#yatch

[refinedtaste]

[valenlo]

[rowannn8]

#¹: ᴡʀᴏɴɢ✮⋆˙

ʏᴀsᴍɪɴ x ᴅᴀᴠᴇ ᴇᴀsᴛ

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘰 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯. 𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦’𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝟧 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 “𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱”, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 — 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨…

East had a way of standing that made a room feel smaller, even when he was the only person in it. He didn’t move much, but he possessed a stillness that felt heavy, like the air right before a storm breaks. He kept his hands in his pockets and his jaw locked, eyes scanning everything with a precision that felt less like looking and more like cataloging. Most people saw a man who was just calm; the people who actually knew him saw a man who was always calculating the quickest way out of a room or the most efficient way to take it over.

Zia had spent three hours convincing you that a yacht party was the only way to properly kick off the summer. By the time you stepped onto the deck, the music was already vibrating through the soles of your sandals, and the champagne was flowing fast enough to make everyone a little reckless. You felt overly cute in your new stripped bikini, that left very little to the imagination and hugged every curve that you'd spent the last three months maintaining. Jaden was already leaning in, his hand sliding low on your hip as he whispered something about how he couldn't wait to get you alone.

Jaden was a breath of fresh air, a gorgeous distraction who knew exactly how to make you feel like the only girl on the boat. As the DJ shifted into something with a heavy, rhythmic bass, a dance circle opened up in the center of the deck. Someone (Zia) shoved you and Jaden dead center. Your hips caught the beat, leaning back into Jaden as the music took over.

The energy shifted before you saw him. The cheering died down, replaced by a sudden, sharp tension that rippled through the circle. You didn't stop moving until you felt a hand grip your wrist—not with a gentle tug, but with a possessive, iron strength that nearly jerked you off your feet. You got spun around, breathless, and found yourself staring into Dave’s eyes. He looked exhausted, his skin darker from five months of travel, but his expression was pure thunder. He hadn't called once since he left for his "business trip," and seeing him now, standing in the middle of a party he wasn't invited to, felt like a physical blow.

"You got a lot of nerve," Dave muttered, his voice a low rumble that barely carried over the thumping bass of the music. He didn't look at Jaden, who was still blinking in confusion, his hands hovering in the air where your waist had been seconds ago. Dave’s grip on your wrist didn’t loosen; instead, he stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder. The scent of expensive cologne and something metallic clung to him, a sharp contrast to the floral cocktails filling the air "You're back," you managed, your voice sounding breathy even to your own ears. "Since when do you do unannounced arrivals? You didn't even text." you wanted to sound annoyed, to make it clear that the silence for five months had left a mark, but the way your heart was hammering against your ribs betrayed you.

East finally shifted his gaze to Jaden, a slow, calculating look that made the younger man instinctively step back. "She's with me," Dave said. It wasn't a question or an invitation for a conversation; it was a statement of ownership that silenced the remaining whispers in the dance circle. He didn't wait for a response or a goodbye. With one fluid, commanding motion, he pivoted you away from the crowd and began navigating the deck toward the secluded aft of the yacht, his pace hurried and purposeful.

The transition from the loud, flashing lights of the party to the shadowed corridor of the lower deck happened in a blur of gold fabric and heavy footsteps. Once we hit the narrow hallway leading to the crew quarters, Dave slammed me back against the cool metal bulkhead. The impact wasn't hard, but the suddenness of it knocked the wind out of me. He crowded into my space, his large frame blocking out the light, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that felt like it was peeling back every layer of my composure.

"Five months," he breathed, his voice scraping against the silence of the corridor. "Five months I'm gone, and the first thing I see is you shaking it for a boy who looks like he hasn't even hit his growth spurt."

I let out a sharp, shaky laugh, though my back was still pressed hard against the metal. "I didn't know you were in the country, East. You disappeared. No calls, no texts—nothing." I tried to push against his chest, but it was like trying to move a mountain. He didn't budge an inch, his hands now migrating from my wrists to the wall on either side of my head, effectively boxing me in.

He leaned in closer, the heat radiating off him in waves. The anger was there, but beneath it was something hungrier, a desperate kind of recognition. He looked at me—really looked at me—taking in the gold sequins and the way my breathing had become shallow and erratic. His eyes softened for a fraction of a second, the hardness of the street-boss fading into the man who used to sneak into my room at midnight when my brother was asleep.

