Scott's Satin Sheets

Scott’s Satin Sheets

Lacey Alexander

City Heat, Book Four

Payton Albright has it all—she spends her days on a yacht sailing the Caribbean, with every comfort she could desire. Except one—freedom. At twenty-six, Payton is treated like a child by her wealthy father, kept under his thumb. And Payton has needs—need she’s desperate to have met. Desperate enough to let her inner wild child out, desperate enough to seduce a stranger into the satin sheets on her bed.

The moment Scott Fletcher spots the beautiful Miss Albright, he knows she’s trouble—very
tempting
trouble. Her father is Scott’s boss, and Scott
needs
to keep his job.

Yet when Payton propositions Scott, he can’t resist. Soon he discovers there’s more to Payton than meets the eye—the persuasive wild child turns out to be as sweet as she is sexy, and he’s more than happy to be her bedroom tutor.

But what happens if Scott takes one too many chances with Payton? What happens if he’s caught rolling around in satin sheets with the boss’s daughter?

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Scott’s Satin Sheets

ISBN 9781419923487

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Scott’s Satin Sheets Copyright© 2009 Lacey Alexander

Edited by Mary Moran

Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book publication September 2009

The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

SCOTT’S SATIN SHEETS

Lacey Alexander

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Dacron: Invista North America S.A.R.L. Corporation

Jimmy Choo: J. Choo Limited Liability Company

Lycra: Invista North America S.A.R.L. Corporation

Mustang: Ford Motor Company

Playgirl
: Playgirl Key Club, Inc.

Vaseline: Unilever Supply Chain, Inc.

Vicodin: Abbott Laboratories

Lacey Alexander

Payton Albright knew she was lucky. She was lucky to come from a wealthy family.

She was lucky to be spending the spring season island-hopping on her father’s majestic yacht. She was lucky to have every material possession she wanted at her fingertips, and to know she’d always be provided for.

And she
liked
material possessions—she loved her shoes and bags, her jewelry and clothes. She loved her sexy new string bikini, and it made her pussy a little damp to think the dark pink color of her nipples might show through the slinky white Lycra when it got wet. Her cunt swelled at the mere thought of going about so scantily clad, of maybe finding some hot cabana boy type to smooth suntan oil over her already-bronzed-by-the-sun skin.

She’d just stepped out from her morning shower and slipped into a thick white terrycloth robe, but thinking of her body, feeling so hot and naughty all of the sudden, made her want to see her tan lines. So she padded across the floor to the large, mirrored closet doors and opened her robe wide, just like a flasher.

Her pussy wept further at the sight of herself. She liked her body—no, more than that, she
loved
her body. Her C-cup breasts weren’t perky and firm but more natural and round, which she thought just as beautiful in their own way. Her cunt glistened, completely smooth and bare—a habit she’d gotten into just a few months ago because it made her feel sexy—and the pink folds within protruded from her slit just slightly now, looking moist from arousal. It was all framed by an hourglass figure she was proud of and planned to work her ass off on the treadmill to maintain for as long as possible.

And, of course, tan lines from her bathing suit seemed to highlight her breasts and pussy, everything else darkened by the tropical climate.

The crime here—the thing that didn’t, at the moment, make her feel quite as lucky as she knew she was—was the fact that her body was going to waste. At twenty-six, she’d slept with only two guys, both of them long-time boyfriends, both them pretty much chosen by her father Charles Albright the third, complete with the Roman numeral behind his name. She loved her parents, but they’d hovered over her for her entire life, making all her decisions, never allowing her to experience the world on her own—and her father was by far a worse culprit than her mom, who mostly just went along for the ride.

Payton had spent her early years being home-schooled by an expensive tutor, Miss Willows, and then sent to an even more expensive boarding school that had felt like prison. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but she’d had virtually no contact with the opposite sex for the duration of high school and had then been shipped off to an equally and insanely strict excuse for a women’s college. When she’d objected, her father had explained that he didn’t want her to end up a spoiled, jet-setting debutante like so many of his friends’ daughters, and she understood his fear—Betsy Hayes had had three abortions at last count and was hooked on Vicodin, and Natalie Vaughn had nearly snorted her father’s fortune up her nose last Payton had heard.

