Anastasia
I'm sitting on a small couch at the front lookout point of the main deck, next to a steering wheel. Christian called this area the saloon. He told me to wait here while he speaks to the captain. He said we're headed to Bainbridge island. A short trip.
A few onlookers take pictures of Christian's yacht. I don't blame them. Cruises aren't running now, and this is the biggest vessel in the marina. The rest of the boats are sailboats.
I flip through his sailing magazines. Like I belong here. Perfect women with wind-blown hair and luxury goods fill the pages. No face masks. The advertisements must have been made before the pandemic.
"This place can't be real," I say out loud. Those techies were right. Alternative realities exist. I'm living in one. The detailed accents, the new car smell. It's nothing like real life.
Downtown last night. People screaming. The elderly shop owner man, risking COVID exposure to protect his store windows. Angry people venting their frustration. Cops shaking riot shields and deploying tear gas. The shouting chants of "I can't breathe." The reality of inequality.
A world away from this place. A luxury home floating on deep blue and choppy waters.
The yacht sways and I clench my stomach. I shouldn't be here. With him. The timing's off. I never got his opinion on the unrest. Or the pandemic. He was so serious about the virus at GEH headquarters. Now, it seems like none of it's on his mind. Maybe he's a playboy posing as a leader.
I put my legs on the couch and lie down on the throw pillows. My sneakers spread dirt on the couch. A brown mess on the perfect gray fabric. Fail.
"Damn it," I curse. No shoes on the couch. Especially not here.
I try wiping the dirt off with my hand, no luck. It looks worse now. A bigger brown splotch. This'll take soap.
The boat rocks, and it feels like we've started moving. No one's sits at the steering wheel. Does the boat run on autopilot? Don't think about it.
I head to the kitchen area and start opening cabinets, pressing various silver push buttons. This kitchen's bigger than the kitchen of the condo I share with Kate. And he's got multiple homes.
My stomach turns again, and I grip the countertop. People lost jobs because of the pandemic. This wealth seems excessive.
A chill breeze fills the air.
Christian walks in from a side door, his sleeves now rolled up. I step backwards and paste on a fake smile. He can't read my thoughts. Stop it.
He veers towards a staircase, going down a level of the yacht. The bedrooms must be down there. Not acknowledging me. Nervous energy seeps from my palms. I clasp my hands together. Get it together.
A mechanical ding echoes throughout the saloon.
"You'll notice a stabilizing effect soon," Christian says, climbing back up the staircase. "The water's rougher today. It shouldn't affect us for long."
I hum and nod my agreement. Does this run on generator power?
He exits from the door near the steering wheel before I can ask.
"Thanks for your hospitality," I mumble under my breath. He's avoiding me. But why?He's the one who invited me here.
I go back to opening cabinets.
The perfect mechanical functioning of the latches reminds me of Christian. I ask a question, he responds. I kiss him, he responds. No extra conversation. It's not enough. I deserve more.
The boat rocks again. I'm getting dizzy. I need to slow down and deal with this situation. The seasickness and the emotional rollercoaster. Does he like me? I can't tell.
I move to the living area to sit down on the L-shaped sectional. This is just a fancier version of a bad online date. Attraction isn't everything.
º-º-º-º-º
I wet a dish towel, stringing out the excess what. My stomach's starting to settle, as well as the self-pity. Enjoy the moment. This will all disappear soon.
The side screen door opens with a squeak.
I turn my head. Christian. My reluctant host.
"Did you need something?" Christian asks, walking into the saloon. He gestures to the open cabinets.
I shake my head, as the yacht hurtles forward. I grab the countertop. Now, we're moving. How many knots does this go? I forgot how boat speed works.
"Are you sure?"
"I feel a little queasy," I admit. Not making eye contact. "Do you have any motion sickness medicine?"
"Take this," Christian says, pulling a pill packet out of a storage compartment. He unwraps the packet and hands me a pill.
"Thanks," I say, inspecting the small blue capsule.
His eyes linger on my mouth. Waiting.
I swallow the pill and stare at him, trying to send him unspoken signals. Kiss me. Let's make this trip good and forget about it.
"You will feel better soon, and the yacht's stabilizer should kick in," Christian says, turning to face the side door. He slips out. This disappearing act. It's getting annoying.
I walk toward the couch and start cleaning the brown smudge. The dirt disappears, leaving a big wet mark. It looks like I spilled an entire glass of water.
I toss two throw pillows onto the spot. It doesn't look quite right, so I add another one, knocking magazines onto the ground in the process.
