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A sign I had a fantastic start to my vacation.

Stretching my arms, I sit upright against the headboard and soak in the beauty I’m surrounded by. Leaning over the side, I grab my phone from the nightstand and check the time.

Wow, I’m up quite early.

It’s only six-thirty a.m.

I remember that the complimentary breakfast starts at eight, meaning I should get ready. A warm bath sounds heavenly. I’m also tempted into jump into the hot tub, but restrain myself. I want to christen it with Kingston.

His name wakes the butterflies in my stomach, like a silly schoolgirl with a new crush.

Our date yesterday feels unreal. A perfect dream.

A pinch to my flesh reminds me it very much was real and I’ve agreed to let him help me live out my darkest and most shameless fantasies.

For all the courage I had last night, I’m a nervous wreck now.

The things I’ve written on that list, they’re so depraved that they even make me blush. It was a task pretending the man I was taking cute pictures with, strolling around town hand in hand with, and meeting his family, doesn’t know the sexual desires I possess and obsess over.

I’ve always had those urges, an incessant need to explore and be fucked in ways that pushes my limits. To reach the pinnacle of lust that I hear people talk about.

Missionary sex bores me.

I want something more exciting and thrilling.

I crave it to be raw, gritty, and forbidden.

One of my previous partners, a guy I had been dating for months and becoming serious with, balked when I shared one of my desires and immediately broke up with me. He had looked at me with pure disgust, like I had lost my damn mind. Since then, I buried my desires, locking them in a box.

It took several months before I let myself imagine it again.

Even afterward, I would only let them come out to play while lying alone in my bed, touching myself with thoughts of one day finding a man who is not only confident and respectful, but also kinky and a beast in the sheets as well. One whowouldn’t stare at me like I’m sick for wanting more out of my sex life. Someone who understands that just because I desire to experience naughty kinks, it doesn’t mean I have some deep-seated trauma or psychological issue behind it.

Then Kingston stumbles into my life.

He’s everything I ever wanted and so much more that I didn’t knew I needed. I experienced a bone-deep relief when no disdain shadowed his beautiful eyes.

Instead, his gaze mirrored my hunger and carnality.

It was there in his possessive touch.

In his filthy words.

The rough and toe-curling kisses.

However, it’s just a preview—a window into his filthy soul. Maybe he has his own fantasies that he will make me submit to. God! How badly I yearn for it. I want to unleash the dominance lurking underneath his cocky and flirtatious persona.

If we didn’t have to go to his grandparents’ house for Christmas, and I didn’t wish to go sightseeing, I would lock us both in my cabin.

Instead, I have to wait until tonight. Plus, there’s one more thing I need to do. Thank the Lord, there’s no stupid jet lag to sidetrack me. Naughty list, here I come.

Flinging aside the soft blanket, I rush to the luxurious bathroom with fancy-as-fuck knobs and features. Brushing my teeth, I hit the shower, scrub every inch of my body, and quickly finish my bath. Half an hour later, I’m dressed in another turtleneck sweater, this one a light blue color, paired with my dark blue denim jeans and black knee-length boots.

My curls are free and wild, and I grab a scarf to protect myself against the chilly wind.

Since it’s almost time for breakfast, I assume Kingston must already be up and busy checking on his staff. Unable to resist, I decide to go to the lobby in search of him.

As I reach downstairs, I remember that I never put my naughty list back in its hiding place. Worried the housekeeping staff might get their hands on it and risk repeating making a fool of myself, I look for it to hide it in my purse.