Claim Me Captain! I'm Addicted to You!
Chapter 35: Island (9)

Chapter 35: Island (9)

Nick’s POV

I kept my hands busy while waiting for Georgia to return from the beach, hacking and tying branches together to build a fence around our shelter. Something to keep us safe at least for the night.

On my way back from the ridge, I was able to find a lot of dry wood that we could use for cooking and a campfire at night after I found that spring.

Georgia would surely love that. Hell, I am sure she had been dying to scrub the salt and sweat off her skin with fresh, clean water. All women do.

The sun should have been directly above me by now, but the sky was turning darker by the minute. Clouds thickened, swallowing the sunlight. Still, no sign of her.

I didn’t want to admit it, but I am not comfortable in not seeing her within my sight. What if something happens to her and I am not there to help her, to save her?

Then it started, fat drops of rain splashing onto the ground. I clenched my jaw and worked faster. The downpour only made it worse. She should have been back by now. Should I be worried?

I told myself she was fine. She will return soon, since it’s not only rain, but also a raging thunderstorm.

She always put up this brave facade of hers, but I can see that deep inside, she was scared of many things, including lightning and thunder.

And then I heard it... her voice, slicing through the rain.

"Nick!"

My name. It sounded so sweet coming from her mouth. I turned around to face her, but instead of welcoming her with a smile, I was stunned!

There she was, emerging from the trees, soaked to the bone and wearing my white ship captain uniform. My breath caught in my throat. The sight stopped me cold.

She raised her arms, trying to show me what she’d gathered, but I didn’t hear a damn word she said after that. Not one.

My brain had already short-circuited after seeing her current state.

The fabric clung to her skin like a second layer, outlining every curve I’d memorized in my sleep. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

I could see her nipples pushing against the soaked fabric, taunting me. And lower... Gods. The outline of her pussy was on full display, the wet cloth transparent, plastered between her thighs.

My cock stiffened in an instant!

It throbbed behind my jeans, begging for release, ready to stand at attention and salute her the way she deserved.

She paused, her cheeks flushed despite the cold rain, then quickly shielded herself with giant leaves she must’ve picked up along the way.

Too late, sweetheart.

The damage was already done. You’ve already awakened every fiber of my being.

I did the only thing my body could manage—I turned around, fists clenched, chest heaving. My breath came hard and fast. I was aroused. Furious. Frustrated. All of it hitting me at once.

What if it wasn’t me here with her?

What if it had been someone else who saw her like that—dripping wet, nipples hard, body on full display?

Would she have cared? Would she have even noticed?

The thought clawed at me like fire under my skin.

Why the hell am I thinking this way?

I wiped a hand down my face, trying to calm the storm inside me. But it only got worse when I saw her from the corner of my eye—kneeling by the fire, placing down whatever she’d brought back from the beach like nothing had happened.

My blood boiled.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed her wrist. Hard. Not enough to hurt her—but enough to let her know I wasn’t playing.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Those weren’t the words I meant to say. Not even close. I had rehearsed something softer, calmer. But what came out of my mouth was raw, and real, and faster than lightning.

She stared at me. No fear, just shock. Her expression was blank, unreadable, while I was unraveling right in front of her.

I’d been holding back since the day I rescued her. Containing every damn urge that rose in me like a tidal wave each time she looked at me, each time I caught her scent or heard her voice.

But every moment we were together made it harder to resist.

I wanted to kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. I wanted to touch every inch of her skin, feel how soft and warm she really was. I wanted her wrapped around me—moaning, shaking, mine.

I wanted all of her. And I hated that I didn’t even understand why.

I’ve been with women. Many. I’ve tasted bodies, played the game, broken hearts and had mine broken too. But this... whatever this is with Georgia—it’s on another level.

And I didn’t know if it was because I couldn’t have her... or because she was the one woman who wouldn’t let me.

Maybe it was because she felt like a goddamn forbidden fruit, ripe and sweet, dangling just out of reach—and every instinct in me wanted to take a bite.

"Don’t just stand there—go change into dry clothes!" I snapped, louder than I intended.

She pouted slightly, her features softening with that damn innocent look that always messed with my head.

"But nothing’s dry," she mumbled. "I washed them at the beach, but it rained before they could dry."

I clenched my jaw. "Do you want to get sick again? Use the blanket."

It came out harsh, but I didn’t mean it to. She just nodded quietly and turned around, walking to where I’d laid out the blanket.

I forced myself not to watch her move, instead glancing at what she had collected from the beach. I uncovered mussels and oysters in her backpack and began cooking them over the campfire, my back firmly facing her.

By the time she came back, she was wrapped in the blanket, tucked tightly around her like a towel. She sat beside me, close, because there was nowhere else to sit. The semi-flat rock I hauled from the stream was our only clean and dry surface we could sit on.

And fuck... the awkward tension between us could’ve cut through steel.

I tried not to think about it, but my brain was already halfway to hell. She wasn’t wearing anything under that blanket. I could feel the heat of her skin from here, see the way her collarbone peeked out, damp hair clinging to her neck. My imagination ran wild, and my cock agreed.

My mind raced with forbidden images, imagining her naked. I had to silence this perverse fantasy. I needed to snap out of it.

I cleared my throat and stared straight at the fire. "I just want to make something clear," I said.

Georgia’s gaze snapped to me, every bit of her alertness focused on what I was about to say.

"When we get off this island and we’re married, we’ll need to act like a real couple in public. You know that, right?"

She nodded but said nothing.

"That means we’ll have to look like we’re in love. Touching. Kissing. Acting like we’re obsessed with each other."

Her expression didn’t change much. "Of course. We need to make it believable so Raymond and his father fall for it."

She spoke calmly, almost too calmly. "We could say we got close while we were stranded, and something happened between us, and that made us decide to get married. If they think I’m no longer a virgin, his father will lose interest. He’s a devotee. A virgin bride is sacred to him; it’s a big deal."

She said it like she was commenting on the weather. Like we weren’t planning to rewrite the course of our lives.

Was she really that detached? Or was it just not sinking in yet?

There was only one way to find out how far she’d go.

"I see..." I said slowly. "Then we should practice."

Her eyes narrowed. "Practice what?"

I stared at her.

She couldn’t be serious.

"You’re about to marry a billionaire playboy, and you’re asking me that?"

Either she was toying with me, or she really didn’t get it.

So I did the only thing my bold, fucked-up brain could come up with—I took her hand and entwined our fingers together. Then leaned in, close enough for our lips to touch, although they didn’t, but it could. "Practice like this..." I whispered.

I braced myself for a slap. For a push. For a scream.

But instead, she nodded.

"Okay. Let’s practice."

Fuck! She actually said yes!

I’m screwed!