The Thought of Him

~Siena~

God. I need to stop.

I tried telling myself to shut up. I tried forcing my trembling legs to sit still. I tried breathing in slow, measured counts to clear the heavy fog from my brain. I lay flat on my back and stared up at the wood-paneled ceiling of the yacht’s guest cabin. I counted the small recessed lights. I forced my mind to catalogue the contents of my suitcase. Did I pack my sunscreen? Did I bring the right sandals for the upper deck? I threw every mundane, boring thought I could find at the wall, but nothing stuck.

Nothing could compete with the raw, consuming image of him.

Every innocent little distraction burned away the second my mind conjured Vaughn Kensington. I pictured him standing in his master cabin right next door to mine. I imagined him completely shirtless. His broad, heavily muscled chest heaving with deep breaths. Maybe he was holding a heavy crystal glass of amber whiskey in his left hand. And his right hand... his right hand was wrapped tight around his thick, heavy cock. I envisioned him stroking his own massive length in the dim light. I could practically hear his deep, rumbling voice growling my name under his breath. Claiming me through the walls. Treating my name like something that belonged exclusively to him.

I am going to touch myself.

Pretending is useless now. The craving is too deep. My thighs tremble uncontrollably against the mattress. My panties are already a ruined, soaked mess. I feel the slick slide against my sensitive skin with every tiny micro-movement I make. This is not just a little nervous dampness.

This is hot, pooling, heat-blooming wetness. The kind of wetness that demands attention. My clit throbs so hard it sends sharp, shooting aches straight up into my abdomen.

I roll onto my side. A ragged breath tears out of my lungs. I did not even realize I was holding it in. My heart hammers a frantic, heavy rhythm against my ribs.

My skin burns with a desperate flush. I still have my light floral sundress on, but the hem is bunched up around my waist. The soft fabric is tangled around my hips, and I do not even remember dragging it up there. My subconscious took over before my rational mind could stop it.

I slide my palm down over my bare stomach. I bite down on my lower lip hard enough to taste copper. My chest heaves with shallow pants. I know exactly what is about to happen. I am about to go feral.

I hook my index finger into the thin lace waistband of my panties. I drag the fabric down slowly. I let the soaked cotton cling to my slick skin for a torturous heartbeat before I shove the garment down past my thighs. I kick them down to my knees.

I spread my legs apart. Just a few inches. Just enough for the cool, air-conditioned breeze of the cabin to hit the dripping mess between my thighs. I hiss sharply through my clenched teeth. Even that invisible, weightless touch sends a vicious shockwave straight up my spine.

I am so wet. So stupidly, embarrassingly slick. My pussy is swollen and heavy. The delicate pink folds glisten in the dim light of the bedside lamp. I look down and see the thick, sticky strands of my own arousal pooling at my entrance. The sight alone makes my core clench in anticipation.

I press two trembling fingers into my wet folds. I drag them upward in a slow, agonizing slide from my slick entrance right over my swollen clit.

I moan. Loud. Raw. A guttural, shameless, genuine sound that forces me to slap my own hand over my mouth a second later.

Panic spikes through the thick haze of lust. What if he heard that?

What if Vaughn heard me moan through the thin wall separating our cabins?

What if he knows exactly what I am doing in here? What if he knows he is the reason my fingers are dripping with wetness?

That thought makes my pussy clench so hard a whimper builds in the back of my throat. The taboo danger feeds the fire. The risk of him listening makes the ache ten times worse. My fingers start moving again. Faster this time. More desperate.

My middle finger circles my sensitive clit. Tight. Slow. Deliberate friction. The second my hips rock up to meet my own hand, I lose the battle. I am gone. I cannot stop.

My rational mind shatters into a million pieces.

I whisper his name into the empty room without meaning to. I do not even try to hold the sound back anymore. I let it slip past my bruised lips. A dirty secret. A desperate prayer. A filthy confession.

"Vaughn…"

Saying his name out loud sounds so dirty coming from me. So filthy. It feels so wrong and so incredibly perfect at the exact same time.

I slide my two slick fingers down and push them deep inside my tight hole. My pussy clenches around my digits instantly, like my body was made specifically for this stretch. My internal muscles milk my fingers with a greedy rhythm.

I let out another ragged moan. I bury my face into the soft white pillow to muffle the sound. My legs spread wider apart. My knees fall open. My body gives in to the heavy, pulsing ache. My mind breaks apart under the sheer force of the arousal.

I curl my fingers deep inside my cunt. My spine arches off the mattress so fast I nearly cry out from the sudden jolt of pleasure. I am tight. I am aching. I am throbbing around my own hand like I have been starved of this touch for weeks.

I close my eyes tight and imagine it is him.

