CHAPTER FIVE
CAM
Youre my girlfriend now, Morales.
Reece hasnt moved, hasnt blinked since he shoved Kai and his magic rod out the door. Hes just standing there, staring at me.
Are you having a medical emergency? I ask, waving a hand in his face. Should I be checking for signs of stroke? Arm weakness? Slurred speech?
This isnt going to work.
I tap my chin. Gruffness intact. Full sentences. Still a pendejo. Whew! You had me worried. Thought I was about to lose out on my twenty-five grand.
He storms toward our red satin love nest. The moment his perfect ass hits the mattress, the bed springs into action, spinning him like a carnival ride.
What the Reece plants his feet, trying to slow the spin, but that only makes it worse. He resembles an overgrown kid on a playground merry-go-round gone rogue. The more he tries to stop it, the faster it spins. How do Ifuckmake itgoddammit
I giggle as he struggles. Having trouble there, boss?
Fix it!
I wave my hand near the sensor, and the bed jolts to a stop. Motion sensors, remember? Kai showed us when he was demonstrating his equipment.
Ugh. Fucking Kai. Reece flops onto his back, one arm thrown over his eyes. The movement makes his shirt ride up, revealing a forbidden set of scrumptious abs.
Nothing wrong with looking, right?
I perch carefully on the edge, setting the gift bag on the floor. Aww, is someone feeling a little inadequate? Because I gotta say, they grow em real big here in Hawaii. I fan myself dramatically. Like, anaconda big. Skyscraper proportions. The sort of package that causes a girl to question whether it would
His head snaps up. Do you always talk this much about sex?
Only when Im fake dating my grumpy boss in a honeymoon suite designed exclusively for maximum penetration.
He groans, running both hands down his cheeks as if hes praying for strength. Just so were clear, being my fake girlfriend doesnt come with... any physical resp onsibilities.
You wish, I say, barely containing my laugh. Im a pretend girlfriend, not a sex worker. If that was the case, I wouldve negotiated a much higher rate.
Reeces features cycle through about twelve different expressions, landing somewhere between horrified and constipated.
Lighten up, I continue. Getting frisky may have been in your contract with Astrid, but as you so rudely put it Im nothing like her.
Oh God, no, thats notwe didntI mean, we did, but it wasnt like
Thats your private business. I hold up my hands.
I am not that guy. The kind that
Has a harem of pretend girlfriends to fuck around with? I finish for him and immediately wish I hadnt. Because a shadow crosses his face.
Look. His tone softens. I get that I dont owe you an explanation, but I need you to knowIm not a bad guy. And its been several months since anything happened between Astrid and me.
I blink at him, surprised. I never said you were a bad guy. A cranky pain in the ass? Absolutely. But I respect the lengths youll go to protect your employees. Including me.
His trademark smirk softens into a small, sheepish smile thats so genuine it makes my stomach flip. This new expression, soft and subtle, has transformed his mouth into something, dare I say dangerously appealing.
I force my eyes away from his lips. You dont have to tell me, but how many is several ?
What?
You said its been several months. Just curious about the exact number. Might explain why youre so moody. That much pent-up frustration cant be healthy.
The smile vanishes. How about we discuss your dry spell? Since you were broadcasting it so enthusiastically to your friends earlier. Not gonna lie, volume control is not your strong suit.
Pretty sure sharing my sexual history isnt in the girlfriend contract. Heat floods my cheeks. Though if youre that curious, maybe we can add it as an amendment. Right after a new clause about you taking hourly scowl breaks.
What type of men do you even date, anyway? The question bursts out, and then he quickly adds, As your boyfriend, I should know. For authenticity.
Working for you hasnt left much time for dating, I say, sitting down on the bed. Lucky me, youve been the main man in my life for years, and now I get to be your fake girlfriend. Not that different from being your camera girl. Im already a professional handler of the Reece Dare Mood Swing Experience.
He doesnt respond right away, his gaze lingering on me, brows furrowed as if hes working hard to read between the lines. The room feels smaller, the air charged with something unspoken. I shift against the mattress, suddenly all too aware of his warm body.
Youre right thoughthis wont work. I wave between us, accidentally triggering the beds motion sensor. We both grab the sheets as it starts to turn. Your nonstop glares and nitpicking? No one will believe Im your girlfriend when your face shows that youd rather be scrubbing toilets.
Fooled everyone with Astrid, he mutters, waving his hand to stop the rotation. His arm brushes mine, and my skin tingles like I licked a battery.
