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He withdraws his finger and traces my lips, making them wet and slick with my own saliva. “Yes, Master,” I say. My voice is low and throaty.

“Good, girl. From now on I will call you girl, is that OK?”

“Do you call all of them girl?” I ask, feeling a tinge of jealousy. And where the hell did that emotion come from? I’m annoyed at the way he affects me.

“Does it matter if I do?”

“Yes,” I answer with an irritated clip to my word. “I’d like something else if that’s your standard pet name.”

He stares down at me for a few seconds, like my statement perplexes him. “Well, honestly, I don’t call them anything. I just give commands unless we’re in introductions or dismissals.”

Dismissals?

“So, no, girl is not my standard pet name. You will be my girl from now on.”

I nod and let out a breath. Things are getting weird. I have no idea what’s happening or how I got to this place with him so fast. It was like a switch went off and here I am, his girl. He’s good, I realize. He’s very good at this game. He’s been playing it a long time, I bet. He’s the master because here I am, standing before him as his submissive, when ten minutes ago I was chopping him in the throat.

“I can read the doubts on your face, girl. So let’s get the first one over with. Kneel, please.”

I look up at him, stunned.

“Girl,” he says calmly. “I said
kneel
.”

I swallow and nod, then kneel down in the sand. I keep my head down but his fingertips find my chin and lift it up.

“I’d like for you to look me in the eyes.”

I meet his gaze and realize he’s got nice eyes. Not beautiful nice, they are that too, but nice as in kind. They are not the eyes of a cruel man. Which is good. If I’m going to let this man have his way with me, then I’d like for him to at least be kind.

“Good, girl. I like when you obey. Feel my cock with your hand.”

I stare at the thick bulge in his pants for a moment. It pushes against his suit trousers.

“Eyes up,” he says, correcting my chin with a fingertip lift. “Hand on my cock.” This time his directions come out stern. Not angry, but stern, like he means business.

I place my hand over his zipper area and stare him in the eyes. He smiles and I smile back.

“Play with it, girl.”

His dick fills up my palm and I wonder if I’d be able to wrap my hand completely around it. I squeeze, but it’s not very accessible. “May I take it out?” I ask. I look away from his eyes for a second because I have no idea where that question came from, but his hand guides my face back to him.

“Yes, you may please me however you want for the next few minutes, then I’ll ask you to do it the way I like it.”

“Why not just tell me how you like it?”

“You’re going to get spanked for that, girl. Not tonight, we’re not ready for that. But I’m keeping a tally. Don’t forget. Now what should you have said?”

“Yes, Master,” I say with a smile.

He smiles back and I relax a little. “But I’ll answer your question so you understand. I want you to show me how you like to pleasure me with your mouth first. So do things you like.”

My doubts must be written all over my face because then he asks a question no woman wants to hear when she’s confronted with a man’s sex aimed at her mouth. “Do you have much experience?”

I shake my head. “Not much.”

“Do you like it? Sucking a man’s dick?”

“No,” I answer truthfully.

“Hmm. Well, then in that case, I’ll show you how I like it first. But under one condition.”

“What?” He frowns at me, so I correct myself. “What is the condition, Master?”

He places his hand over mine, which is still cupping his dick, and makes me squeeze. “Fuck, you’re turning me on so bad right now, Grace. The only reason I haven’t come yet is because I’m saving it for your throat.”

My eyebrows shoot up. I have never,
ever
swallowed a man’s come. And I’m not even close to being ready to do that tonight. I know he reads that expression for what it is, but he ignores it this time. A firm declaration that I will indeed be swallowing very shortly.

“My condition, girl, if I tell you how to blow me, is that you must first tell me how to lick your pussy to make you come.”

Oh, fuck. “I’m wet,” I say out loud. And then I cover my mouth with the hand that’s supposed to be fondling his cock.

He laughs and I smile up at him, happy that he’s amused.

“Lift your arms,” he orders. I lift my arms and he reaches down, grabs the hem of my dress, and pulls it over my head. I have no bra on, so my nipples perk to attention from the cool sea mist billowing up from the rising waves. He tosses the dress aside. “Stand, please.”

I stand up and his eyes caress my body. His heated stare makes me writhe with want. I want him to touch me very badly. All this is happening too slow for me. I’m used to men trying to get their dicks inside me as fast as possible. I’m used to being groped and left wanting more attention. But right now, I might be getting too
much
attention. He’s captivated. He reaches out to touch me, pinching my nipple so I gasp and then moan. He pulls me close to his body and then one hand reaches around to cup my ass, while the other one slips inside my panties.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“What?” It’s like a scratch across a record, that’s how abruptly the erotic mood ends.

“Your panties,” he says with confusion, “are men’s briefs.”

I laugh. “Oh, shit.”

“Why are you wearing men’s briefs? Whose fucking underwear are these?” When I look up at him he’s livid with the thought that I’m wearing another man’s underwear.

“Asher, Jesus, they’re mine! I just bought them today because I forgot to pack panties!”

“That’s going on the list, missy!”

