Page 9 of His Curvy Castaway Obsession - A Man Who Knows What He Wants

Secretly, I know they’re all hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive Parker…

As far as I know he won’t be attending just yet. So I make my way to my own cabin on the yacht, swiping myself in with a keycard, groaning at the sight of it. I hate it. I don’t want to put it on.

Damned suits.

I grab a quick shower before changing, telling myself to relax, that there’s other people who can do things too, I don’t have to be everywhere keeping an eye on everything.

But there’s only one thing I want to be keeping my eye on.

Zoe.

It’s hurting me not to be near her and leaving her like that, out there all alone. It feels wrong.

I set the shower jet to cold, noting my pounding stiffness as I undress, a thick, clear bead of pre-come reminding me just how turned on I’ve been all morning, making me wonder if Zoe feels exactly the same way.

I remind myself all over how futile pleasuring myself would be. It’s no use. I won’t feel satisfied until I’m all the way deep inside her. I won’t be happy until she’s riding my cock and screaming my name as I empty load after load into her.

Claiming her properly.

Making her mine.

For good.

Forever.

Cold water and red hot thoughts don’t mix well, only making more steam and my hardness wins out. I feel hotter, more wound up than when I started, but a knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

With just the towel held over my front, I swing the cabin door open, my eyes widening with delight when I see Zoe, whose own eyes go straight to my chest, then down to my hand, barely covering myself with the tiniest white towel.

“Hi.” I say softly, more pleased than anything to see her, I take a step back and invite her in with my hand.

“I only came to ask… Where’s the ladies room? For the guests, I mean. It’s Mrs. Bradshaw… she’s…”

I reach down to the table by the door, to a stack of laminated cards with the layout of the yacht.

“For guests,” I tell her, not trying to hide my disappointment. “It shows them where to go and where not to go.”

“Like your cabin…” She says flushing, unable to take her eyes off my body, off my hand covering myself.

I fight the urge again, to take my hand away, to command her to look at what she’s doing to me, but I have to be patient.

“I’ll be out in a minute. Has anyone else arrived yet?”

“A few, I’d better…”

And I nod, we both want what’s brewing between us, but Zoe’s a professional. Its guests first for now. After all, it’s what she’s being paid for.

I should have just followed her, offered her the same money for some time alone, but that’s the surest way to frighten someone. No, it’s better this way, but damn. If I can’t get a handle on this hard on, I won’t be going anywhere…

Closing the door as she walks away, it’s not right. This isn’t how I wanted today to go at all.

I race to get my tux on, it’s a tailored fit and although I tell myself I hate suits, I have to admit I do like how I look in them. This thing makes me feel like James Bond, but I don’t like how I can’t eat or do anything in it really. One wrong move and I’m wearing food or whatever else I’m trying to enjoy.

But it’s for work only, so it looks the part, as does the earpiece and dark glasses. Once I’m dressed, there’s no mistaking what I’m onboard for.

And once I make my way out, towards the receiving deck, I can see I’m just in time.

I know everyone who’s invited by sight, and I can spot one at once who definitely wasn’t.

Hangers on, friends of friends. There’s a bunch at every function, sometimes they’re reporters, posing as friends of guests and I spot one I know is a phony.

“Beat it,” I growl. “This is a private function… the fuck you get in here anyway?” I feel my hackles going up, if a lowlife like Chris Stomski can walk on this yacht, who else is gonna drop by? More to the point, how’d he find out?

I ask him this directly as I herd him with my arms back the way he came. He knows better than to argue, knows the legal implications if Parker Global wants to get technical on his trespassing tricks.

“I just happened to bump into the Bradshaw’s this morning, was at their building for something else, they mentioned it… C’mon man! Be a sport… just a few words about something… anything?” he asks, persistent until the end.

He’ll do well, for a reporter. Muckraking through other people’s lives for profit.

“Private function, Chris, now beat it… or I’ll beat you.” I tell him calmly, signaling another man on the ground who hails a few more from the gate and in seconds, Chris is doing the walk of shame with a suited guard of honor.

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