Honestly, I always thought you were too good for her. My blunt admission surprises us both. Youre an asshole, yeah, but not a complete dick. And in this day and age, that makes you a catch.
For once, neither of us seems to know what to say next.
I snatch up the gift bag, desperate to break this weird tension. Lets see what goodies Kai left us. Hopefully some snacks, because Im starving.
The tissue paper crinkles as I dig in, pushing past a layer of rose-scented candles, a bottle of edible massage oil that I immediately shove aside, and thenOh. Oh, hello.
I grab hold of what can only be described as the Godzilla of vibrators, its purple silicone surface catching the light like a beacon of bad decisions. This thing has girth and more buttons than my camera.
I know you dont want me to talk about sex or Kais impressive love stick, but I snort, pulling it out. Por Dios! Its kind of hard not to when Im holding what appears to be the eighth wonder of the world.
Reece releases the longest drawn-out groan, as if his final thread of patience just flatlined.
I rotate the vibrator in my palms. Holy mother of orgasms, look at the size of this bad boy. Ten bucks says Kai used his own dick as the prototype. No wonder he walks that wayhes got a franchise opportunity in his pants.
Give me that. Reece snatches it from my grasp. He moves to shove it back into the bag, but
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!
The thing roars, and I mean ROARS to life, vibrating so violently its breakdancing in his hands.
Shit! He fumbles with it, his hands a blur of jerky movement, like its a ticking time bomb. His breath hitches as he frantically presses buttons, flipping it over, shaking it, pressing everywhere but the shutoff. What thehow do Igoddammit!
I collapse onto the mattress, wheezing. Ay, Dios! This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Wheres my camera?!
Wheres the damnwhy wont this thing Reece glares at me, growing more flustered by the second. You think this is funny?
I gasp, clutching my stomach as I do my best to breathe through my laughter.
Here! He thrusts it at me. Since youre such an expert, you turn it off!
I catch it. Barely. The vibrations travel straight up my arms, down my spine, and into places that should absolutely not be reacting to this situation.
And then the laughter dies in my throat.
Because Reece is staring at me.
Not scowling. Not fuming.
Staring.
His chest rises and falls, slow and measured, his lips parted just enough that my brain takes a sharp left turn into unacceptable territory . His pupils? Blown wide. His blue eyes? Nearly black.
No. No way. This has to be rage. It must be his Im-about-to-feed-you-to-the-sharks face.
I find the power button immediately and chuck the beast back into the bag. Though my body clearly didnt get the memo, because everything low and deep inside me clenches at his intensity.
So, I say, my voice embarrassingly breathy, I really need to shower and get this glitter out of my bra. Im itchy as hell.
Fine, Reece says, rolling onto his side and burrowing into the pillows. If anyone needs me, Ill be unconscious and pretending today never happened.
Oh hell no. You are not camping out here while Im showering. I gesture at our wall-less paradise. I might not be your type, but youre a man, and all men have a built-in perv setting. Im not about to beta-test your self-control.
His lips quirk. So, are you planning to peek at me in the shower? See how I measure up to Aquaman?
Dont start acting like a jealous boyfriend, Reece. I might find it attractive.
Jealousy does it for you, huh?
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. A little possessiveness never hurt anyone.
His brows lift slightly in intrigue. But before he has the chance to speak, I say, But dont worryyoure not my type either. I dont care for brooding control freaks who critique my every breath.
At least thats what my brain says. My hoo ha, however, has other ideas.
Excuse me, whats happening down there? Since when are we into irritable prickwads?
Great, Reece says, pushing to his feet. Well take turns on the balcony. Close the curtain for privacy.
Perfect. Im going first. I point to the sliding glass door. Out. Shoo.
He prowls to the balcony with the casual grace of a guy who knows exactly how good he looks in motion. And Im only humanmy eyes definitely track the way those tailored pants cup his ass. He drops into the hammock, and even the ocean breeze seems thirsty, immediately messing up his hair.
I follow him out. Seriously, no peeking.
Dont flatter yourself, Morales.
Then, in one swift movement, he rips his shirt off and wears it over his face like the worlds sexiest blindfold.
My mouth goes dry. Bone dry. Sahara-level dry.
I dont know what sort of cosmic miracle crafted this man, but I owe him (or her) a serious thank-you note for those abs.
I mean it. Do not come in here. I am not your fake girlfriend with benefits.
