To have that huge, glorious cock pounding me relentlessly, bringing me to orgasm after orgasm as I shout his name. To...
I stand abruptly and brush sand from my dress with shaking hands.
My flight response has finally kicked in.
Better late than never.
“I should go,” I announce to the night air.
He stands, too. Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t try to stop me.
I take three steps toward the resort before I stop.
Don’t do it.
Don’t turn around.
This is your out.
Take it and run.
I turn around.
He’s standing exactly where I left him, hands in the pockets of his linen pants, watching me with an expression I can’t see in the dark.
My hand extends before my brain catches up. “One night.”
He looks at my outstretched hand. Then at my face. Which he probably can’t see, either.
“No promises,” I continue. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. “No names in the morning. We don’t talk about the past. We don’t make plans for the future. Just tonight. This one night.”
For a moment he doesn’t move. I can see him processing. Calculating the risk the way he probably calculates every business decision.
Then he takes my hand.
His fingers lace through mine and suddenly I can’t remember why this is a terrible idea.
I can only remember how this used to feel.
How he used to look at me like I was the solution instead of the problem.
We walk in silence. I don’t ask where we’re going. He doesn’t offer an explanation.
He just leads me across the sand, past the resort’s main buildings, toward a path that winds through tropical landscaping.
I catch glimpses of shadows moving in my peripheral vision. Either drunken midnight revelers, or more likely his securityteam. Because of course billionaire venture capitalist Corin Saelinger would bring his security team to the Bahamas.
The thought should bother me. Should remind me of all the reasons this is a mistake.
Instead I just hold his hand tighter.
We arrive at a private beach front cottage tucked back from the main resort.
He unlocks the door and steps aside to let me enter first.
He flicks on the main light switch and a soft glow fills the place. It’s beautiful in that resort-minimalist way. White linens. Dark furniture. A bottle of wine and fruit basket on the counter that screams “complimentary amenities for guests who can afford this place.”
I hear the door close behind me. The soft click of the lock.