I replace my small hand with his in my mind. I picture his long, calloused fingers. Rougher. Thicker. Dominant. Unforgiving. I imagine him pressing deep inside my wet hole while leaning his massive frame over me. I hear his dark, rumbling Alpha voice whispering right against my ear. He tells me I am his now. He tells me this tight little pussy belongs only to him. He tells me I am not allowed to cum until he gives me strict permission.

I imagine him pinning my wrists above my head on the mattress. Holding me down with effortless strength while I squirm and cry and beg for his thick cock to fill me up.

I rub my clit faster. Harder. More frantic.

My fingers are soaked now. Dripping with hot slick. My hand makes loud, sloppy, filthy little sounds that echo in the quiet silence of the cabin. I am panting heavily. Sweat beads on my forehead and rolls down my flushed chest.

I hump my own hand like a woman possessed by a demon. My thighs shake uncontrollably. My stomach muscles tighten into hard knots. The pressure builds at the base of my spine, heavy and demanding. I know I am close. The edge is right there, hovering just out of reach. I know I am about to cum.

"Please, Daddy." I whisper the forbidden title into the sheets.

The second the word leaves my mouth, the orgasm crashes through my nervous system like a violent tidal wave.

"Fuck… oh God… yes, Daddy… yes, yes, yes, right there, please—"

My pussy clamps down on my fingers with brutal force. My stomach locks up. Hot, thick slick gushes out of my core. The warm liquid coats my knuckles and drips in heavy streams down the backs of my shaking thighs.

My clit pulses wildly. My head falls back against the headboard. My eyes roll back so far I think I might actually pass out from how devastatingly good it feels.

I keep moaning into the pillow. I cannot stop the sounds from tearing out of my throat. I grind my slick, swollen cunt against the heel of my palm like I am starving for the friction. My chest heaves with every ragged breath. My whole body is shaking. I do not care if anyone hears me anymore.

I want him to hear me. I want Vaughn to hear the desperate, broken way I scream his name when I climax. I want him to know how hard I cum just from picturing his face and his hands. I want him to know this absolute mess is his fault.

My moans turn animalistic and guttural. My voice cracks and breaks. The words bleed into disjointed, desperate pleas. It is not even language anymore. Just pure need.

"Ahh—fuck—yes, yes—so deep—oh God—it hurts—feels so good—I cannot stop—I want it—I want your cock—I need it—Daddy—please—fuck me—"

I reach down with my free hand. I pinch and rub my throbbing clit fast and tight, while my other fingers pump ruthlessly in and out of my soaked cunt. The friction is blinding. I am right on the edge of a second break.

"Please—please, knot me—breed me—I want it—I want your knot inside me, Daddy—"

Rational thought is dead. I am not even thinking anymore. I am just a begging, weeping mess of hormones and heat.

And then it happens.

The climax rips through my core with such devastating force that I actually scream. I bite down into the pillowcase and scream from the sheer, overwhelming intensity of the release.

"DADDY—OH FUCK—YES—YES, PLEASE—OH GOD, I’M COMING—"

My legs snap shut. My thighs crush my hand between them as my entire body convulses on the bed. I sob loudly into the cotton pillow. My fingers curl tight inside my wet hole. My cunt clenches and spasms until it physically aches deep in my pelvis.

My toes point hard. My lips tremble. Another massive flood of slick rushes over my hand and soaks the sheets. I do not stop. I keep rubbing my swollen flesh. I keep moaning his name. I ride the intense aftershocks like my soul is on fire, knowing his name is the only thing that can extinguish the flames.

And then.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Siena?"

My blood turns to solid ice.

I freeze. My limbs lock up. My body jerks violently like someone just shoved a live wire against my spine. My hand flies away from my pussy so fast I nearly slap my own thigh.

My legs clamp shut so fast my knees collide. My breath gets trapped deep inside my throat. My body is still twitching, still pulsing, still leaking slick onto the mattress, but pure, unfiltered panic replaces the lust in a millisecond.

My eyes snap wide open. I am staring at the ceiling in sheer terror. I am covered in my own cum. I am caught red-handed. My best friend is standing right on the other side of that wooden door.

"Siena, are you in there?"

It is Chloe.

I stare up at the ceiling. I pray for the yacht floor to suddenly open up and drop me straight into the ocean. My cunt continues to throb with stubborn, rhythmic aftershocks. My nipples remain hard and peaked against the cool air. I can smell the heavy, musky scent of my own arousal. The entire cabin smells like raw, unfiltered sex.

"Drinks are starting. Rose said to tell everyone to come to the lounge." Chloe announces brightly through the barrier.

I slap both hands over my mouth. I bite down on my own palm to keep from gasping out loud.

I do not move a single muscle.

I do not dare take a breath.

