him somehow, but I sense he’d pull away if I tried.

“Can I ask how she died?”

Faye warned me he wouldn’t open up. I’m pushing my luck. Just because we slept together doesn’t mean anything.

We’re contractually-obligated fuck buddies, not friends.

But his fingers flex against my waist as he takes a deep breath. “It was a boating accident. The same one that killed my girlfriend. The same one that gave me these scars. They were both eighteen. Best friends.”

My skin prickles with goosebumps. “We don’t have to talk about this,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He shakes his head, simultaneously releasing his grip on me.

I wonder if he even realizes he’s done it, this instinctive withdrawal.

“It’s easier to talk about them out here,” he says, voice rough. “Easier to remember them. On the water, where we spent so much time together.”

“You loved them.”

He doesn’t answer, but I can see it in his eyes well enough. I feel a strange, slightly unfamiliar pang.

A twinge of sadness for his lost sister.

A twinge of jealousy for his lost love.

“Who do you usually talk about them with?”

His brows draw together. “What do you mean?”

“You said you don’t talk about them often, but when you do, it’s out here. I’m wondering who you share these memories with.”

“Myself, mostly.”

Without thinking, I reach out to touch his face. He allows it, which feels like its own kind of miracle.

“You’re the first person I’ve told in a long time.”

I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. “I’m glad you shared this with me. I’m good with stuff like this… talking, emotions, past traumas.”

“Are you now?”

I blush under his unblinking gaze. “What I’m not good at is… what we just did.”

“Sex?”

I nod, feeling oddly vulnerable given everything we just shared.

“I have proof that’s not true. It was—” He clears his throat. “It was good for me.”

“It was— Er— Yeah,” I splutter. “Me, too. I just… I’m usually too in my head about it. Overthinking everything.”

His eyebrow arches. “But not just now?”

“No. It was different with you.” It takes all my courage to get the words out. I wait with bated breath for his reaction.

But apart from a slight softening of his eyes, he gives nothing away.

“Then it’s a good thing you signed my contract,” he says at last.

I lean back against his chest, watching the shoreline grow closer.

I don’t respond. There’s nothing left to say.

Besides, he’s right. For all my regrets in life—and there are many—signing that contract isn’t one of them.

Not anymore.