He peels the shirt slightly off one eye, catching me very clearly checking him out. A self-satisfied smirk dances on his lips. Sounds as if youre trying to convince yourself.
Ha! Not interested. Unless youre packing a Kai-sized weapon in those designer pants.
His scowl returns with a vengeance. Since poetry-spouting douchewads are your type, I have nothing to worry about.
And since you like your women pumped full of plastic, I guess Im safe. Too bad for you, cause my tits? I make a grand gesture toward my girls. Theyre real, and theyre spectacular.
His nostrils flare. His throat bobs. And for a brief secondso fast I almost miss ithis gaze definitely flickers downward.
I smirk, victorious, then spin on my heel and slam the sliding door shut before he can retaliate. I yank the curtain closed with a flourish.
Mierda! I need to get this tingle factory under control before I do something epically stupid. Like jump my boss.
Listen up, vajayjay. This is NOT the tropical vacation hookup we discussed.
***
The nerve of that cocky dickwad!
With a dramatic huff, I yank open my overpacked suitcase and
Oh, shit.
My entire packing strategy slaps me across the face.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I dig frantically, tossing delicate bralettes, microscopic satin shorts, and lacy thongs. Everything I packed screams Im here to get laid, not no-privacy cohabitation with my buzzkill of a boss.
Mierda! This was supposed to be my Hawaiian sexcation, not a two-week celibacy retreat.
My fingers brush against something strappy. I pull it out andyep, there it is. The crown jewel of my get some collection. A red open cup bra thats basically a series of strings playing connect-the-dots with my nipples. The matching underwear? A single strip of fabric up my ass, whichlets be honestexists solely to give a man an excuse to groan into my skin while yanking it off with his teeth.
And now? What a waste.
I know damn well what Im working with. These curves? Theyve made better men than Reece lose their minds. My perky tits are the reason Ive never had to change a tire in my life. And my ass? More bounce than a trampoline park. So yeah, I splurge on lingerie that flaunts the goods.
I groan, tossing the red set back like its radioactive. RIP, orgasms.
After sifting through an avalanche of lace and satin, my fingers land on something marginally less scandalous. Marginally. A hot pink satin crop top with a deep V that plunges shamelessly between my breasts. And shorts that are more boy-cut underwear. If I sneeze, Ill be indecent.
I hold it up, squinting.
This? This is my most modest choice.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
You know what? I mutter, clutching the pajamas. If Reece has a problem with my natural Latina curves, he can take it up with God.
SNAP. Suitcase zipped.
My blood boils as his words loop in my head: Some people belong behind the scenes.
Im sorrydid I ask for your unsolicited asshole opinion?
But dammit if he didnt nail my insecurity with terrifying accuracy. And then with typical smugness, he drop-kicked my self-esteem to the curb.
Because the truth?
Yeah. I am better behind the camera.
The thought sits heavy in my chest, right next to my dreams of launching my own channel. Its the dirty little secret Ive been hiding behind my cargo pants and professional smile.
In this world of ring lights and dont forget to subscribe, people arent just here for your contenttheyre here for you. They want morning routines, coffee chats, and that bestie-next-door vibe that makes them feel connected. They expect to see your face, know your story, and be a part of your journey.
And me?
Ive spent my entire career making sure I was the one capturing those moments.
Not living them. Not being seen. Not being judged.
Its safer that way, where no one can count your flaws in the comments section or turn your worst moments into viral memes.
After watching Reeces life implode over the last twenty-four hours? Not exactly making me want to step into the spotlight. No matter how much it pays.
I sigh, closing my eyes. Cut the shit, Camila. Admit theres another reason you said yes to this ridiculous scheme. One that has nothing to do with your channel or your bank account.
The look on Reeces face when he saw Blaze with AstridGod, Ive never seen someone fight so hard to stay composed. Hes completely alone in this. Gordon sees him as a brand in need of a refresh, not a person unraveling right in front of him.
Yeah, hes grumpy.
Yeah, he says rude shit and has poor taste.
And yeah, he doesnt find me attractive.
But deep, deep, deep down? Reece Dare has a good heart.
The guy will do literally anything to protect his employees. He carries the weight of everyones livelihood on those stupidly broad shoulders. And he deserves someone in his corner.
Even if that someone is fake girlfriend number two, I mutter then immediately cringe. Yeah, not loving that nickname.
And theres the huge dent to my self-esteem at how fast he shot down the idea of fake dating me. I strip off my glitter-bombed cargos and chocolate-smeared shirt, only to be greeted by my butt-naked, bare ass reflection grinning back from the eight thousand mirrors in this gettin freaky fun house.
