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Much later, I laid in bed, exhausted and possibly drunk on Arak Bali, then cried myself to sleep, wavering between anger and sadness.
I extend my arm and grab two of the pillows that I neatly stacked on the floor next to the nightstand before I went to bed last night, alone. Catching my breath, I tentatively peer at the other side of the bed.
Thank God!
I let out a relieved sigh. My man is sleeping peacefully on his stomach with his left arm bent under the firm pillow that he specifically requested. The sheet barely covers his sumptuous ass, not quite hiding his hot valley piercing; the tiny balls strategically placed in the cleft of his butt cheeks tempt me.
Not that my cock has any interest in his hole. I’m a proud bottom through and through; one of my many selling points according to this complex man. My tongue, on the other hand, enjoys playing with his piercings and teasing his inked bicep. They’re a stark contrast with his sleek look, but I know better. Alex’s bad boy vibes stay under wraps, solely for my pleasure… and pain.
Yes, he’s an expert at providing the right amount of pain to trigger intense pleasure. I own my sexual orientation with pride and am able to recognize the few who could satisfy me in a room full of strangers. I simply got lucky and found the right person. Thank heavens for Tinder, which made my world collide with Alex’s! I’ve read articles that refer to similar kinks as ‘light BDSM.’ Who cares about labels? Alex and I take pleasure in playing with blindfolds, restraints, and toys. Sex with Alex is liberating, thrilling, and satisfying, and it quiets my overthinking brain. Alex doesn’t hold all of the power. Under his safe guidance and experience, I’ve learned to push my own limits. Denying my orgasms is his jam. It’s extremely arousing—and time-consuming.
Over the last two years, the sexy business mogul taught me to accept my kinks and helped me thrive. In my experience, two things get him hard: inflicting pain on consenting partners like me and exhibiting the extent of his math skills. Numbers come easy to him and assured his successful belated college education and career. As for me, handing over control and power has always felt right, kind of like the zen I find while surfing.
Another sigh escapes my mouth and my hand firmly tugs at my cock, silently commanding it to behave before he wakes up and finds me pleasuring myself without his go-ahead.
Naked, I slip out of bed as quietly as possible and creep to the expansive pitch-dark kitchen for some water. I take a sip of the ice-cold beverage. That and the frigid A/C send a chill down my spine; Alex insists on keeping the air low to counter what he calls “the suffocating Bali heat.”
Heart pounding, I gingerly slide back under the covers, making a point to not touch Alex so I don’t wake him. I watch him sleep; his regal posture strikes me. Even slumbering, he rules. Exhaustion creeps in. With my back to Alex’s, I tuck the sheet under my chin and close my eyes, wishing that my past would stop affecting with my present.
Fingers crossed.
CHAPTER4
AGAIN
Nino
“What time is it?” I mumble to myself and curse at the buzz of an incoming text for wrenching me from my post-lunch slumber. I blame my light sleep on the excitement of seeing Ash later. The rhetorical question prompts me to regain consciousness. No stress. I set my alarm to ensure ample time to get ready for tonight’s dinner.
The scent of sandalwood permeates the room, and I let out a comically loud yawn. It’s not like any man’s ever stayed long enough to witness my little idiosyncrasies, whether it’s the snoring, yawning, or jacking off. Two women have been exposed to the first two—my mom and my American bestie—but only Garcia complained, although we were never involved for obvious reasons. Consequently, she declared that the experience reminded her why she isn’t attached. She had the nerve to tell me that our friendship's no excuse to subject each other to supposed “repulsive aspects of our lives” and forbade me from crashing in her bed in the future. I can’t even blame her because Mom revealed that I snore like a chainsaw, especially when I have trouble sleeping like I did last night.
Thankfully, my morning shoot went more smoothly than yesterday’s. I couldn’t help myself from scanning my surroundings in hopes of seeing a certain slender figure. My heart sank every time I caught sight of a blond surfer that didn’t turn out to be the deliciously hot Ashton Cooper. My body tingles in anticipation of our non-date dinner, and I curse his boyfriend’s existence. I’d much rather spend alone time getting to know Ash than forcing myself to smile at his man, who sounds like an overbearing ass.
Anyway, here I am, full of pent-up sexual tension again. On top of the morning wood that I took care of earlier today, the thought of Ash leads to an instant boner that requires immediate attention. No matter how thirsty I am. No matter how forbidden he is. No matter how messy this will be. Who cares, really? This might not be the most luxurious resort in Seminyak, but the room will be cleaned tomorrow morning, sheets included.
My back hits the mattress and my hand slides under the soft cotton sheet and into my black boxer briefs. The pad of my thumb brushes the tip of my cock, sending a flash of heat through my needy body. I intensify the TLC around the sensitive head until the friction burns; that won’t do. After spitting into my palm, I resume my actions, and excitement skitters down my body.
“Much better,” I grumble, eyes focused on the ceiling. My heartbeat accelerates as I grip my insanely hard shaft with a certain off-limits blond guy in mind. The strokes accelerate as I imagine his eager mouth wrapped around my aching length, his tongue twirling, toying, and teasing. “Ohhh, fuuuck…” My breathing turns ragged. The voice of reason invades my fantasy.He’s in a relationship, asshole. Ash’s cerulean eyes burn into my soul, daring me to stop with a wry smile. An invitation to do all kinds of filthy things to him; the type of smile that I doubt the reserved man wears. Breathless, I lift my hips. “It’s wrong…”
Ashton Cooper doesn’t leave my head, though. I cup my balls while applying pressure to my erection. I’m tempted to add a finger to massage my prostate, but I’m already too close… and too far gone. I kick away the sheet, writhing as tension builds. Any coherent thought flees when my orgasm shoots through me. Panting, I spill on my stomach, reach for the tissues to clean myself up, and toss them in the garbage can on my way to the shower. A slew of thoughts runs through my mind while the hot water washes the evidence of my pleasure down the drain.
Why are you lusting over this guy anyway? You don’t know the first thing about him, except that he surfs and has a boyfriend. Important detail! CPR isn’t kissing, but there was a connection, wasn’t there? Ash has someone in his life. Find yourself a free man. Even if Ash were single, you’re not equipped for commitment. Quick, dirty, and anonymous is your jam. Not the vibes you got from him.
With that in mind, I feel better about tonight’s dinner. I don’t want Ash. Jerking off to him was temporary insanity.
I dry myself off, return to the bedroom, and ignore my phone on the nightstand. Instead, I grab my multi-tool Leatherman that I left next to it and kneel to stow it in the front pocket of my backpack. I wouldn’t want to lose or forget it because my head is in the clouds.
I’m stalling.
Moments later, I finally pick up said phone. The text could be my mom, whom I haven’t heard from since I arrived a week ago. This isn’t our normal routine… Well, routine doesn’t quite cover how my mom and I roll. There’s a connotation to the word that I don’t care for. We call each other every other day, not by obligation, mind you. We get along like two peas in a pod, and she likes to keep tabs on what I’m up to. Granted, my travel agenda worries her. At least, my destinations don’t include war zones like my father’s back when we were still a family. Saying that Mom and I are friends wouldn’t be accurate because we keep clear boundaries despite our twenty-year age difference. But now’s not the time to get into that.
Garcia
How’s life treating you, pretty boy?
Hope you’re having a blast. Any hotties?
Not my mom, then. Conflicted, I roll my eyes, put my phone face-down on the nightstand, and huff.
