* * * * *

By midday, the sun took control of the world, burning away the last grey clouds, banishing the rain back to hell.

I woke irrevocably changed from who I’d been before the storm and untethered myself from the couch and my past.

Climbing on stiff joints and bruised bones, I stood on a calm boat and calm soul as if the two were linked with symbolism as well as fact.

The world was tamed.

My memories were tamed.

I’d survived.

Inhaling air still rich and damp from the clouds, I showered, dried, and deliberated whether to stay naked for my enjoyment or dress for his.

I opted to wear the navy and blue shift so I didn’t upset the staff who would no doubt be on repairs now the storm had passed.

By mid-afternoon, I found a perfect spot on the lifeboat canvas and basked in the hot sunshine. It shone stronger and brighter, as if to make up for the messy night before.

I hadn’t seen Elder, and I hadn’t sought him out. I was happy to be on my own, slowly learning who I was after all this time—now the dirt had been washed away.

By dusk, I retreated to my suite, pulled out the notepad, and opened the door to my heart, ready to converse with imaginary confidant.

Dear No One,

Last night, I was in charge.

Last night, I did what I wanted. I embraced my fear and let it do whatever it wanted to me. It terrified me but freed me. Does that make any sense?

When Elder joined me, I feared he’d tear me away. I expected him to drag me back and slam the doors. But he joined me, No One. It was as if he needed to face his demons in those clouds the same as I did. As if standing together with nothing helped scatter our pieces and realign them into a completely different picture.

I heard him, though. I heard his resolution before he left.

He’s run out of patience. Whatever self-control he’s exercised won’t last much longer because he knows what I do.

I owe him now.

Not just for the safety and time to heal, but for being with me last night. For no demands. For whatever emotion that links us.

Am I ready to answer his questions?

No.

Am I ready to talk to anyone but you?

Never.

Will he force me regardless?

I think so.

He wants my voice just like Alrik.

It’s up to me to decide if he deserves it.

I NEVER WENT back to her.

The storm had upset the automatic ballast, and I worked all day with Jolfer to fix it. Once that was done, I had important emails to reply to—after I’d reset the communication panels.

By the time night fell, I’d eaten a distracted dinner of lasagne and headed to my room to shower.

I had plans to go to Pim once I’d washed away the salt from the storm, but I wanted to re-centre myself first. I wanted to be sane, so the moment she opened the door I wouldn’t shove her against the wall and devour her.

She was playing havoc with my control.

Soon, I wouldn’t be able to be in the same room as her without needing to put an end to my frustration.

As fresh warm water cascaded over me, my mind tormented me with her mouth on my cock and the blowjob she’d tried to give. My hand gripped my length, begging to work for a release.

Even though it took every ounce of energy I had left, I pulled my palm away.

As much as I wanted to come, I didn’t want to waste the anticipation of whatever would happen when Pim finally did accept me, finally trusted me to do more than kiss her.

I groaned as the image of kissing led to touching led to slipping inside her.

My balls were rock fucking hard.

She’s driving me insane.

I needed to focus on something else—something I was immensely good at—before I lost myself to the obsession that would spring into place the moment I tasted Pim.

I’d battled it for too long.

The second I fucked her, I’d be forced to give in and then she’d see the real me. I snorted as I tilted my head to the spray. All this time, I’d been a gentleman. She thought she knew me. She couldn’t have it more fucking wrong.

The closer I let myself get to Pim, the harder it was to fight the urge to reveal who I truly was.

Stepping from the shower, I dressed in dark grey sweat-pants that sat low on my hips; I didn’t bother with a shirt. My wraparound balcony opening onto the main deck glittered with stars thanks to the open doors, and the heat from the aftermath of the storm drenched the air with heavy mugginess.

Heading to the specially designed closet where foam and braces had been painstakingly crafted to embrace my cello, I undid the straps and pulled it free.

If I hadn’t installed such a safe place, I doubted the cello would’ve survived last night’s catastrophe.

The weight and bulk were no longer cumbersome, but I remembered a time when the instrument had been a foreign stranger. Then my tutor had played that first note, corralled my unskilled fingers to press on the right strings, and boom, the curse in my blood took over.

I played and played and played.

Every spare moment, I sat until my legs went to sleep, hunger made me tremble, and my fingers bled for more music. No one could reach me. No one could stop me. Nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

As the cello settled like a compliant lover between my legs, my mind slipped backward into the quicksand of memories.

All my young life, I’d lived with something inside me—something stronger than I was, something that had the power to destroy me as well as save me.

I thought it would decimate everyone I loved until my mother took it upon herself to nurture it. My father agreed, and they gave me free rein to evolve my talent in music. I became obsessed, possessed, and utterly overpowered with the need to be as brilliant as I could. I’d read music until my eyes fogged. I’d practice and practice until my ears rang from the same notes, every second, of every hour, of every day.