I channel my inner Instagram baddie and strike a pose.
Clearly Im not hideous, I tell myself. I mean, Kai for sure wanted me to jump on his pogo stick.
But Im not blonde enough. Not contoured enough. Not Astrid enough.
Ay, Dios mo! Get it together, Camila, I scold my reflection. Youre a badass! Youve filmed parkour stunts! Youve scaled buildings for the perfect angle! Youve eaten gas station sushi! And most impressively, youve survived two years with Reece.
I dont give a damn if some cranky-ass piece of man candy doesnt think Im sexy.
Youre going to be the best ever fake girlfriend. Get that channel promotion from Reece. And try not to kill him in his sleep. I give myself a confident nod.
The second I hit the control panel for the open shower, I am in awe.
Hot water sluices over black volcanic rock, creating a waterfall effect, wrapping me in a warm, misty embrace. The air is thick with steam, the scent of jasmine and plumeria curling around me like an aphrodisiac. The stone floor beneath my feet is heated, because of course it is.
I tip my head back, letting the water rush through my hair, sliding over my shoulders, down my back.
Damn, Kai, I moan, tilting my face into the spray. Youre right. This isnt a shower. This is an experience.
Logically speaking, he should be the star of my tropical hookup fantasy. The man is gorgeous. A Hawaiian god. Built like he wrestles sharks for sport. Hes a walking, talking romance novel cover come to life.
But the idea of him thrusting into me while whispering deep, soulful things about love flowing like lava? Hard pass. That doesnt make me swoon; it makes me feel like Im stuck in a cheesy porno movie.
Still, seeing Reece get all flustered around him?
Thats fun.
Its like watching a grumpy cat try to out-alpha a Great Dane whos too busy wagging his tail and winning hearts to notice.
Every time Kai so much as breathes near me, Reece gets so irrationally irritated. I find it hilarious.
But also?
Confusing.
Because why does Reece care? Why does he get so pissed off when Kai flirts with me? It sure as hell isnt jealousy.
Although I work coconut-scented shampoo into my hair, trying desperately not to replay the way Reeces hands felt on my body. The firm grip on my hip when he caught me. The heat of his palm sliding up my thigh on the plane. The way his pupils dilated, turning those steel-blue eyes almost black
Mierda! My thighs clench involuntarily.
Shes not Astrid, I mimic his deep voice, adding extra grump. Yeah? Well, your attitudes not my type either, pendejo!
Still this throb between my legs isnt taking no for an answer. Am I really so desperate Im actively lusting after my grouchy, uninterested boss?
This is a new low.
For a wild moment, I consider retrieving the Godzilla vibrator from Kais gift bag. But that things got more horsepower than a HarleyReece will absolutely hear it buzzing through the door.
Then I remember
I reach behind the slick stone wall, fingers skimming over the hidden panel, finding the shower wand Kai demonstrated. A sleek, curved attachment, perfectly positioned for, well this.
I flip it over, inspecting the settings. Sultry. Pulse. Volcanic.
Hello there. I eye the balcony curtainstill firmly closedthen turn the wand, positioning it where I need it most, and press the sultry button.
The first burst of warm, streaming water hits, and my breath catches.
Oh Yes A slow shiver rolls through me. I press my back into the rock, letting the rhythmic pressure do its work.
And since Im here Theres no harm in fantasizing.
Unfortunately, my brain is dead set on one person.
Reece.
I shut my eyes, imagining him on his knees, that perpetual scowl replaced with hunger. Those capable hands spreading my thighs. His smart mouth finally doing something besides criticizing me.
My free hand finds my breast, rolling my nipple as I imagine Reeces hands caressing me, teasing until they form stiff, aching peaks, begging for more of his touch.
I switch to pulse, and the rhythmic sensation builds, escalating as I envision his tongue plunging and caressing my intimate core. Sparks shoot off like fireworks, his hunger insatiable, as if he hasnt eaten in years. He feasts on me with a ferocity that sends shockwaves up my spine.
Almost fuck
I grip the stone ledge, rocking my hips slightly, chasing the sensation. Im climbing faster than I ever have alone at home. Must be that island magic.
My body starts to coil.
The pressure builds.
I am so close.
I twist the dial to Volcanic.
And SCREAM.
HIJO DE LA CHINGADA!
