Page 15 of Caged By the Stranger (Bad Decisions #1)

It feels like I stand for an eternity with my wet back pressed against the door to my cabin, trying not to hyperventilate. I’m caught in a montage of flashbacks—some from the club, others from my exchanges with Rory on the yacht.

How can someone who could deliver such out-of-this-world pleasure with just their mouth and limited touches be so…so…infuriating? So…not the right person for me? He’s the fucking CEO.

Did he know it was me in that booth?

Gripping my skull, I pinch my eyes shut, trying to quell my emotions long enough to think clearly.

How could he not have known it was me? There’s no way it was just coincidence that he’s wearing that fucking key.

If I hadn’t confided in him about my problem, would he have known I was the one who he’d caged?

“Listen to yourself, Charlie. You’re being a fucking idiot.”

He’s a damn billionaire. Of course, he can get and do whatever and whoever he wants, while my three hundred bucks to the doorman didn’t get me shit. He must have fucking planned on it from the second he gave me that card. Did that bald asshole tell him when I signed up to go to the club?

Was getting me on this cruise part of that plan?

But that explains nothing about how he said no one would put a cage on someone to be cruel. Or how he had plans for it.

Argh ! None of this makes any sense. He could have just hit on me at that convention.

He could have just talked to me through the portal.

He could have… I don’t know! Found any number of ways to communicate with me other than sneaking a cage onto my junk and leaving me in hell, and then surprising me on this cruise.

What is he playing at? Did he do this to anyone else on the cruise?

I’m pretty sure I’m the only gay employee on this ship. And pretty sure no one else looked like they were silently freaking out at dinner. But why me?

‘It means they’re so taken with you they can’t bear the thought of sharing you with yourself or anyone else.’

The memory of his explanation has my throat going dry again and my pulse fluttering. Taken with me? How can he be taken with me when all he did was suck my cock? And if he’s taken with me, this is sure as hell a shitty way of showing it.

The sound of a door closing next door makes my breath stop. He’s back in his cabin.

I wait, heart pounding, as I listen. The bathroom door opens. I hear soft footsteps. The sink runs. Then nothing…

Wait. Do I hear…music?

Is he fucking kidding me? He’s got nothing to say to me after all those cryptic messages up in the hot tub?

No fucking way. I don’t care if he is the damn CEO. He’s got some explaining to do.

Wrenching open my door, I glance down the corridor. The second I’m certain it’s empty, I step out of my cabin and rush to Rory’s door, rapping on it with determination.

I’m not some game to be played. He’s not the CEO right now. He’s just some strange asshole who either violated my trust in that club or took advantage of a secret I shared with him on this yacht and is messing with me. He’s going to answer for it either way.

“Charlie…” A pleasant smile forms on his face as he opens the door. “How nice to see you again. You left so abruptly, I thought—”

I don’t give him a chance to finish whatever bullshit he’s trying to spew. Pressing my hand to his chest, which is still bare and warm from the hot tub, I push him back and make my way into his cabin.

Spinning around, I see that he’s closing the door, unfazed by my forceful entry, which just pisses me off further. I grab hold of the door and slam it shut.

He’s got his white towel wrapped around his waist and his chest…is bare. The chain and the key are gone. How fucking convenient.

“Cut the crap.” Aiming my index finger at him, I keep my voice firm, but not so loud that I’m yelling. I don’t think anyone’s rooming near us, but I’m not going to take the chance of anything being overheard. “What the fuck are you up to?”

“What do you mean?”

I could put my fist in his face for how calmly he asks me that with a mask of confusion on his face.

‘ Down To Zero ’ is playing softly through some speakers in the background.

Its airy melody has me seeing red, knowing he was planning on relaxing in here like nothing happened while I was next door freaking the fuck out.

Poking him in the chest, I grit my teeth.

“I mean …all that shit you said up there. About your fucking key. How you failed to tell me who you were when I confided in you yesterday. How you gave me that card to that fucking club. How I got invited on this cruise. Is there even a promotion or was it all just bullshit to get me here and fuck with me?”

His hand wraps around mine before I can give him another jab.

His tight grip belies his calm. “Mm, you know more than you let on,” he says, moving his body and my hand closer to me.