Picking up the magazines, I notice an advertisement for cologne, featuring an attractive couple sailing. The image tells a story. Of a couple in love.
"I wish," I murmur, touching the page. Christian should stop avoiding me. Surely, he doesn't kiss all of his employees. Unless, that's it. "I'm his employee."
Technically, Andrea's my boss. But the optics would be bad if something were to happen and I got upset. I could take it to media. Blame him. Try to get money from him. The power dynamics are off.
"I've been so clueless," I whisper. I kissed him. Pursed him. Tested a theory. I knew Icould get fired over it, and I took the risk. But in doing so, I put him in a bad position. Maybe that's why he's avoiding me. It's too much to ask.
º-º-º-º-º
I sit in the dry corner of the partially wet couch. I should go to the living area and let this couch dry. But I wanted to hide the evidence of the smudge. An imperfection wouldn't go unnoticed. Not when everything else looks new. Hence the mountains of throw pillows.
"He won't care. Or notice," I mumble. The rippling waves bring me peace. I touch my stomach. No more pain. Good.
The side door opens. The familiar squeak.
Christian walks back in.
Breathing heavily, I feel my heart rate elevate.
He climbs up the small staircase to the lookout area. His eyebrow raises when he sees the pile of pillows.
"I spilled water," I say.
Christian doesn't respond. He sits on the other side of the small couch and stares at the water. The pillows serve as a barrier between us.
There's a lot I want to say. But I keep silent. He's risking something by hanging out with you. You're his employee. Don't forget that.I scoot further to the corner. Being near him – it's dangerous.
I start texting Kate. I type I'll be home for dinner. Then erase it. I need to ask him how long we'll be out. It's already been an hour since we left. I catch a glimpse of him. His blank stare. Never mind. I'll wait it out. We'll get back soon enough.
I stand up and head towards the kitchen.
Christian catches my arm, pulling me closer to him.
My eyes pour into him. "Stop playing with me," I blurt out.
"I'm not playing," Christian says, blankly. He stands up and pecks my cheek, a rushed movement. He moves past me and goes down the small staircase.
"Christian, did you..." I start. Too late.
"I'll be back," he says, exiting the saloon.
From the window, I see him descending an outdoor staircase. Should I follow him? No. Groaning, I try to regulate my breathing as I move to the larger sitting area. I place my hand on my stomach and find my diaphragm. Holding my breath for four seconds, I pause, then let it out slowly.
I repeat the exercise five times. I bring my heart rate down and ask myself what I want. The answer's clear. To lose my virginity. And then I can move on from this. That's why the attraction has been so strong. It's why I've been willing to risk my career. It's time.
The on-duty campus health provider told me to get the birth control shot. I saw her right before everything closed due to lockdown. She said there might come a time when I need it. I agreed, telling her there's no chance. Maybe she was right.
"It's a calculated risk," I murmur. "Lose it and then I'll be back to normal. Risk-adverse. It's better. And once the COVID vaccine is here, I can get another job. We won't see each other."
Good. I have a plan. I take another deep breath and walk towards the side door. It's time.
º-º-º-º-º
Christian
Christians leans up against the railing in the ample entertaining space on the Flybridge. They made it to Bainbridge island. The yacht's tied up at the worn-down dock at his favorite cove. The area's deserted. Social distancing won't be a problem. His captain's off in the inflatable orange dingy.
Christian's body aches. Up too late last night. He tries to suppress his desire to look at Ana. He was out here alone, until a few minutes ago, when she found him. Taking her here was stupid. His willpower isn't unlimited.
Ana stands near the wet bar. She smiles some, admiring the Evergreen trees. She shows restraint. She hasn't asked him any questions. Or asked for advice. Or tried to further her career through him. She's maintained distance. It's like she's evaluating him.
Christian scowls. No one evaluates him. He decides. An inner voice tells him to shut it – his never-ending monologue preaching his independence and control. His arguments with himself. His desire for one-upmanship. It's his loss.
Earlier he had pecked her on the cheek like she was a casual friend. He had wanted to touch her body, to bring her to bed. But he forced himself to leave.
Christian hid in the engine room. He told himself it was necessary. He scrutinized the dual generators, power and drive systems, and the freshwater line. The thorough checks didn't work. He couldn't stop thinking about fucking her. She works for you. One of his rules. Don't cross that line.