The wand launches out of my grip, thrashing like a live wire, the harsh spray slamming into me with the force of a pressure washer.
I stumble, flailing, attempting to clutch on to the hose as it whips around.
BANG.
It smacks into my arm.
BANG.
It whacks my ass.
I scramble to turn it off, but the dial is slippery as hell, and the sprayer is still attacking me.
OH MY GOD, OW! STOP! STOP!
I shriek again, arms flailing, slipping against the wet rock.
I try to seize it, but it might as well be a lubed-up eel. The burst blinds me, then shoots between my thighs like its trying to power wash my hoo ha.
DIOS MO! NO! PARA!
I finally get my hands on the demonic shower wand, my fingers gripping the slippery handle like a warrior wielding a sword.
And then I notice
A man. Standing. In. My. Shower.
I SCREAM.
Like, full-bodied, horror movie scream. And in my blind panic, I twist the nozzle, spraying him.
A direct shot to the eye.
Holy fuck! He staggers back.
Mierda! Reece, Im sorry
BOOM!
Thunder crashes as lightning flashes, turning the entire room into a strobe-lit nightmare. I shriek, dropping the wand of doom.
Worst. Decision. Ever.
The thing goes absolutely feral, whipping around with the force of a fire hose. Red lights pulse through the spray from LED strips embedded in the stone walls, transforming ordinary water into streams of fake lava.
Ay, Dios mo! I scream as scalding water blasts my hip.
Choreographed lighting rigs fire up like were in a Polynesian rave, complete with artificial monkey screams and is that a panthers roar?
I feel Reeces biceps flex around me, his bare chest pressing against my soaked back as he holds me close, shielding me as he reaches for the thrashing nozzle.
And for a split second, I think, Wow, this is kind of hot.
An elephant trumpets through surround-sound along with more thunder as programmed lightning zigzags between perfectly placed fixtures. Kais Ultimate Paradise Experience is a Rainforest Cafe on steroids.
Like a shirtless superhero whos been called in for emergency duty, he pushes me behind his ridiculous torso. Stay back
Reece! I grab his wrist. Thats my boob!
Fuck! Sorry!
Watch out!
Too late. THWACK! The metal nozzle whips around, fast as a cobra, and smacks Reece in the forehead.
MOTHERFOW! he snarls, staggering back, hands flying to his head. He glares at me through one squinted eye.
Another crack of lightning erupts over our heads. A clap of thunder shakes every inch of the space. The room pulses between blinding white flashes and total darkness.
And suddenly, the walls come alive.
Animatronic birds descend from the ceiling, mechanical beaks opening and closing as they burst into a soulful gospel rendition of Lets Get It On.
A robotic toucan swings out of nowhere, flapping fake wings as an animatronic conga line of parrots start bobbing along the rock wall.
What. The actual. Fuck.
I whip around, and the handheld sprayer attacks me again, this time blasting me in the stomach so hard I double over.
ITS POSSESSED! I scream, flailing.
Reece lunges for the hose, gripping it like hes wrestling a 200-pound python.
The water thrashes, the wand jerking violently in his grip, red mist still spraying everywhere like an angry, fire-breathing dragon.
SHUT IT OFF! he bellows.
I scramble toward the control panel, my feet slipping on the slick tile. And instead of a graceful sprint
I SLIDE.
I slam into the panel, hitting the off switch, and the chaos stops instantly.
No water.
No thunder.
No demonic light show.
The birds slowly retreat into the ceiling, wings flapping in one final mechanical farewell.
And for three long seconds, the only sound is our ragged, heavy breathing.
I push my drenched hair out of my eyes, relieved this nightmare is over. Then I spot Reece on the ground, hand pressed to his eye. Oh my God, are you okay?
I drop to my knees beside him, cradling his head between my palms. His uncovered eye goes wide, darting back and forth.
And thats when I remember. I am very, very naked.
My boobs are introducing themselves to his face.
Ay, carajo! I screech, jumping up. But because karmas not done making me its bitch and the floor is still wet, my feet slide out from under me.
WHAM!
I fall backwards and Reece catches me, yanking me against his chest with enough force to knock the wind out of both of us. His hands instinctively latch on to my
Yep.
Hes got two handfuls of premium-grade boob.
We freeze. My heart hammers against his palms. His chest heaves against my back. Water drips.
Finally, Reece breaks the silence, his voice rough against my ear. Youre right, Morales. Your tits are spectacular.
And just like that, my traitorous lady bits fire up again.