"I had things to handle. You know how it is," he murmured, his forehead coming to rest against mine. The distance between us vanished, and suddenly the air felt thick and electric. "But I didn't come back to see you acting like you're available. I don't care who was watching or who you were dancing with. You're mine."

"Since when do you get to decide who I belong to?" I whispered, though the protest lacked any real conviction. My hands, which had been trying to push him away, now found the fabric of his shirt, clutching the material as if to anchor myself. The tension between us was a physical thing, a coiled spring that had been winding tighter for five months of radio silence. Dave didn't answer with words; instead, he let out a low, guttural sound and crashed his lips against mine, tasting of salt and something dark and familiar.

He kissed me with a desperate hunger, as if he were trying to reclaim every single second he’d spent away from me, his tongue tracing the roof of my mouth with a possessive urgency. I groaned into the kiss, my legs instinctively winding around his waist to pull him closer. The metal bulkhead behind me was cold, but Dave was a furnace, his body pressing me flat against the wall until I could feel the rhythmic thumping of his heart against my own.

His hands traveled downward, gripping my thighs and hoisting me higher, his fingers digging into my skin with a firmness that promised bruises I’d probably cherish. "You're still so damn loud," he murmured against my jaw, his voice vibrating through my entire frame. He began to trail kisses down my neck, his stubble grazing my skin in a way that made my toes curl. I tilted my head back, exposing my throat to him, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The distant thumping of the party's bass continued above us, but it felt like it was happening in another dimension, a world where I wasn't currently being consumed by the only man who ever knew how to handle me.

As he shifted his weight, sliding one hand beneath the curve of my hip to pull me flush against him, the reality of our situation flickered through my mind. My brother was likely on that deck, and Zia was probably wondering why the hell I vanished with the most dangerous man in the city. But looking up at Dave—his eyes dark, hooded, and fixed on my lips—the risk felt like a footnote. He wasn't the same man who had left five months ago; there was a new edge to him, a hardness that suggested the "business" he'd been handling had left a mark.

"You didn't answer me," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he felt me shudder. He didn't mean the question about who I belonged to; he meant the silence I'd kept since he'd reclaimed me. He broke the kiss to look at me, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a surprising tenderness that contrasted with the grip on my thigh. "You really thought you could just move on to some kid the second I went dark?"

"I wasn't moving on, Dave. I was surviving," I countered, my voice barely a whisper. I arched my back, pressing myself closer to him, feeling the heavy thrum of his heart. "You don't get to go ghost for half a year and then walk back in here and claim everything like it's still waiting for you."

A slow, knowing smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly what he did to me, and he knew that despite the anger and the lack of communication, my body was reacting to him in ways Jaden couldn't have dreamed of. Without breaking eye contact, Dave reached down, his fingers hooking into the side of my gold swimsuit and tugging it just enough to make me gasp. The friction of the sequins against the metal wall sounded like a sharp intake of breath.

“You’re not as convincing as you think you are,” Dave murmured, his voice vibrating against my skin. He didn’t let go of the fabric; instead, he used the tension to pull me flush against him, ensuring there wasn't a single millimeter of air left between us. He knew the map of my body better than I knew it myself, and he navigated it with a possessive precision that made my head spin.

The party continued above us, a muffled roar of laughter and bass that felt like it belonged to a different lifetime. Down here, in the dim light of the crew quarters, the only sound was the ragged cadence of our breathing. Dave’s focus was absolute, his gaze locked onto mine with a weight that felt like a physical pressure. He wasn't just reclaiming a spot in my bed; he was reminding me that no matter how many months he stayed away, he was the gravity that pulled everything back into place.

He shifted his grip, hoisting me higher against the bulkhead until my back was arched and my legs were locked firmly around his waist. With a sudden, fluid motion, he flipped me around, pressing my chest flat against the cool metal wall. The change in position caught me off guard, leaving me breathless and vulnerable, my gold sequins shimmering under the flickering overhead light. I felt his large hand splay across my lower back for a second before he shifted his weight, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me steady.

Then, the sound of a sharp, loud smack echoed through the narrow corridor.