I just sit frozen on the mattress. I am dripping and twitching. The ghost of the massive orgasm still echoes deep inside my pelvis. My best friend knocks on the wood again, wondering why I am taking so long to answer a simple question.

"Siena?"

God. Oh God. Chloe. That is Chloe. Her voice. Right outside my door. My closest friend. Standing inches away. Knocking. While I literally lie here with my floral dress shoved up to my waist. While my ruined panties sit tangled around my thighs. While my fingers shine with fresh, hot cum.

"Siena, are you in there?"

Yes. I am in here. I am in here dying of humiliation. I am in here soaking the Egyptian cotton sheets. I am gasping for air while my legs shake. The dirty word 'Daddy' still tastes wet and heavy on my tongue. It feels like a massive sin I do not know how to wash away.

Drinks. Right. Of course. Great. Yeah, let me just uncurl my sticky, shaking body from this bed like a freshly fucked mess. Let me just stroll out into a yacht filled with wealthy guests while the pungent scent of orgasm clings to my pores. Let me pretend Vaughn’s name is not still ringing in my skull like a desperate moan I cannot silence.

My spine goes rigid. My cheeks burn with the heat of a thousand suns. I grab the pillow and smash it over my own face. I want to smother the sheer humiliation surging through my bloodstream.

My pussy clenches again. A rogue spasm. My panties are beyond saving. A dark, wet patch stains the mattress underneath me. My hand is a shiny, slick mess.

I scramble upward like a gremlin caught in the harsh light. My dress gets twisted around my hips. My panties tangle around my knees. My fingers are still coated in wet cum.

I wipe my fingers frantically against the inside of my bare thigh.

I gasp out loud.

I regret the action instantly. My skin is way too sensitive. The brief friction nearly pulls another loud, idiotic moan from my lips.

"Yeah! I am fine! I am coming!" I shout back.

My voice is way too loud. It cracks right down the middle, echoing terribly through the door. Wrong words. Terrible choice of words. Very bad.

"I mean, I will be right there! I was just… changing!"

My voice squeaks and breaks on the final syllable. I clap a hand over my mouth again, hoping that will somehow erase the fact that I probably sound like I just got railed by a ghost. My thighs shake uncontrollably as I stand up. My hair is a tangled rat's nest. My entire core feels heavy, sensitive, and thoroughly bred.

I reach down and yank my wet panties back up my legs. I wince as the soaked cotton slaps against my swollen pussy. It feels terrible, cold and damp against my oversensitive flesh, but I have no time to change them.

I yank my sundress down. I try to smooth out the wrinkles. The thin fabric clings stubbornly to my damp skin, acting like it is fully aware of the filthy acts I just committed.

I fan my hot, flushed face with both hands. I pace in a small, panicked circle near the bed.

"Okay. Okay. You just fingered yourself stupid. You just moaned 'Daddy' loud enough for Poseidon to hear at the bottom of the ocean. No big deal. Just walk out there. Smile. Pretend your clit is not throbbing against wet cotton. Pretend your thighs are not sticky. Pretend you did not just scream into the sheets like a desperate bitch in heat." I whisper to myself.

I grab a small hand towel from the nightstand. I wipe the excess slick from the insides of my thighs. The towel feels warm and damp against my sensitive flesh. The distinct scent of my own climax hits my nose again. I shudder from head to toe. I am never going to be the same person again.

I take one massive, lung-expanding breath. I glance nervously at the wall separating my cabin from his.

"Let us just hope I can walk straight." I whisper under my breath like a slut who has finally accepted her tragic fate.

I drop the towel on the bed. I march toward the heavy wooden door. I grab the brass handle, twist it, and pull the door open.

For one brief, shining second, I step into the corridor and think I have actually made it. I think I am safe.

And then I slam face-first into something incredibly solid.

Hard.

The impact knocks the breath right out of my lungs. I gasp loudly. My feet tangle together. I stumble backward. My hand flies out and grips the wooden doorframe just to keep myself from tumbling onto the carpet.

My hypersensitive nipples brush against crisp, expensive cotton. A massive wave of dangerous heat floods every single cell in my body.

The scent hits me before I even lift my head.

Pine. Leather. Deep, aggressive heat. The heavy, dominant Alpha musk that I just spent the last twenty minutes screaming for.

I snap my head up.

It is him.

It is fucking Vaughn.

His massive hand is already wrapped around my bare arm to steady me. His grip is big, warm, and rough against my skin. My physical reaction is instantaneous. I have zero control over my own biology before I can even attempt to stop it.

My soaked pussy clenches hard around empty air. My throat goes bone dry. My brain short-circuits. It feels like someone just dumped a bucket of water directly onto my burning soul.

His dark, dangerous eyes lock onto mine.

I know definitely I am fucked.

Fuck.