Page 35 of Caged By the Stranger
I yank my sweaty sock out of his hand and turn my back to him in a flash, my face going up in flames. Tucking the damp cotton into the front of my waistband, I want the sand to open up and swallow me.
The play starts before I have time to dwell on my newest humiliation. Rory sets up Carmen, who spikes the ballbeautifully between two players on the other team, leaving the ball back in our court.
We rotate into our positions as Niel tosses me the ball. One serve and this shitshow can end. I can grab a drink and go drown myself in the ocean. There’s a slap on my ass as I get my footing for my turn to serve. It sends a delicious shudder through me that goes straight to my cock.
“You got this, Charlie.”
I blink at Rory, shocked that he put a hand on me in front of everyone else. It’s not the first ass slap I’ve seen today. It’s just the first one I’ve felt. A bizarre sensation tickles my insides.
‘I knew you were special.’
The memory of those sultry words dances in my ears like a flirty marionette. And yet, as I stand here having a moment, he’s already in his stance, hunched over, hands on his shapely thighs like nothing just happened.
“Come on, Charlie. I’m hungry,” Carmen whines.
Great. I’m the klutz who’s now holding up the game. Sucking in a breath, I shake the thoughts away and toss the ball. Jumping, I rear my arm back to connect. The strangest thing happens. An image of Rory spanking my naked ass while I kneel obediently for him on his bed flashes through my mind just as the ball is inches from my palm. I choke, literally and figuratively.
The ball curls sloppily off my fingertips and lobs in a pathetic arc, nicking the top of the net without clearing it. A host of grumbles erupts from my teammates while the other side cheers, knowing they now hold a chance at the winning serve.
Rory claps in quick succession, addressing the rest of our teammates. “It’s all right. It’s all right. We’ve got this.”
But we don’t ‘got this’ because, as Gerald makes a shitty set-up for someone to spike after the other team served the ball to our side, I realize too late that his shitty set-up sent the ball inmy direction. I was still blinking at Rory, trying to decide if he was sticking up for me when the ball smokes me in the forehead.
The other team erupts in cheers. Mine curse and moan unsportsmanlike oaths.
“Jesus, Charlie,” Gerald sneers. “We should have asked Salvador to play instead.”
I catch Rory looking at me then. He takes a step forward, making me forget about the throbbing sensation above my eyebrow, but Carmen beats him to it.
“Gerald, it was a beach match, not the Olympics. Get over yourself.” Reaching out, she dusts some sand from my forehead, bringing me back to the present. “Are you okay? What’s with you today?”
Backing away, I shake off her mothering. “Too much sun, I guess,” I mutter.
Nodding, she loops an arm through mine and urges me toward the food tent. “Come on. Let’s get some lunch. I bet you’ll feel better with some food in your stomach.”
I glance around for Rory, but he’s already in the gaggle of the other team, congratulating them on their win. Was he actually going to say something to me? Was he concerned that I got pelted in the face? Why do I want him to have wanted to say something? It was just a ball to the face. I’m fine. It’s not like this is an appropriate place to comment on anything that happened last night.
The afternoon drags on with more misery. I shove food in my mouth in silence, sitting in a circle of folding chairs with some of the sales reps while Rory’s laughter floats across the beach as he speaks to everyone but me.
Unable to stand anymore of the mundane chit chat, I stomp off to the ocean and swim until my legs cramp, still spent from the powerful release last night. By the time I return to the beach, the sun is setting, and someone’s started a bonfire. Just my luckthat everyone has seemed to congregate around it, including Rory.
“There he is,” he enthuses, granting me a rare smile.
My stomach flips. I just nod and continue drying myself as I find a free chair. Collecting my sandy tank top, I yank it over my head and accept the bottle of beer that Carmen hands me. If I can’t avoid feeling self-conscious, I can at least numb it with some liquor for whatever fuckery is next.
Rory proceeds to thank all of us for our hard work and dedication to the company. He tells us how much fun he’s had being on this cruise and getting to know us. I try not to snort, wondering how much of that declaration of fun has to do with him fingering my gland last night. He informs us he’ll be sending out an offer packet for a promotion to one lucky candidate in the next week, which gets him a few gasps and squeals of joy. And then he turns up the music and takes a chair on the opposite side of the bonfire, preventing me from seeing him through the heat of the blaze.
Am I the lucky candidate? I know what he said last night, but did he mean it? And do I even want to be?
In the grand scheme of things, I know I shouldn’t even be worrying about it. I should be counting the minutes until we get back to the ship so I can work on picking the lock on my cage, not drowning in curiosity over whether I’m the apple of Rory McDonnell’s professional eye. The longer I sit amidst the merriment of my co-workers, however, the deeper my agitation grows. Each time I glimpse Rory’s face across the firelight, each time I spot his smiling lips, my nuts flutter. One drink turns to three and then four, trying to silence the memories of the pleasant sensations in my ass. I try to catch what Carmen and the others are saying. I even throw out a laugh every now and then, so I look like I’m paying attention. Each time I seeRory’s index and middle finger wrapped around his beer bottle, however, I find myself having to stifle little noises of…want.
‘What do you need?’
I don’tneedhim. I don’t. Except that means this unexplainable pull I’m feeling is, in fact, want. How can I want such a man now that I know him? I let him crack me open and do things I never thought I would do. He made me like things I never intended to like. I’ve never spent so much headspace on anyone I’ve hooked up with, so what is the deal? Is it just his unique brand of foreplay and methods that have me stuck on him?
Maybe I’m just learning a lesson I never considered before—that it’s possible to like how someone can make you feel, even if you don’t like that person. Attraction has always just been physical for me, so it makes sense. Maybe when I get home and I’m not forced to look at him anymore, I’ll be free of all these surprising urges. I still can’t believe I’m attracted to someone I’ve had to have so much face-to-face contact and conversation with. Maybe my tastes are changing with age.
By the time the shuttle vans show up and we load back into them, I’m at my limit of being ignored. I’m even more at my limit of being aggravated about being ignored. What the fuck do I care if he hasn’t looked at me or talked to me all day? I’ve got the combination. That’s all I really needed.