The shock of it sent a jolt of electricity straight up my spine, and I let out a high, involuntary gasp that sounded more like a plea than a protest. Before I could even process the sting, another strike landed, firmer this time, the heat of his palm searing through the thin fabric of my suit. I squeezed my eyes shut, my fingers clawing at the metal wall, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

"Who told you that you could be dancing for other men while I was gone?" Dave murmured, his voice a low, dangerous rumble right against my ear. He didn't wait for an answer before delivering a third, slower smack that made me arch my back and whimper. He lingered there for a moment, his hand resting heavy and warm on the flushed skin of my backside. "Such a dirty girl," he whispered, the words grazing my skin. "Trying to make daddy jealous."

The term sent a surge of heat through me that had nothing to do with the sting. It was a private joke, a relic of the late-night encounters we'd had in the shadows of my brother's house—a dynamic we slipped into when the world outside became too loud and the risks too high. Hearing him say it now, after five months of silence, felt like a key turning in a lock. The anger that had been simmering in my chest since he’d walked back into my life didn't vanish, but it transformed, melting into a desperate, aching need to be completely seen by him.

I turned my head slightly, glancing over my shoulder at him. His expression was no longer thunderous; instead, it was hooded and hungry, his eyes scanning the way my body reacted to his touch. He looked at me not as the neighborhood's untouchable boss, but as the man who knew every single one of my weaknesses. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his breath hot and uneven. "You like it when I take charge, don't you? Even when you're pretending to be mad."

I let out a shaky breath, my body trembling under the weight of his presence. "I hate you," I lied, though the way I pressed my hips back into him betrayed the sentiment.

"Liar," he murmured. He shifted his grip, his hand sliding from my hip to the small of my back, pulling me so tight against him that I could feel the rigid tension in his thighs. The power dynamic had shifted the moment he stepped onto that deck, and we both knew it. He didn't just want the space Jaden had occupied; he wanted to erase the very memory of anyone else touching me.

He began to move, his movements slow and deliberate, his hands mapping out the curves of my body with a possessiveness that felt like a brand. He wasn't rushing now. The urgency had settled into something more calculated, a slow-burn intensity that made the air in the narrow corridor feel like it was vibrating. He shifted his focus back to the gold sequins, his fingers hooking into the fabric and tugging it just enough to expose a sliver of skin, his touch lingering as if he were memorizing me all over again.

Just as the tension reached a breaking point, the sound of footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. A muffled voice called out, sounding suspiciously like one of the crew members looking for a misplaced set of linens. We froze, the sudden intrusion of the outside world pulling us back from the edge. Dave didn't pull away immediately; he lingered for a second longer, his gaze locking onto mine with a promise that made my stomach flip.

"We aren't finished," he whispered, his voice a promise of things to come. He stepped back just enough to give me room to breathe, though he kept his hand firmly planted on my waist, anchoring me to him. He glanced toward the direction of the noise and then back at me, a small, dangerous smile playing on his lips. "But you're coming with me. Right now."

He didn't give me a choice. He gripped my hand, his fingers interlocking with mine in a tight, commanding hold, and began leading me back toward the deck. As we emerged from the shadows and stepped back into the blinding sunlight of the yacht, the music was still pumping, but the atmosphere had shifted. People were glancing our way, their conversations dying down as they noticed the way Dave was walking beside me—not as a family friend, but as a man who had just claimed a prize.

I felt the weight of a dozen gazes on us, including the confused, wide-eyed look on Jaden's face from across the deck. Beside me, Dave didn't miss a beat. He leaned in close, his shoulder brushing mine, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "That little boy looked like he was about to cry when I took you. Good."

We navigated the crowd toward the bar, where my brother was standing with a group of associates, his brow furrowed as he looked at us. "About time," my brother grumbled, though his eyes flicked between Dave's protective stance and the disheveled state of my gold swimsuit. "I thought you'd disappeared. Where the hell have you been, Dave?"

Dave didn't look at my brother, his eyes still fixed on me as he pulled me closer to his side, his arm sliding around my waist in a gesture that was as much a warning as it was an embrace. "Handling business," Dave replied, his voice returning to that deep, commanding rumble. "But the most important piece of business is right here."

Sorry ya'll i'm well aware I changed POV's, movie night being cut in half pissed me off so I had to get this done #loveisland #season8 💀💀💀💀

[hiveandmeadow]

Philip Plisson

[thiago0502]

Riva Aquarama Lamborghini.

Ferrucio's special order.

[navalarchitecture]

[soulblessin]

[marcocantare]