Now, they're alone. Feeling the motion of the rough waves, he imagines taking her right on the nearby outdoor furniture. The sounds she would make. He'd like to see her face while he pummels her. No. They haven't signed a contract and she's an employee. It's not worth the risk.
A headache starts forming. Christian touches his temple, trying to ease the pain. He hasn't gone on a run yet today. He blames the pain on the lack of endorphins. He breathes in deeply, filling up his lungs. His sense of smell is off.
The fresh ocean air doesn't carry its usual aroma. Must be the disinfectant spray. Its overpowering smell must be making him less sensitive.
º-º-º-º-º
"Do you ever swim here?" Ana asks, as she walks closer to the railing.
Christian turns to face her. He envisions her wearing a skimpy swimsuit. A black one.
Ana points to the worn brown dock the yacht's tied onto. The water surrounding it is shallow enough to swim in. The small beach is rocky. Chopped logs from nearby trees line the coast. "We could go check out the dock."
Christian keeps his expression blank. He avoids staring at her. "The water is too cold most of the year."
Ana inches closer to him, now just a foot away.
He can't stop himself. He stares at her chest a second too long. The dress from yesterday, outlining her frame. Showing him what a swimsuit would reveal. He walks up to her and closes the space between them. He grasps her right shoulder and guides his fingers down her side.
She trembles. But doesn't move away.
Christian pulls his hand back and touches his chin, reaching a conclusion. "There are a few extra swimsuits downstairs. You're a similar size."
Ana squirms a little on the railing, restless. She stands up, walking next to the white barstools. He follows her.
His hands move back to her body. He finds her waist and pulls her close to him.
Ana wriggles a little at his touch, trying to loosen his grip. She covers his hands with hers. Removing them and stepping away. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
Christian walks away from her, towards the cockpit. He's missing something.
Ana goes into the bar area, taking out a bottle of water from the mini fridge. Her lips tighten, as pops the top off the sparking water.
He feigns nonchalance saying, "The swimsuits belong to my sister by the way."
"Oh!" Ana replies, softly, treading on his heels. Her shoulders hit the top of his rib cage. "If she wouldn't mind, maybe I could try one on." She shivers some, like the breeze's cold, which it's not.
Christian grabs Ana's hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. He hears her gasp–a boyish smile now on his face. "Let's see."
º-º-º-º-º
They're in the VIP stateroom, standing next to the king bed. Christian pressing the silver push button on the closet. Mia's stash. He yanks out a tangled mess of swim straps. Mia must have brought a suit to match all of her moods.
There's a red one-piece with a short center zip and a black Speedo. Several bikinis. Chuckling at a neon yellow thong, he tilts his head.
Ana's standing up next to one of the boat windows. Slyly, he tucks the racing suit back in a drawer. It's not needed. After unraveling a few of the knots and separating the various pieces, he saunters up to Ana.
"These could work," Christian says, offering her the swimsuits.
Ana accepts them, carefully. She moves to sits on the bed.
He leans up against the wall, giving her some space.
Ana mouth gapes, as she surveys the options.
Christian suppresses his growing grin, replacing it will a blank face. Quarantine must be getting to him.
She touches the neon thong. Her cheeks darken. She moves her legs onto the bed and sits in an awkward position, with her feet underneath her butt. "Thanks for the um...options."
"The black bikini still has tags," Christian offers. He forces himself to contain his excitement. Not letting any emotions out. Ignoring the bulge growing in his pants.
Ana crosses her arms across her chest. Like she needs to hide.
He chuckles and sits down next to her. Does she not realize she's attractive? That's fixable. He lightly strokes her back with his fingers.
She gasps at the contact. But doesn't tell him to stop.
Christian finds where her bra fastens and pauses, lingering on the spot.
Ana's breathing starts getting heavier.
Christian drops his hand to his side, as he surveys her reaction.
This time she's unreadable. Not meeting his eyes.
The line. Does he want to cross it? No. "It's fine, Ana. We don't need to swim."
She steadies her breathing and touches the red one-piece. "I'll try this one on."
Christian leans in closer, grabbing the black bikini top from her lap. "This suit would look great on you."
Ana struggles to meet his gaze, as she takes the revealing suit from his hands. She keeps shuffling her knees from side to side. Sitting on her feet. She resembles someone who needs to go to the bathroom. But she just went. That's not it.
Christian. He presses his lips together and hides a smile. "Good. I'll get my suit then."
"Wait," Ana says, standing up. "I want to ask you–"
Christian doesn't let her finish. He kisses her. Lightly on first, waiting for her response.
