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
AS 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.
Right.
Which was why I was so pissed that he thinks my hesitation is all about him. It’s not. It’s about me. Who gives a fuck about him? He’s rich and powerful. I can’t possibly hurt him. He’s got nothing to lose at all in this relationship and he knows it. His smug ass knows that if I sign a NDA, he’s safe.
I’m never safe. There is no distance, no amount of running, no fairy tale or fantasy world or Dirty Heaven that will keep me safe from my secrets.
I roll over and find my phone. Three thirty. I get out of bed and put my shorts and sandals on, then grab my key card, my phone, and a fistful of cash, and go looking for a vending machine.