Greek (Palm South University)

But before he can say it, I flip around, putting my pussy in his face again as I take his cock deep in my throat.

“Oh fuck, Sky,” he curses, and I bob my head up and down, taking advantage of the angle that lets his cock curve into my throat just right.

I hold myself steady with one hand and slide the other down over his balls, rubbing them in time with my mouth. Then, I press my index finger just between his ball and his ass, finding that sensitive spot and massaging it as I deep throat him again.

And that does it.

With a curse, Kip holds my head down and spills into my throat, his body pulsing and trembling under me as he releases. I swallow every last drop, soaking in the way it feels to make this man fall apart from my touch alone.

Kip shutters when he’s fully spent, and then just like I did, he falls lax, his breaths tickling my pussy as he comes down. I swirl my tongue around him one last time before I release, and then I carefully crawl off of him, sitting on one hip and looking back at him with a grin before wiping the corners of my mouth with my thumb.

He shakes his head. “You wicked little girl,” he growls.

And then he pulls me back up the bed, his mouth finding mine, and we slip easily into round two.

We finally hit a point where we need water, and food, and rest.

Kip orders us far too much from room service, and when it arrives, we have a buffet in bed.

And I beg him to play the web series for me.

It’s surreal, seeing our story brought to life on the screen, and past the gut reaction the first time Natalia’s face shows, I don’t even feel animosity toward her. It’s like I slip in so easily that I feel like it’s me, not her, and it’s Kip, not the actor playing him. It’s our story.

She’ll never be able to taint that.

We’re on episode three, me sucking on a chocolate milkshake while Kip draws lazy circles on my hip between pressing gentle kisses there, when my phone buzzes loud on the bedside table.

My breath hitches in my chest at the simple text on the screen.

S.O.S. Get down here. Now!

Jess.

I SLAM BACK ANOTHER shot of tequila.

I’ve lost count which one I’m on.

All I know is that I don’t even need the salt or the lime anymore. It doesn’t burn, it doesn’t sting, it just makes me let out a victorious cheer and slam my hand on the bar, ready for another.

“Ooohkay,” Ashlei says, peeling me away before I have the chance to get the bartender’s attention. The girls I just took the shot with are high-fiving me as Ashlei steals me from them — they’re a bachelorette party, too, from New York. “Maybe we hold off on another shot for a while.”

“But I want another one,” I pout.

“I know you do, but let’s give that one time to set in first, mmkay?”

I wave her off, shrugging free of her grasp before I blow a breath through flat lips. “Fine. But then I’m going to dance.”

“Dancing we can do,” Ashlei says, and she leads me down into the pool, the water warm and pleasant as we join the other dancing bodies right in front of the DJ booth.

The music is loud and energetic, bass thumping through me as the lights sway above us and reflect off the water, too. I throw my hands up and move my hips, enjoying the buzz.

Or, at least, trying to.

Under that joy and fun is a thick layer of slimy anger holding on for dear life and refusing to let go.

Kip showing up to surprise Skyler was the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen. It reminded me of something out of a movie, and the way he looked at her, the way he flew hundreds of miles without sleeping because he was so sick at the thought of losing her…

It makes my stomach hurt.

Because it’s beautiful.

And because I want it to be Adam who showed up like that.

I want it to be him who surprised me, who said he couldn’t wait to leave Baltimore after the Thanksgiving meeting, couldn’t stand to be away from me any longer. I want it to be the two of us holed up in a room somewhere in the resort, making love for hours. I want it to be me wrapped up in my guy’s arms, smitten from the fact that he flew all the way here just to find me, just to have me and remind me that it’s us against the world.

Instead, I’ve had a string of measly text messages that make my blood boil.

We barely talked on Thanksgiving, save for the early call he made to wish me a happy holiday. We watched part of the Macy’s Day Parade together before he said he had to go, and my gut soured at the sound of Chandler’s voice in the background of that call.