Ana deepens it. "Please Christian, don't stop."
He pins her down on the bed. It's worth it. Crossing the line. Just this once.
The mattress which was designed to increase airflow pushes cool air toward their bodies.
Ana's got her hands wrapped around his back.
He's losing himself in her, when she stops the kiss.
Christian rolls over to his back, slowing down his breathing. He feels his heart rate slow down and shifts the zipper line of his pants trying to hide his hard-on.
"You're hot." She comments, breathlessly, while lying next to him. She rolls onto her stomach. "I mean, obviously but...what I'm trying to ask is, well, do you have a fever?"
"No," Christian says, quickly.
Ana reaches to touch him. Her cool hand rests on his forehead.
"I'm fine." He brushes her hand away. "My allergies flare up around here."
Ana gets into a sitting position. Her lips swollen.
Christian slides off the bed and stands up.
Her eyes questioning, narrow on him.
"It's allergies. The evergreens." He says gruffly, partly to himself. He runs his hands through his hair. He chooses to ignore his head throbbing and his erection.
Ana slips off the bed and hugs him from behind. Hers fingers caress him, touching the soft fabric covering his chest. She draws his body in close to hers.
He stiffens, exhaling his frustration. No one touches his chest.
º-º-º-º-º
Grinding his teeth, Christian tries to rid himself of his arousal. "Go ahead, and get changed," he tells Ana, while opening the luxuriously crafted hatch door.
He walks up the narrow stairway into the main cabin. Entering the kitchen, he gets a water bottle for the fridge and a pain reliever out of the top cabinet drawer. That should take care of the fever. Seasonal allergies. That's all.
Going down the other stairwell, Christian enters the yacht's master stateroom. He needs to tend to his other problem. His erection. He strips off his clothes, placing them on the modern dressing table and starts doing pushups next to the king bed.
His body aches, his head pounds, but he pushes through.
Sweat drops from his naked chest to the plush white carpet. After a set of twenty, he starts sit-ups. His muscles burn but it gets the blood flowing away from dick. By the end of his set, his erection's gone.
Christian takes a cold shower, running his hands across his chest. He touches one of the scars his birth mom gave him. Ana shouldn't touch him here. No one should. He needs to tell her. "Don't touch my chest."
He imagines bringing this up in therapy. Flynn would shake his head and plead with him. He'd give some impossible advice. Something like, "In a healthy relationship, you tell your partner about your past trauma so they can support you in your recovery."
"Ana's not my partner, and I don't want support," Christian says out loud. He won't be telling Flynn about Ana. No one needs to know. It's nothing.
º-º-º-º-º
Anastasia
I'm lying on my back in the sunning area, trying to get a tan. It's a modern and airy space, full of futons and lounge chairs. My pale skin contrasts with the black bikini. The new one with lots of interwoven straps. The one Christian wanted me to wear.
Christian.I imagine him disgusted. I sit up and grab my knees. An inner voice screams, Stop this. I lie back down, exposing my mostly naked body. Small goosebumps line my arms.
The sliding door opens, with a creak.
"Need a towel?" Christian calls out.
"Yes, please," I say, sitting back up. The translucent white color of his rash guard grabs my attention. It outlines his abs, stirring something within me.
He walks towards me and hands me to the lightweight striped cotton.
My body affects him. His gray eyes widen for a second. But the emotion disappears. "Let's go."
"Why bother," I mutter, as I take the towel and wrap it around me.
"Don't do that," Christian says.
I raise my eyebrows at him, as I cover more of my body with the towel. "Why not?"
Christian sinks in a lounge chair. His face darkening.
I loosen the towel, so a strap is visible. Taking great pains to adjust it. "Are you ready to swim?"
"No," Christian says, touching the stubble on his face. "I need to check the water. Make sure it's safe."
I let the towel fall down further. "Sounds good. Let me know."
His jaw slackens, as he adjusts his baggy swim trunks. He takes a few steps towards the railing. But his eyes keep flashing back at me. To my body.
I adjust the bikini top, tightening a strap. This time the towel falls down to the ground.
Christian gawks. No longer pretending.
I take a deep breath, keeping eye contact. I touch the waist straps of my bikini. "Ready now."
"Yes, I'm ready."
We start climbing the outdoor stairs, getting to the lower level of the yacht. He's ready. My heart stops. I wish he was ready for more than just a swim.
º-º-º-º-º
Christian
They stand on the worn-out dock, wearing red life jackets.