But at the same time, Payton had begun to resent her father’s lack of faith in her, and she was getting damn tired of having her boyfriends hand-picked and always feeling her father’s watchful eye—
everywhere
she went.

For God’s sake, she was twenty-six! And still living with her parents—even if it
was
on a yacht. Unfortunately, her father had also never allowed her to work, so she didn’t have any money of her own—since the trust fund didn’t kick in until her thirtieth birthday—so she really had no choice.

Looking at her body in the mirror now, though, she just didn’t think she could stand four more years under her father’s thumb. Her past two lovers had bored her, and her body ached to be touched. All she thought of—constantly, these days—was sex.

She longed to feel some hot guy’s rough hands roaming her flesh, his wet mouth sucking hard on her nipples, his thick cock filling her. She oozed a little more just imagining it again now.

And she considered lying down on the bed, easing her fingers between her legs, and rubbing her clit until she came—but she did that all the time and it was beginning to bore her almost as much as her two rich ex-boyfriends. She needed more, plain and simple. And she didn’t know how she was going to get it—but she was. She
had
to.

Everything inside her ached for hot sex—and just a little freedom, to make her own choices, be her own person, do her own thing.

So, cunt throbbing with the same need as usual, she retied her robe and ventured from her room in search of coffee and a croissant. Her parents had likely departed the yacht already—they were the up-and-out-early types and her father had some sort of business meeting this morning anyway—so it would be only her and the staff.

“Good morning, Miss Albright,” said Daniel, who served all their meals and generally kept the place tidy. She loved his English accent and politeness, and despite them having nothing in common, she sometimes thought her father’s “butler”—a generally handsome, pale-haired fellow—silently honed in on what she considered her “oppression”.

“Morning, Daniel.” Then she smelled coffee and spied a tray of pastries and croissants on the sideboard in the dining room. “Ah, that’s what I’m after,” she told him.

“Weather’s lovely today,” he said. “In case you want to take your breakfast out on the deck.”

“I might just do that.” Anything to distract her from the hunger vibrating through her oh so needy pussy. “Where are we docked, anyway?” she asked, since they’d pulled into port late last night and had been to so many islands in the past two months that she’d lost track.

“Key West,” Daniel replied.

* * * * *

Scott Fletcher walked along the narrow pier that stretched between large boats of every shape and style in the marina. Mostly they were vessels that served the Key West tourist trade—sightseeing boats, deep-sea fishing boats, and party boats like the one he worked on most nights, the
Party Barge
. His best friend Chris owned one of the snorkeling catamarans, and Scott served on the crew of that boat too. The
Carrie Me
Home
, named after Chris’ wife, sat bobbing in the water dead ahead. In fact, Scott had come down to do some maintenance on one of the sails early, before their first voyage of the day.

He hoped to own his own such part of the tourist industry one day, but the bummer of it was—unlike Chris, Scott hadn’t started working toward that until just recently, and he had a long way to go. So despite already holding down two jobs, he’d also put word out at the marina just a few days ago that he was looking to pick up extra work on his days off.

When he’d first arrived on this laid-back island of sin, that was why he’d come—for the fun, the sin. He’d been young, in his early twenties, and just looking to party. And party he had. The
Party Barge
provided many a willing girl ready to get naughty and naked with the nearest available guy and he’d taken advantage of it over the years. And for some reason, as he stepped onto the
Carrie Me Home
beneath the morning sun, he couldn’t help remembering some of the hotter-than-hell three- and four-ways he’d shared with friends over the years—in particular, he and Chris had once had a very hot and nasty time with Carrie in a hot tub, back when she’d first arrived on the island.

And all that was good down-and-dirty fun, no doubt about it. But as the age of thirty approached—in just a few months, in fact—he’d begun to realize that he didn’t want to work on the
Party Barge
forever. And working for his buddy on the catamaran was cool, but seeing Chris’ satisfaction with his growing business had made Scott begin to yearn for that kind of independence too.

So he planned to get serious, start working harder and partying less, and get some money in the bank so he could put a down payment on a boat of his own. He thought he might start out with a small fishing boat—he’d worked on a few of those in his day and knew enough about it to run a business and keep customers happy. But eventually he hoped to buy in to something bigger—a dolphin cruise operation or a dinner boat.