I laugh. “What list?” My outburst dies because he’s serious. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You called me Asher, that’s one more spanking. And you didn’t call me Master, so that’s two. Plus, you’re wearing men’s underwear. That’s three.”

“You can’t spank me for wearing my own underwear!”

“I can and I will.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re being unreasonable. Just tell me how you like your stupid cock sucked so we can move on to the good shit!”

“You’ll get spanked for that too.”

“For what? What the fuck did I do now?”

“Two fucks and a shit, plus you gave me an order. I’m the master, Grace. Me. Not you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Fine.” I fling my arms out to my sides like I’m being crucified and yell, “At your service, Master!”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” he says with a growl.

And he’s right. Because I laugh. “Asher, lighten up, man. You want me to tell you how I like my pussy licked or not? Because I’m horny as fuck and I want to get
something
out of all this tonight.”

He takes out his phone and points it at me, the little red light blinking that it’s recording. “When we do those spankings, Grace, I will remind you of this night. I will play this video back for you so you understand each and every swat across your bare ass. And when you’re crying—”

“When I’m begging for more, you mean? Because holy hell—”

“—I’m gonna laugh, and say, lighten up, Kinsella—”

“—all I want is to
get laid
!”

“—you
asked for it
!”

“OK, that’s it.” I grab my dress and pull it over my head, not even caring that the boob cups are all crooked. “I’m done here. I might as well just go home and get myself off.” I swipe my shoes from the beach and start walking again.

“And I told you, you’re gonna get lost if you go that way!”

“Well, then take me home. Now! Because I’m done playing tonight. You’re a crazy jealous asshole. Telling me I’m getting spanked for wearing my own underwear. Pfft. Like hell!”

Actually, I’m not all that upset about the spankings. I’m like, dying for a fucking spanking right now. Anything. Some good cock-sucking directions. I’m even willing to embarrass myself and tell him how to lick my cunt. But he’s got me so wound up, I’m out of control. I’m yelling and screaming and I’m on a damn beach with a movie star trying my best to get fucked.

And none of this is the real me.

I’m not this girl. Not in any way. I belong online with my Twitter friends. I prefer Vaughn Asher as my muse. And my heart actually beats faster as I realize this was supposed to be my fantasy and it’s anything but a fantasy. It’s… real life. And that’s not what I’m looking for.

Vaughn weighs his options as he watches me have my internal monologue, then rakes his hand through his movie-star hair and huffs out a breath. “Fine, I’ll walk you back.”

“Great.”

Chapter Twelve

#FreeSamplesMakeMeWet

A
S
soon as we get to a place I recognize, I turn to him. “Thanks, I can find my way from here.” I sigh before I can stop myself because… Vuaghn Asher date…
over
.

He gives me a simple nod, but his frown is all I remember as I turn my back and make my way down the path that leads to the bungalows.

So yes, here I am. Alone. As usual. Sure, I ditched the control freak… but now I’m obsessed with thinking about him. Dirty thoughts, too. Filthy thoughts about what I could be doing with him, instead of running all these regrets through my mind.

My hands wander between my legs more times than I can count and even though I want nothing more than to get off and feel that release, I stop myself every time.

Because I can’t get into it. My perfect masturbation fantasy has been shattered. Who do I think about if not Vaughn Asher? He’s been in my mind for years. Always reliable. Always perfect. Always sexy and hot and willing to do whatever it takes to satisfy me. I have pictured his cock entering me, his mouth on mine, his hands on my most intimate parts and tonight I had the opportunity to take everything from him I ever dreamed of.

And I walked away.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I contemplate going after him. I fantasize that I make my way back to that beach, walk up the pea gravel path, and find him naked at the pool, the underwater lights flickering off his perfect body with the rippled reflection of the water. He holds out his arms and I walk into them, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s been waiting for me, and only me. Like we were meant to be together.

But of course, the negativity starts in. Eating its way into my perfect fairy tale, curling the edges with fire and disappointment, and then leaving nothing but spent ash. I see him with other women. I see him hovering over me, making me shut up or crawl to him on my knees, only to laugh when I finally find myself in front of him, looking up to his eyes for a blink of approval.

I think the laughing is the worst. I can handle the humiliation. I can handle the hair-pulling and the spanking and the dirty words and insults. As long as I know they are all fake, I can handle all of that.

But when the line blurs between the two, then—that requires faith. And I have very little faith these days. None, in fact. I have no faith. If he laughs, then he’s playing a game I’m not a part of. If I trust him, give into his demands and let him really be Master, and he laughs?

I can’t do that.

I can’t feel like I’m being made a fool. A spectacle. I don’t mind being his plaything, as long as I’m not his joke.

Maybe I should just tell him that?

Right, Grace. Like you’ll ever have another chance with him again. You have one day left on this island, then you’re back to your job in Denver. Planning birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries.

That’s not true. I’ve been promoted. I will, at the very least, be doing corporate parties and club events. I might even be assigned some more unusual jobs—like conventions and fundraisers. I’m moving up after only two years, so why do I belittle my job? It’s not insignificant.

Because, Grace, negativity is a lifestyle choice and you fly that flag proudly.