I never make it into the water, instead opting to lounge on the deck chair and think about how I’m going to get out of this. But honestly, do I really want to?
No, I don’t.
Tate wasn’t wrong about one fucking thing he said. I want his cock. I crave it—and him—and I don’t know what I’m going to do about it. Is this a weekend thing? A tropical rendezvous that ends at the airport? That’s not what he wanted before, and I can’t believe his feelings have changed. Why do we have to fit together so well? It’s like his body was made for mine, and I crave him like a drug.
I don’t care that he’s older than me. That’s never been my problem. However, I wonder if it bothers him, considering the young buck comment he made. He is right though—nobody can fuck like him. At least nobody fucks me like him.
I spend the rest of the snorkeling trip waiting for Rivka to talk to me about dinner, but she never does, which makes me wonder what she has planned for the evening. I don’t ask though, because that’s the deal, and instead, I let Dave know that I’m going to take a nap when we get back to the hotel, and I’ll let him know later about dinner. To say he’s disappointed would be an understatement, but it’s not like he ever had a chance with me, anyway. I mean, he’s nice enough, but he’s not Tate. No man has been in the last three months. A reminder that sticks in my hand like an elusive splinter I can’t get out, but also can’t ignore.
Three hours later, the shuttle buses are dropping us off at the hotel. Rivka and I exit and part ways, never once broaching conversation about plans for later. I go upstairs and enter my room, prepare to shower, shave, and make sure every inch of me is ready to be devoured by Tate.
I know I shouldn’t, but I also know I’m going to, consequences be damned.
On my bed is an envelope with #1401 written on the front. Inside is a key card and a note that says, “Let yourself in. See you at six.”
I exhale the breath I’ve been holding, square my shoulders, and shake all my concerns from my head—a devilish smile spreading across my lips. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to enjoy every second and stack up a lifetime of orgasms, because once we leave this island, this is over.
It sounds good when I say it in my head, but do I believe it?
Will he?