Chapter 8: Salty Island Seductions
Chapter 8: Salty Island Seductions The speedboat cut through the Atlantic like a silver blade, its engine humming over the waves. Sarah stood at the bow, wind tousling her blonde hair, the sun gleaming off her bronzed skin. Her white bikini clung to her like a second skin — barely there, dangerously low-cut, her curves glowing. Michelle sat beside her, wearing a deep teal two-piece that left little to the imagination. Ciara and Ellen were stretched out on sun loungers, already sipping something fruity with rum, and every time Ciara adjusted her top, it threatened to break under pressure. Mr. Salty stood at the helm, steering the boat shirtless, his torso a vision of shredded perfection — abs like cobblestones, arms sculpted, veins bulging with the kind of power that made every woman aboard bite their lip. “I didn’t think Ireland had tropical islands,” Ellen murmured. Salty smirked. “Most people don’t. But this one’s mine. Welcome to Salty Island .” The moment they doc...