Call me a glutton for punishment if you must because there’s been one thing on my mind. I’m walking back to the room after a spa session that pissed me off and made me more unsure of myself than it relaxed me. Bam. My life in a nutshell.

Declaring this pity party dead and over, I snagged a drink from the bar. One that reminds me of him. Each tangy sensation that dances over my taste buds makes my insides quiver. I didn’t get the guy. Hell, I didn’t even try. We had shared a few awkward and intriguing conversations before his reality became a player in the game. So it’s done and decided that I’ll do what I do best and that’s to fall back on my imagination.

I tip back the drink once I'm at my door. The ice cubes are clinking on the glass as I drain every last ounce of sweet, sweet nectar. The only thing missing is his taste on the rim of the glass. It was minty and alluring wrapped together in the sexiest ginger stallion I’ve ever met. Giddy up!

The door clicks open. I push my way in, needing some alone time with the current novel I’m working on. Everything else has been short fan-fiction stories, but this gem is my first full-length novel.

“Son of a…” My body lurches forward when my foot stumbles on something.

It might be the grace of alcohol streaming through my veins, but more than likely dumb luck, I manage to right myself into a standing position. There’s a wrapped package on the floor between my feet. I stare at it like it’s a heat-seeking missile sent to blow me to smithereens.

Finally, after staring for several seconds, I bend over and grab the package, rolling it in one hand, studying its every corner. The wrapping paper is a unique shade of orange almost similar to the color now on my toes. The package is wrapped with exceptional care along with matching ribbon and a bow to boot.

I start to think that this has to be a mistake and meant for another passenger, but that’s when I see my name. Raylan is written out in precise block print in thick black marker strokes. Underneath my name in smaller writing, there’s a message. Thought you could use this.

I set the fancy drink glass on the counter right inside my room then bounce the package back and forth between my hands. Right away, I feel like a dickhead. It has to be from Josi or Brenna. I take a deep breath before pulling away the edges of the wrapping paper, being careful to not destroy the beauty of it. Someone put some serious time into this wrapping. More than likely it was a clerk at whatever store one of the girls purchased it from knowing them.

My eyebrows scrunch in confusion at the cube in my hand. The packaging of whatever lies inside of the box is gorgeous. The top is a dark plum that fades into an orange at the bottom of the box.

“We-Vibe,” I whisper the words on top of the packaging.

A chorus of jovial voices in the hallway snap me back to reality. I wiggle the rest of the way in my room, closing the door behind me, making sure to click the lock. I sit on the edge of the bed with tentative fingers and begin opening up the box.

It’s a We-Vibe Sync. That still gives me no clue as to what’s in the box. I pull out a u-shaped soft device. It takes me two seconds to discover what its function is after opening a small booklet. Brenna. It is beyond a doubt that little slut nugget. She’s the only one I know who would give someone a cutting-edge, award-winning vibrator with advanced technology.

My eyes bulge as I read what this thing can do. I squirm a bit on the edge of the bed studying the diagram of a man inside a woman while the We-Vibe Sync is massaging the woman’s clit and also inside her massaging her G-spot. The illustrations go on to show the vibrator doesn’t fall out when sex positions change.

“It has an app!” I slap my palm over my mouth, knowing that came out a bit too loud. Even though I’m all alone in this room, the walls are not soundproof by any means. You can hear cabin doors shutting, muted noise from surrounding rooms, and showers running.

My curiosity wins out faster than I’d like to admit. This isn’t the first sex toy Brenna has given me. Over the years I’ve received purple, lime green, and hot pink dildos varying in size. Some were big enough I was convinced they molded King Kong’s fire hose. They all went straight into an empty drawer in my dresser. The collection is mighty impressive and unused. I've never had the desire to use one, not even the magenta dildo with a suction cup. When the need to have a release is overwhelming, I’m old school. A girl’s best friend is her hand.

I shrug once then twice. Fuck it. It’s what they want me to do, right? Live, laugh, and get fucked. Decision made.

While the app is downloading, I wrack my mind for a sexy, spine-tingling song. One that gets you heated up when you don’t have an award winning vibrator working its magic. The booklet claimed this little bad boy syncs up to a song while working the lady bits over.

Enrique. Yes, it will be the perfect distraction. Roberto gave me enough to focus on. I squeal like a giddy girl on her birthday. This gift brought my mood from glum to elated in warp speed. It’s little gestures like these I need to focus on and all the times my girls have been there for me to get me through their harmless teasing.

I fall back on the bed, adjusting the pillows to prop my head up, and shimmy down my thong until propping it on top of one of my feet. I wiggle it down to a toe then wave it around in the air like all the kick-ass women do in the romance novels I read. It’s a come-hither gesture to the man of my dreams. Roberto, Roberto, Roberto I chant over and over in my head before someone else has a chance to invade.