Christian faces the dock, trying to determine the speed of the current. He turns to face Ana, "You need too..."
She pushes him, a surprisingly forceful shove.
The unexpected move gets him off balance, leading him to tumble off the dock into the chilly water. He floats on his back. A scowl on his face.
Ana smiles wickedly. "Got you."
"Ana you shouldn't..."
She lowers her feet, so her toes touch the water. Not listening.
Christian swims towards Ana, fighting the current. "Fine. Not brave enough to join me?"
"Nope," she says, smiling. "I just wanted to get you wet. You deserved it."
"I deserved it huh," he says, stroking Ana's legs, bringing extra attention to her feet.
"I don't like the chill," she says, laughing. "Stop that. It tickles."
Christian grins. Forgetting his fatigue, he forces himself to use all of his upper body strength to pull her down off the dock from her waist. His hands grip tightly onto the bottom of her bikini, roughly touching the little straps.
Ana squeals.
It's not that cold.What's with her? "Do you never..."
"My bottoms! Christian...you untied them."
"We'll get you another pair," Christian says, laughing.
"You better not look," Ana says, splashing him. Her face beet red. "And, no wondering hands. We better get out now. How deep is this water?"
Christian scratches his chin, as he floats. Let her squirm.
"Christian!" She shrieks. "What if your captain comes out? He can't see me leave like this..."
His eyebrows raise. So that's what Ana's worried about.
He hoists his body up onto the dock, scratching his leg on the dock. He breaths out slowly. That shouldn't have taken so much energy. He needs to work out more. Or, something's up with his body. No. Can't be.
Ana stares at him, treading in water. She bites her lip. "I need something to cover up with."
Unstrapping his life vest, Christian hesitates. She'll see the scars. Fuck it. He pulls off his rash guard, exposing his chest. The red scars stand out, clearly visible on his pale skin. Damn quarantine. He hands her his shirt, warily. " Tie the sleeves so it covers your front side. I'll pull you up."
Ana grabs the shirt and nods, bringing his shirt into the water. She swivels her head. "Your captain's still gone right?"
"No one's here," Christian promises, "Now give me your hand."
She nods.
He grabs her hands. It takes all of his strength, but he gets her back on the dock. He grabs his life vest, placing it back on, covering his chest. He walks onto the retractable gangway. He's careful not to look back.
He walks onto the retractable gangway. It's too bad. Not everything works like the gangway, which can be pulled in on request. Change on demand. No unintended mess.
º-º-º-º-º
Anastasia
I didn't mean to take a nap. But after swimming, I needed a shower. I couldn't help dozing off in one of the staterooms. A sleepiness overcame me. An exhaustion. I gave in to it and fell asleep on top of the covers. I woke up and now we're back in the marina.
I haven't seen Christian since we finished swimming. He's here somewhere.
peek into the various downstairs guest rooms, then climb the stairs to enter the saloon. Where is he? I exit into the sunning area, taking my backpack with me.
Christian talks to his captain on the marina dock. No other boats are nearby.
I can't hear their conversation, so I go down the outside staircase. Walking off the gangway, I get closer to them.
"Thanks again," Christian says, waving goodbye to his captain. I bump into him as he walks back to the boat. "Oh, you're ready to go?"
I nod, gesturing towards my backpack.
"Good. Let's get you back to Seattle."
We walk towards his SUV. Christian unlocks the door. He's holding his head.
"Are you okay?" I ask, as we enter his vehicle. The fever earlier. Maybe he lied about allergies. It's something else.
He winces. "Yes, I need to get back on my supplements. That's all."
I want to ask what he takes. But his eyes are bloodshot. I don't want to push him too far or invade his privacy. Should I ask him to hangout again? No. Leave it. I check my phone. Good. I've got service back. I can text Kate, tell her I'm coming home.
The phone rings on Christian's speaker system. The name "Ros" flashes on the navigation system screen.
He ignores her call.
Another call comes through. "Ros" flashes again on the screen.
"Maybe you should answer it," I whisper. Something's up. Why would Ros be calling him? She said she doesn't like working Saturday.
Christian scowls but accepts the call. It's puts her on speaker phone.
"Christian, thank God you answered," Ros says.
He increases the speaker's volume.
"Are you still with Miss Steele?" Ros asks.
"Yes," Christian says.
My stomach knits. Ros disapproves. But, it's not illegal to hang out with an employee. I should explain. "Ros..."
"You both been exposed," Ros says, interrupting. "I think I have COVID."