“There is an opening for a promotion. I only invited the best candidates. Why? Did you want to work underneath me? Because I can tell you, while this heated little visit is entertaining, that’s not the best way to go about it. ”

The fucker. He’s doing it again. Him, his innuendos, and taunts. I’d fucking punch him if it wasn’t for the sudden urge to get some distance between us.

Jerking my hand away, I’m surprised by how easily he lets it go.

Taking a step back, I plant my hands on my hips to let him know I mean business. Not the kind of fucking business he’s talking about, though.

“It was you…at the club. Wasn’t it?”

Tilting his head, he studies me. Seconds tick by, making my blood boil and my stomach squirm.

“Why? Did you want it to be?”

“This isn’t funny.”

Several weeks , he had said when Carmen asked him how long he’d had his gift .

I never specified the timeframe that I’d been going to the club.

The realization makes a lump form in my throat.

I don’t want it to have been him, and yet, if it was, that would solve my problem.

I’d know I have the culprit right in front of me.

“Oh, Charlie,” he murmurs, stepping toward me, his two more inches in height now seeming to make him tower over me. One of his hands plants on the wall next to my head. “Do you see me laughing?”

I can feel his body heat radiating off him.

Feel his warm breath ghosting my face. It’s now that I catch a hit of his spicy scent.

It’s mild, not the overwhelming kind from people who indulge in too much cologne.

It’s the same scent I remember from when I was in the room at the club—something mellow that made its way through the aroma of the leather panels. Fucking hell—it was him. I know it was.

“Give me the fucking key,” I demand, but it comes out more like a harsh whisper.

His face falls in disappointment, and he clicks his tongue. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Why you stormed in here all hot and bothered?”

His gaze moves down to my chest, which is now heaving more than I’d like to admit. I can feel splotches of color on my cheeks, too.

“Because…” he whispers, bringing his other hand up to my face.

With the back of his knuckle, he drags it along the line of my jaw.

“You begged so nicely for me to come back that day. And I was so happy to oblige.” He leans in close to my ear.

I gasp as I hear him inhale, like he’s taking in my scent.

And then his hot whisper hits the shell of my ear, “ Next week . Remember?”

A burst of air rushes out of my lungs. Was I holding my breath?

I can’t move. Why can’t I move? I should be shoving him the hell away from me, but it’s like I’m paralyzed.

That fucking whisper that once brought me so much joy is now keeping me prisoner in this spot. I’m trembling like I’m in the Arctic.

“G-get it off me,” I manage. “Now. I…I want it off.”

Pulling back, he drops his hands. The one that was on the wall drags softly down my bare arm before falling to his side as he turns away, sighing. “That’s…so disappointing,” he says sadly, moving toward the bed.

He pulls the towel from his hips, revealing that firm ass of his still clad in his Speedo. Bringing the terry cloth up to his head, he rubs at his damp hair, which has started curling on the ends.

“And here I thought we shared something… special .”

I feel sick. And the damnedest thing about it is that I feel sick because I’d stupidly thought we’d shared something special, too.

How fucking delusional was I? It was just a few orgasms, and I let them go to my head simply because they were really good orgasms. It wasn’t special to him if he did this to me. He…he’s just a sadist.

Sucking in a breath, I peel myself off the wall and take a step toward him. I can’t look like a coward or some feeble creature just because he holds all the power right now. Maybe he thinks this is some coy sex game, but it’s not. He’s got me all wrong and needs to know I’m not playing.

“You tricked me and sucked me off. That’s all it was. Now get this fucking contraption off me.”

Turning around to face me, he frowns, and I’d swear his expression is pitying. He’s still drying his hair like this isn’t serious. I hold my ground, refusing to back away even though I’m not keen on being face to face with him after whatever the fuck just happened by the doorway.

“You’re sure? You don’t want to take a little more time to reconsider? You went to the club for an experience. Don’t you think it might be worthwhile to see that experience all the way through?”

I fucking can’t with him anymore. It’s like talking to a boulder.

“Having my dick locked up for over a week wasn’t the experience I asked for and you fucking know it. You’ve had your fun. Now get it the fuck off me. Game’s over.”

He stares at me for a beat, looking like I’ve…hurt his feelings, of all things. So bizarre. Everything about him is bizarre. I can’t believe he’s the one who made me feel the way I did. And I can’t believe a part of me cares that I may have hurt his feelings. How is that possible?