I lurked by the wall, doing my best to stop yet another bolt of lust as her lips encircled the paper straw.
I wanted my cock to be that motherfucking straw.
I wanted it so bad my balls cramped with cum.
I wanted her more than the mountains of money she’d give me.
And that was the worst confession I could ever utter.
Chapter Seventeen
NOT ONLY HAD I been whisked away from Scott and normalcy, dumped on an island that could’ve been heaven on earth if it wasn’t for the deranged proprietor, but I’d also somehow ended up in an alternate dimension.
A paradox universe.
That was the only explanation for how I’d been bent over a boardroom table with Sully’s fingers inside me as a punishment this morning, to now staring at him over a table laden with plates, bowls, and every deliciousness on the planet this afternoon.
I hadn’t moved since he’d escorted me to my room, waved silently at the groaning fare displayed on a table that’d been elegantly dressed on the small deck outside my villa, then stalked behind me until we both sat awkwardly. Every move made us hyperaware of each other as if this was a very, very bad date.
I couldn’t help the way I ogled the food. The smoothie had granted some energy but hadn’t begun to fill the emptiness inside. My stomach snarled to devour every tasty morsel in sight, but I didn’t reach for a fork. I didn’t make any sudden moves around him…not after last time. Not after his temper had snapped the moment I’d tried to run.
It seemed we both had a gift at controlling our impulses. I’d managed to stay silent in Mexico, for the most part. I’d done okay swallowing down what I truly wanted to say—until Sully gave me no choice but to be swept away on an avalanche of insinuations and complaints.
And he’d almost gotten his anger under control after my outburst. He’d used tricks and familiar methods to dampen his rage, so he never broke the suave character of unruffled businessman he portrayed.
Yet all it’d taken to break him was for me to bolt.
A knee-jerk reaction to get away from him had bulldozed past his walls and ensured he was as much a slave to his outbursts as I was to mine.
I glared at him across the table, cursing the feathering scents coming off each dish. Paprika and garlic and smoky notes all shot up my nose with coaxing appeal.
Three-tier plates held selections and temptations of every exotic meal imaginable. However, there was no Western food. If I guessed, I’d say most of the menu was Indonesian.
Is that where we are?
My breath caught. I hadn’t had time to think how adrift I felt, not knowing where in the world I was currently residing. But with one hint of a location, my heart galloped to know more.
I didn’t want to be the first to speak. I didn’t want to seem as if I’d accepted his presence or was in any way grateful for his help. The embarrassment I’d already suffered from him driving me to such filthy acts yesterday was layered with yet more chagrin now that I’d fainted in front of him.
Two things I would never have done in front of anyone, let alone him.
I’d never fainted in my entire life.
I positively despised that he’d seen me that weak—even though it was his fault. Just like yesterday was his fault. Just like all of this is his fault!
My anger sprang from nowhere, breaking any hesitation in reaching for the food. Screw him if I moved too quickly. Fuck him for making me afraid.
Snatching a small noodle dish with crispy shallots and a fried egg on top, I snapped, “Where in Indonesia are we?”
Sully froze in his black canvas chair. His blue eyes mimicked the sparkling ocean behind him; the sun painted him in golden graces. Just like in his office, his skin didn’t shine from sweat, his heavy five o’clock shadow was immaculate, his suit without a wrinkle.
He might have a volcano for a heart, silent and seething, puffing the occasional threat of smoke, but when provoked he overflowed. His temper was magma, his lust red-hot lava, the power of his rage spilled out over everything, burning, mutilating, until finally cooling to suffocating ash.
“Clever.” He moved gracefully, cricking his neck like he did in the boardroom and placing his arms on the chair rests. “What makes you think you’re in Indonesia?”
I chewed a mouthful of the best tasting noodles in my life. I didn’t rush. Not for him. I savoured every bite, and when I swallowed, I blotted my mouth daintily with a napkin.
Finally, I pinned him with a stare. “This is Mie Goreng. It’s an Indo dish.”
“And you know that how?”
“I might be young, but I’m not stupid.” I dug deeper into the nest of noodles, peering at the ingredients, ready to take another bite.