The Wild Heir(95)

“You certainly are.”

He lifts the towel off his head and tilts his head toward me, my own brazenness reflected in his aviator shades. “Where’s Einar?”

A throat is cleared from the cockpit. “Right here, sir.”

Ah yes. Exactly why I wanted to go for a swim. It’s too hot below and when you’re on deck, well, Einar seems to be everywhere.

Magnus lifts his head and looks at him. “Yes. There you are.” He looks to me. “Shall we?”

We both get up and before I can even think about what’s next, Magnus is running down the deck and launching off the side, doing a full summersault before he splashes into the ocean in a perfect dive.

Show off.

I go to the edge and look over. “Were you a gymnast in another life?”

He’s treading in the aqua-blue water, his hair slick off his forehead as he stares up at me. “I don’t know.” He looks down the yacht toward Einar. “What would you rate that?!” he yells at him.

“Eight out of ten, sir,” Einar says.

“Only eight?” Magnus decries. “That was a perfect landing.”

“You went in with your sunglasses, sir, which are no doubt sinking to the bottom.”

“Shit,” Magnus swears. He looks to me. “Ella, come in before I make Einar throw you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” I tell him.

“Einar,” he commands.

Einar gets up, makes a motion to walk toward me.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” I tell them quickly, carefully stepping over the railing. No way that man is throwing me overboard.

I stand on the edge, take in a deep breath, and jump.

The water is colder than you’d think, especially with the temperature outside being so hot, and it’s a shock to my system. I also feel like I’m sinking way further than I should, but then I feel Magnus’s hand on my arm, pulling me up to the surface.

I yelp once I break through, spitting out water. “Gah, it’s cold!”

“Stop being a wimp,” Magnus says.

“I’m not a wimp,” I protest, treading water around him. “You’ve got crazy Norwegian blood.”

“I also have a crazy Norwegian cock,” he murmurs, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me toward him. His eyes have gone from being light and teasing to half-glazed with arousal.

I grin at him. “You missed out on a serious Norwegian Wood pun. I’m very disappointed in you.”

“You’re right. Guess I was a bit distracted.” He looks over my shoulder and up at the boat, judging to see if Einar can see us our not. To be safe, while he’s still got a hold around me, he starts swimming backward until we’re just beside the anchor at the stern.

“Now, where was I?” he says, his eyes dropping to my lips.

It’s funny how just a look from him can get my body revved and running. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he slips his fingers to the front of my bathing suit, rubbing them against me.

“Here?” I ask, looking around. Even though Einar can’t see us, it doesn’t mean passing boats can’t. I know that the paparazzi hasn’t discovered us in the Canary Islands yet, but all it takes is one photo.

That said, I’m sure a couple having sex on their honeymoon will be forgiven.

“Hold onto the chain,” he whispers, leaning over and taking my lower lip between his teeth and tugging on it.

A small moan escapes from my lips, the pressure from his fingers growing harder. He reaches down with his other hand to free his cock from his shorts while I grab the anchor chain.

“No, up high,” he says.

I raise my arms above my head and hold onto the chain that way.

“God you’re fucking sexy,” he growls, staring at my breasts as my chest is thrust forward. Then he grabs the chain with one hand, just below where I’m holding on.

“You got it?’” I ask as his lips go to my neck, sucking the salt water off me.

“Mhmm.” He pushes aside my bikini bottom and runs the tip of his cock up and down my slit, teasing oh so slowly.

I’ve never had sex in the water before—before Magnus, I’d never had sex standing up before, let alone in public—and I’m grateful that he gets me wet and greedy so fast, because when he starts to push in, I feel everything. I suck in my breath, my fingers clamping around the chain, trying to hold on.

“You’re making me see stars,” he tells me, licking my earlobe. “I’ll take it slow until you tell me otherwise.”

I nod and let out my breath, feeling myself expand around him. The pressure of his fingers on my clit fills me with an aching hollowness, like I need more of him inside, like I’ll never have enough of him.

“That’s it,” he groans, mouth at my neck. “Fuck yes. Oh, Ella. Tell me how this feels to you. How fucking hard and thick does my cock feel? Do you want me deeper?”

I fumble for words. I make a sound of dazed encouragement and try to breathe, my head back to the blue sky above. He starts pumping into me faster, deeper, controlled jabs of his hips against mine. The friction of the water seems to slow down time, making me feel every single inch of him as he thrusts in and out.

I don’t know if it’s the turquoise water of the Atlantic that envelopes us or the stark sunshine that illuminates everything, but I’ve never felt so alive and free and wild. I’m being thoroughly fucked by my husband, by my world, and I think with every thrust he’s imprinting himself on me.