Page 21 of Caged By the Stranger (Bad Decisions #1)

The shuttle bus pulls away from the beach, leaving me with a foreboding wariness in my gut.

We’re far from civilization for the mandatory closing activities that were listed on the flyer I found slipped underneath my cabin door this morning.

It’s going to be a long day with nowhere to hide unless I sneak off into a palm grove.

I doubt anyone else who read that flyer opened their cabin door to find their swim trunks neatly folded in the corridor, along with their flip-flops.

It was a brutal reminder of my shameful behavior last night after I’d spent a good hour convincing myself to forget it ever happened as I got ready for the day.

Did Rory put them there, or did he tell one of his stewards to do it for him?

Wading through the white sand, I refuse to help the gaggle of others who are assisting Rory in setting up a large pop-up tent.

My cage swings against my thighs with each step as I head toward Niel and Gerald, who look to be trying to make sense of how to erect a volleyball net.

I had the gumption to look at the combination Rory entered on the number lock last night before I went to bed.

Thank goodness. Who knows if I would have nudged a number in my sleep and ruined any chance of remembering the combo.

My weak attempt at picking the key lock this morning was another story entirely.

I was too distracted by the pleasant sensitivity in my ass and the memory of lips and fingers ghosting my cock to concentrate.

Either that or I’m just shit at picking locks.

Wrapping a sock around my cage seemed like a logical solution to avoiding its form being seen through the pair of trunks I put on today for this mandatory fun.

Never mind that it’s hot as fuck and my dick now feels like it’s suffocating.

I probably look incredibly well-endowed to boot, so if someone hadn’t looked before, they’ll certainly notice now.

Fuck it. That’s better than them seeing a cage imprint through my trunks.

I don’t plan on partaking in any of the activities today if I have anything to say about it, though.

The coolers stacked up near where they’re setting up the tent have enough liquor in them that I think I know where I’ll find my enjoyment today.

An hour passes while everyone employs themselves, setting up all the crap Rory’s crew loaded into one of the shuttle vans.

I spend it popping up folding chairs and staking down the volleyball net, keeping a keen eye on Rory.

It’s an hour of sneaky glances that leave me realizing he hasn’t once looked in my direction. Does he even know I’m here?

He’s been busy erecting the tent, setting up folding tables for a makeshift buffet, and hauling the stack of coolers underneath the canopy.

Laughing and smiling, he directed each of his helpers with sunshine-y professionalism.

All my snooping has done is show me he isn’t afraid of manual labor and has an admirable level of fitness for a billionaire.

How can last night not be the foremost thing on his mind right now?

Did he get himself off after I left? I’m shocked he never asked for anything for himself, especially after I felt how hard he was when he pressed up against me. My face heats, remembering his words.

‘I love it. I love how greedy you are.’

How can he be perfectly okay with how wanton I was? Both last night and at the club? At the club, I stuck my cock through a portal and he did all the work, even then. So far, I’ve taken and not given anything. Who can be happy being on the opposite side of an exchange like that? I don’t understand.

“Charlie, are you in?”

Shaking myself from thoughts that I have no business thinking in front of my co-workers, I find Niel tossing a volleyball at me. I catch it just as it hits my chest and find all the salespeople and Rory milling around the volleyball net.

“Uh…no. You guys go ahead.” I toss the ball back, but Niel chucks it right back at me.

“Let me rephrase that,” he laughs, flipping his sunglasses down from his head. “You’re first up to serve. There are only twelve of us, and we need six on each team.”

There aren’t twelve of us. There are thirteen if you count Rory, who’s lost his flip-flops and his freaking tank top, like he’s planning on partaking in the match Baywatch style. There’s a chain around his neck— the chain. The chain with the key . I officially fucking hate him again.

As I count people and piece together my protest to give to Niel, I spot Salvador lounging in one of the folding chairs near the tent. Salvador, a salesman from one of the eastern regions. Salvador who has a fucking boot on his foot because he broke his ankle right before the cruise.

Son of a bitch.

***

It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t getting into the match.

At least half of my brain cells have. With each jump Rory makes, however, his key lofts into the air before bouncing back down on his chest, leaving me distracted.

When we rotate and he’s bent over in front of me, I pay way too much attention to the shallow dent between the cheeks of his concrete ass in yet another Speedo.

The few serves I’ve managed not to fuck up have gotten me a slap on the shoulder, so unlike his tender touches last night.

This is hell. This is sweaty-sock-around-my-caged-cock hell. If he’d just take those stupid sunglasses off, maybe I could get some reassurance if I saw an indication of something in his eyes.

Like what, idiot? I chide myself. The man never flusters. You just want to look into his eyes. Admit it.

The ball catapults right toward me as Niel yells. I dive in an attempt to punt it back over the net, but it’s in vain. My chest hits the sand, knocking the wind out of me. My cage smashes into my stomach, and I slide. I close my mouth in time so that I at least don’t eat a cup of sand.

“Fuck,” I mutter as my teammates groan at my failure.

“Damn it, Charlie. Now we’re tied,” Niel laments.

Rising, I dust my face and chest off, wishing I could tell Niel where to shove his sudden thirst for victory. This is so fucking stupid. Mandatory fun isn’t supposed to be fun. Everyone knows that. I don’t know why he drank the Kool-Aid, but at least I did my part in reminding him of the reality.

I turn back to my place in the front row before the net again. Rory’s fist taps me on the shoulder, giving me a start to find him so close.

“I think you dropped this.”

Fuck! Fucking, fucking, fuck!

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 ball beautifully 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 in my 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.”