CHAPTER TWENTY
Sutton
“We’re not a cruise ship, Sutton,” Callahan says from where he’s leaning back in his chair, elbows on the arms, fingers steepled.
“I’m more than aware of that, but in my professional opinion, many of these amenities and experiences provide an added value to Ocean’s Edge as a whole.
While they may not appear to be ‘high-end,’ they do provide something your guests are seeking and will continue to seek regardless of their income. ”
“Continue.” He holds his hands up as if he’s expecting more from me.
“Brady and I have begun working on a comprehensive plan detailing each idea we’d like to begin implementing with the kind of minute details that I’m more than certain will make your eyes roll back in your head.”
“Is that so?” He gives a ghost of a lopsided smirk, and I’m sure the suggestive look in his eyes implies my words—eyes roll back in your head—are making him think of other activities that can cause that.
“Yes. That is so.” I clear my throat and don’t back down from his stare, trying to remain professional in this space when people are milling about in the office just beyond, trying to waste away the remaining minutes of their workday.
“Benchmarking reports against comparable resorts on the island. Looking at book patterns, the costs to implement these new options and ideas, their costs versus the return we’d receive and—”
“Yes. You’re right. I’m already bored.” His sigh is heavy. “Give me an example of one of these ideas.”
“Ecotourism.”
“Ecotourism?” His tone tells me he’s already dismissed it.
“Yes. It’s all the rage. Since the elite love to champion their causes—or at least look like they are while posting pics on social media and hashtagging up a storm—it’s a necessary addition to keep the property in tune with one of the fastest growing travel trends.”
“I assure you, I’ve never hashtagged up a storm for the sake of image.”
I stare at Callahan and believe him. He’s not the type to try and be something he isn’t .
. . and yet, that doesn’t mean I’m not right on this.
“Saving the environment is popular, Sharpe, so what’s the harm in implementing visual signage around the property with subtle nods to what Ocean’s Edge Resort is doing to further the cause? ”
“We’re supposed to be making more profit, not taking away from it.”
“The resort already practices sustainability in various ways so let’s point it out to our guests and add it to our marketing.
In addition, Brady and I have been contacting local tour companies to find one that can customize a tour exclusively for our guests that will take them around the island to places and points that are of similar mind. ”
“Like?”
“Like the turtle sanctuary where they are breeding and reintroducing them back into the wild,” I respond without hesitancy, knowing a man like Callahan needs to see utter confidence. “The nature reserve on the far side of the island. The—”
“No need to continue.” He twists his lips as silence falls around us. “There’s no perceived value there. There’s no—”
“Signage is cheap. Custom tours add to our exclusivity. A fifteen percent kickback from the tour company adds to our profit.”
“I still don’t think it’s appealing.”
“I beg to differ.”
“You always beg to differ. Personally, I just think you like to argue with me.”
He’s dismissing the idea. I can already see it, can already sense he’s over this conversation, and both irritate the hell out of me. “No, I like to argue points, Callahan. Facts. And my experience, my job, tells me that this is a must across the board these days. Simple and boring but true.”
“I don’t see it. We own many resorts and—”
“And all of Sharpe International’s properties have implemented ecotourism in one way or another in the past few months.
Did you not know this?” His guarded stare should give me a warning.
I don’t heed it. I keep pushing. He wants to question me, then I’ll damn well question him.
“When was the last time you actually stayed at one of your properties like you’re doing now?
When was the last time you stepped out of your Manhattan tower and dirtied your hands so to speak? ”
Callahan stares at me with an intensity I’ve yet to see from him before. His jaw is clenched and the muscles in his neck are taut.
It appears I hit a nerve.
“What’s your point, Ms. Pierce?”
“Ms. Pierce?” I chuckle sarcastically. He’s never called me that before. “Is that your way of putting me in my place and telling me you’re pissed at me?”
His amber eyes are unwavering. “If I were putting you in your place, you’d know.”
I move from where I’m standing near the window and walk to the other side of his office. I glance out the door into the larger office where my desk is and see a few stragglers packing up for the day. Desks get straightened. Lights get turned off. Good nights are murmured.
And soon, we’ll be all alone in the office.
I need to get out of here to avoid any rumors arising about the two of us . . . but . . . Callahan has been testy all day. Combative and argumentative. It shouldn’t be sexy. It should be off-putting. Unattractive.
And yet, it’s had the exact opposite effect.
Even grumpy, he’s insanely attractive. And I’m turned on. Needless to say, the underpants situation—or lack thereof—certainly hasn’t helped.
I can’t act on my attraction—that’s a given. But if he opened the door with his stunt this morning, I might as well walk right through it and tease the hell out of him. Isn’t that what Lizzy said in not so many words?
I turn to study Callahan. His hair is unruly today, his body tense. “What’s eating you, Callahan?”
“Nothing.”
“So you’re just acting like an argumentative ass for no reason?”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he says.
“I don’t imagine you did considering you were stealing my panties and then scouring the island for their sturdy replacements.”
“Anything for my girl.” He smirks, clearly proud of himself, the mood suddenly shifting from tense to more playful. “They fit okay?”
“I wouldn’t know.” I quirk an eyebrow and return the smile as his eyes dart to my thighs and then back up.
“Did you know there’s a homeless outreach center on the east side of the island?
Anyway, Rhonda at the front desk volunteers there on her days off, so I gave them to her to add to some of the other donations the staff has made. ”
“How charitable of you.”
“You know me, always willing to give to those in need.”
“And what about what I need?” He plays with the pen in his hand, but his eyes are locked on mine.
“I’m pretty sure you can handle your own needs just fine.” I sell the lie despite the ache starting to burn within.
