3
SARIAH
Tate slams the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the bathroom. For several seconds, I stand there in shock, unable to look at myself in the mirror.
What the fuck did I just do?
What the actual fuck did I just do?
I finally look at myself, taking stock of my body. My neck aches, but my pussy quivers and my clit throbs, and I know it will take nothing to send me over the edge. I slide my hand between my legs and press the pad of my middle finger against the hard, swollen little nub. Twenty to thirty-seconds of touching myself, using the mix of Tate’s cum and my slick arousal as lubricant, and I’m exploding—shattering into a million little pieces.
I collapse back onto the countertop, giving myself a few minutes before I finally bend down and pull up my bikini bottoms. My legs are shaking, and my emotions are fried. I shouldn’t have fucked with him. I knew taunting him would get me exactly what I wanted, and yet it didn’t. Not really.
Not because I didn’t come—because I probably deserved that—but because now I’m pissed off and want him more than ever.
You know where to find me.
Fuck him. Like I would really go to his room and beg him for more.
And yet, that’s exactly what I want to do. The man has a magical dick and is the only one who has ever made me climax through penetration. I’ve fantasized about his cock for months—woken up soaking wet and on the verge of orgasming just from a dream.
But he’s my boss. Well, my boss’s boss, but I have full intentions of him being my boss one day. That’s the goal. That’s my career path.
So, what am I doing?
“Are you kidding me?” I hiss at my reflection, my eyes narrowing in on the giant black and blue mark on my neck. There’s no way I’m going to be able to hide this over the next couple of weeks, much less tomorrow, while surrounded by my team members and other coworkers. “I’m going to kill him.”
Grabbing my bag, I exit the bathroom and visually sweep the landscape to make sure none of the guys from earlier are hanging around. I see nobody, and make my way back to my room for the night, formulating a plan for the giant love bite on my neck. I half expect to run into Tate at every corner, but he’s not there. He’s not waiting for me. He’s not going to pursue me any more tonight because, as he said, I know where to find him.
Dammit. Ice cubes and a cold shower it is.
* * *
I have no idea what Rivka got up to last night, but I was seconds away from pounding on her door when she finally answered her room phone and hustled her ass downstairs to grab the last shuttle to the boat. And considering we promised not to ask questions, I guess I won’t know what she did, just like she won’t ask me any more questions about the giant black and blue mark on my neck.
I’ve done everything to get this damn thing to chill out. I put ice on it last night, and this morning, I slathered on tinted SPF and waterproof cover up, neither of which made much of a dent. Luckily, I found this cute neck wrap/scarf thingy that has shells and turquoise beads on it which match my bandeau bikini top perfectly. To the casual observer, it looks like a fashion choice. That, coupled with my wide brimmed black straw hat, and I look like I’m vacationing on my yacht in the Riviera versus taking a tour boat to snorkel at a cove off the coast of Maui.
Rivka and I, along with a half a dozen male coworkers, lounge in chairs on the deck, soaking up the early afternoon sun for a half hour as we cruise towards our first snorkeling destination. We’re chatting, laughing loudly, and sipping on virgin daiquiris when a crew member comes on over the loudspeaker announcing our arrival. Rivka and I have different colored wristbands on, so we will depart on different sides of the boat—which works out fine for me, considering I plan to be one of the last people off the boat and the first one back on. That’s the only way I can remove my scarf with nobody noticing.
Stupid Tate.
“Aren’t you coming?” Dave, from the sales team, asks.
“I’ll meet you in the water. I’m just going to go use the bathroom real quick.” Standing up, I grab my bag and push my way past people to the bathroom in the back of the boat.
“What a beautiful scarf, Sariah, but aren’t you worried about tan lines?” Tate smirks from behind me.
I narrow my eyes and sneer. “You are such an asshole.”
Tate smiles and nods at a passing crew member that I unfortunately did not see before calling my boss’s boss an asshole to his face. As soon as we are alone, he steps close enough that I can smell his aftershave. The scent takes me back to that night in Toledo, and while I would never admit it to him, I bought a sample-sized bottle of it for myself to spritz on my pillows. “You seem to like it when I’m an asshole. Being nice sure as fuck didn’t get me anywhere with you, but I bet if I were to slide my hand in between your thighs right now, I’d find you dripping wet—absolutely fucking soaked for me. Wouldn’t I, Sariah?”
Squeezing my thighs together, I have a challenge on the tip of my tongue, but swallow it down, knowing damn well I won’t win if I tease and taunt him again.
His smile widens, and he leans forward to inhale my scent. “How many times did you get yourself off last night after I left you? Were you even able to make it out of the bathroom before you fucked your fingers?”
I suck in my breath. My breasts are heavy, and my nipples are hard, and the ache between my legs is going to drive me crazy.
He chuckles, but it’s dark and foreboding, and highly arousing. I did not know I liked to be talk to like this, but I do. When it’s Tate, I fucking do. “Should I take you inside this bathroom right now and give you some relief? I’m not so much of an asshole that I would fuck you two days in a row without getting you off at least once.”
“Dave asked me to dinner tonight.” I blurt out of nowhere, desperate to change the direction of this conversation. I can’t hold out much longer, and I think he knows it.
Shaking his head, Tate reaches out and slides down the scarf covering my neck. He leans forward and places a gentle kiss against the bruise. “You’re not going out with any of those young bucks tonight because even though every one of them are dumb and full of cum, not one of them can dick like I can, and you fucking know it. You want my cock. You fucking crave my cock. And you’re going to have my cock—All.Night.Long.”
Tate takes a step back. “Be in my room by six pm. I’m in the penthouse suite, just a few floors above your room, so you can’t possibly get lost.”
“I am not coming to your room.”
He locks eyes with me, an epic battle of wills raging between us, and then tilts his head in challenge. “Don’t make me look for you. You won’t like what I do if I have to come find you. You think you’re worried about people finding out about us? What do you think your coworkers will say when I bend you over a chair poolside?”
My eyes grow wide. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.”
“Test me and find out. My room. Six pm. Sharp.”
* * *