Page 25 of Devoured By You

“If I’d known you’d be here, I’d have brought supplies. But as my handcuffs are at home, along with an array of vibrators, butt plugs, cock rings, and anal beads, this will have to suffice.”

His eyes sparkled. I wasn’t sure whether he was kidding around or if he really had the contents of Christian Grey’s red room at his house. My clit tingled.

“Shame.”

“Isn’t it?” He grabbed my wrist and wrapped the soft belt around it.

“You’re not really going to tie me up, are you?”

He grabbed my other wrist and did the same, then anchored me to the headboard. Running his nose between my breasts, he bit one nipple first and then the other.

“One thing you should know about me, Tilly. I always keep my promises.” Climbing off the bed, he dressed in record time. “When I get back, we’re going to fuck, then talk about why you’re on my ship, then fuck again. And again. And again.”

He straightened his tie and turned around.

“Blay, come on.”

Glancing back at me, he tongued his canine, his gaze lazily roving over me. “Don’t go anywhere.” Laughing, he walked out of the bedroom.

“What if I have to pee?” I yelled.

“Hold it. The orgasms are better with a full bladder.”

The next thing I heard was the unmistakable sound of a door closing. I waited a few seconds for him to come back and tell me it was all one big joke.

He didn’t.

Chapter 10

Blaize

Act your ass off, Kingcaid.

Stomping down the narrow corridor, I muttered a multitude of curse words under my breath. Fucking movie stars. Correction, fucking diva movie stars. Most A-listers I’d met over the years were pretty solid, if less than ordinary, people.

Scarlett Rose was about as opposite from solid and ordinary as one could get. She believed her own hype and only ever surrounded herself with sycophants who told her exactly what she wanted to hear.

Argh. Why did she have to choose my cruise to celebrate her much-publicized divorce from her husband and former manager? Couldn’t she have taken a Celebrity cruise? More fitting, no?

And who named their child after one of the most famous divas who’d ever graced the literary world? Maybe she came shooting out of her mom’s vagina a raving bitch, and her parents decided payback was due.

Less than two fucking hours into the voyage and she’d already found something to complain about. Worse, apparently, I was the only sucker on board that she’d talk to. Or rather, rant at. I’d understand if her complaint was an actual issue, but having to wait an hour for a masseuse to fit her into their schedule when she hadn’t booked in advance was the epitome of a first-world problem.

Fix a smile, be nice, nod in all the right places. If I made a stand, it’d only take me longer to return to Jill. A shiver raced down my spine. I couldn’t fucking believe she was here, on my ship, my captive for the next two weeks. The forced proximity should have given me itchy feet, a desire to escape, yet the complete opposite occurred. She made me want to shirk my responsibilities and spend the next two weeks drinking from her pussy and fucking her until my cock fell off. Metaphorically speaking.

Just to be thorough, I called the spa to confirm Scarlett’s eight-thirty slot as I made my way to her penthouse. If this woman thought I’d spend the entire cruise at her beck and call, she was in for a rude awakening. There was being professional and putting my customers’ needs first, and then there was being a complete pussy-whipped idiot.

There was only one woman pussy-whipping me, and it wasn’t Scarlett fucking Rose.

I’d already agreed to provide security to accompany her around the ship and keep away autograph hunters after she’d declined to have her own bodyguards join her aboard. Her reasoning? She’d wanted to enjoy the cruise like a normal woman.

Scarlett Rose and normal did not belong together in the same sentence.

I knocked at her door and waited. And waited. And waited. I knew the game she was playing, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. There wasn’t any point in knocking again. She’d make me wait longer if I did.

Eventually, the door opened, and one of Scarlett’s assistants, a petite blonde with pouty lips that had too much collagen pumped into them, greeted me.

Act your ass off, Kingcaid.