“Huh.” His eyes dip to my cleavage, to my thighs, and then back up. “So what exactly are you wearing under that skirt of yours, then?”
Leaning over, I put my hands on his desk and whisper, “Absolutely nothing.”
His eyes darken immediately, and I’m surprised the room doesn’t ignite from the look alone.
“Take off your skirt,” he orders in a low, even tone.
Jesus. If I didn’t think he was sexy before, now, with those words, and his heated stare, I definitely would have.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “No.”
“You know I don’t like to be disobeyed.”
“This isn’t the bedroom, Callahan.” I take a step back and move over to the brown leather love seat in the far corner of the room. “You’re not in control of me.”
He shoves up from his chair and moves to the office door. He looks out into the now abandoned office before dimming the overhead lights, shutting the door softly, and turning the lock.
When he turns to face me again, I’m reminded of how turned on I was by his dominance that first night. “Take off your fucking skirt, Collins.”
I offer a smile as I sink down onto the couch. “What happened to good, old-fashioned negotiations, huh?” My eyes veer to where he’s already hard as a rock and pressing against the seam of his slacks.
“Sometimes you just have to take matters into your own hands.” And now he repeats my words back to me.
“Exactly,” I murmur as I lift my flowy skirt up and shift one of my legs onto the cushion beside me, spreading my thighs to give him the view of all views.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, his fingers moving as if he’s itching to touch. His eyes flicker from my pussy to my eyes then back down.
“Take out your cock,” I order.
His eyes whip up to mine, his face a mask of surprise. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Take it out. Show me how hard I make you.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Giving you your brownie points for a great attempt at a good answer.”
“But I was wrong?” His eyes track my hand as it rubs up and down my bare thigh.
“You were wrong.” I move my hand between my thighs this time and let the pad of my finger rub over my clit. His hitched breath fills the room. “But don’t worry, I’m a firm believer in keeping those you work with, those you want things from, incentivized to keep them trying harder.”
“Is that so?” He starts to walk toward me, his hand finally pulling his cock free of his slacks.
“Uh-uh-uh.”
“What?”
“I said incentivized. Not rewarded. Stay right there.” I know I’m playing with fire. I invite the burn. “You can look, but baby, you can’t touch.”
“Sutton.” My name is a strained warning from a desperate man.
“Hmm?” I lift an eyebrow and let a soft moan escape the back of my throat as I slide my fingers farther south.
“This is cruel.” He chuckles but moves his hands over the head of his cock and back down as he stares at the movement of my fingers.
“But I’m not breaking any rules, right? It’s not considered sleeping with my boss if we’re not touching.”
He groans. “Killing your boss is a crime too, though.”
My breath stutters as I tuck my fingers into my wetness and then bring it back up to moisten my clit. “Stroke your cock, Callahan. Stroke it and let me watch you while you watch me.”
He rolls his head back on his shoulders as he slides his hand up and back a few times. “You actually think this is a good way to get your panties back?”
“I don’t care if I get them back.” I moan and let my head fall back as I add more friction. “That just means you’ll know I’m naked every time I pass by your desk. You’ll know just what’s within fingertips’ reach when I slowly bend over to pick up a file that fell off my desk.”
“Christ.”
“Pure fucking torture,” I say with a slight smirk. “Now stroke yourself.”
An eyebrow raises but he does what I say anyway. His strong hand moves from the base of his shaft to the tip and back. It’s mesmerizing to watch. Sexy. Arousing. Intoxicating in the most carnal of ways.
My fingers move faster, and it’s a conscious thought to keep my eyes open so that I can watch him. Precum glistens his head and is then wiped away by his fingers.
“God, that’s hot,” I murmur as my fingers fly back and forth. “Are you thinking of me? Of sliding into me? Of pulling out and feeling me tighten around you begging for it to be back in?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes.”
“Shh. Quiet,” I moan and let my head fall to the side so I can both watch him and let my body push into the cushions.
“I don’t fucking care if anyone hears me,” he says.
“Exactly.” Our eyes meet across the short distance, my point more than made, but the high I’m chasing’s still front and center.
“That’s not what I—Jesus,” he growls when I tuck my fingers back into myself and mimic what he’s doing to his own cock.
“It feels so good, Callahan. So damn good.”
“It’s taking everything I have not to grab your ankles, yank you onto the carpet, and fuck you senseless.”
Yes.
Please.
But I don’t say a word. Can’t. In this moment, I’m so aroused by him that I lose my sense of right and wrong. My defiance versus my compliance. My needs versus my wants.
My fingers rub faster.
His hand strokes harder.
Back and forth.
Up and down.
My body tightens and I grow even wetter. I’m on the verge of begging him to do as he threatened. Of yanking me down and fucking me senseless, but right as the words hit my lips, his groan fills the room.
I watch him come. His cock jerking in his hand as he spills in his other. And if that’s not sexy enough, the look in his eyes—dark, dominant, desirous—as they lock on mine more than pushes me over the edge.
My orgasm hits me without a care for location or the need for silence. I bite the corner of the pillow as wave after wave washes through me. My breath is heavy and my body floating as I close my eyes and absorb its blissful wrath.
I yelp when Callahan’s hands grasp my thighs, push against them to spread me wider, and his tongue licks its way between them. My body writhes under his touch as his tongue dips inside me.
His groan is everything. Part torture, part satisfaction.
“Callahan,” I warn as I fist a hand in his hair to pull his head up.
A grin spreads over his arousal-glistened lips. “Can’t blame a man for wanting to taste his brownie points.”
“You’re incorrigible.” Pressing my foot to his chest, I push him back as I laugh.
“Guess number two?” he says, lying on his ass with his softening dick still hanging out of his trousers. “Learning the art of negotiation.”