The upbeat song of “Tonight I’m Fucking You” by Enrique begins jamming through my phone. All of the nerve endings in my hand ignite to life when the u-shaped vibrator begins pulsing. Holy shit, the booklet wasn’t lying. The device works to the beat of the song. My core starts to ache; my legs squeeze together, thirsting for some sort of friction. I have to force my fingers to stay put.

Propping up on one elbow while running my tongue over my bottom lip, I roll the vibrator into position. The anticipation builds as I drag it over my sundress. When it hits flesh my body fires to life. I lazily pull it through my folds until it’s in place.

My palms slam down on either side of me. I white knuckle the sheets as the sensation sweeps me away. The vibrator stays put working its little heart out as I buck my hips to the rhythm of the song and strumming of the vibrator filling my body. Enrique’s tantalizing voice fills the room. The vibrator is not making a sound while it brings me closer and closer.

“Holy shit!” I scream with my body strung so taught it's ready to explode. It comes out without regret and in its place pure desire and passion. My eyes snap shut, willing away the nearing orgasm. This feeling and the sensation of raw need coursing through me is too delicious to let go of right now.

“Roberto.” His name tumbles out in a loud voice with a flat expression. It doesn’t do the trick to erase the scene with Memphis playing out in my head. I try calling out his name one more time. But it does no good. There’s one player in this fantasy, and he refuses to tap out.

A broad chest, strong jawline, rich whiskey eyes, and a smile that makes my toes curl, flash behind my eyelids. I can feel his body on top of mine, pressing me into the mattress as he fucks me hard. The need in his eyes is raw and determined.

“Roberto,” I let out again, louder this time, fighting to get Memphis out of my head. As delicious as the fantasy is it also hurts. He’s a force I can’t fight knowing he’d obliterate my heart and never look back. And like it matters because he’s not available. With these thoughts swirling around, my orgasm builds up. One more buck of my hips and I’ll be gliding down the slide of ecstasy.

I go for it, craving the release like no other. I raise my hips off the bed, slapping a hand over my mouth to contain my cries, my fist bunching in the sheets, and the cry of pleasure on the tip of my tongue. Nothing. It stops. No vibrations. Zilch. Zip. Nada.

“The fuck?”

* * *

Memphis.

Thank fuck for girl time. I throw my head back, hitting it hard on the headboard not giving a shit. Iris calling a day with friends a girls’ day is like classifying my dick a virgin. The crazy bitch thinks she’s still in her twenties with a body to prove it. Looks are very deceiving with that woman and so is the intricate web she weaves to trap you in. Iris is well into her sixties with a few years left before she hits another milestone. Seventy.

Her over the top idea of what we are dick punched me today. My gut knew it, but the greedy bastard inside me didn’t want to realize it. Iris owns me. It’s the sad truth and no other way to slice or dice it while on the cruise. To me, it’s all about the cash flow and escaping a small town and nothing else. There have never been any feelings. I’m not a dick to my customers, but I never, under any circumstances, have entertained the idea of inviting feelings into the mix. Business is business.

The time to cut and run has long expired. If you don’t believe the root of all evil is money, then sit in my shoes for a couple of hours. Reaching for my glass of Jack and ice I bring it to my lips, throwing it all back in one long swallow. Once I’m on dry land I’m running and not looking back, you can bet on that.

Shit’s never been this complicated over the last years of after-hour clients. I never allowed anyone or anything to come between the job and raking in the dough. My body is sculpted into a well-oiled sex robot. My dick was happy, bank account filling, and cold Jack always at my fingertips.

Then she happened. A little ray of sunshine falling right into my life without warning or explanation. The explanation part is where I get hung up. I can't explain it or even begin to. All I can do is chalk it up to having to have a taste of her, feel her milk my cock, and call out my name the entire time. Yeah, my intentions are not anywhere close to morally correct. This ain’t no chick flick where the pussy hero gets hit with Cupid’s arrow. That’s the one thing I do know for certain, or that’s what I keep telling myself. There’s something about Raylan I could wrap up in and lose myself forever.

I drain the rest of the Jack bottle into my glass. The dark liquid is flowing over the ice cubes coming to rest at the bottom. I take it slower on this glass knowing it will be another long night with Iris.

She has taken it easy on me today, not that I’m complaining. Her go-to motives of using me until I’m on the verge of shattering were nowhere to be found. She was livid after running into Raylan this morning. Iris demanded I sit on a chair and watch her with her friends and another young dumbass they brought into the mix. At first, I thought it was Wank Stain, but it wasn’t. Margaret was on cloud nine after Sophia gave in.

What a joke Iris sought out as a punishment! Everyone entertained themselves just fine. She really thought she had me by the balls when she ordered no touching myself or them. Shit, it was more like a “Get Out of Jail” for free card.

Iris is a smart cat. Even before our run-in this morning with Raylan she knew something was up and having me watch was her form of punishment. I’m a damn man which means thinking of sex, watching porn, a stiff breeze, or a naked woman makes my cock hard as steel. It’s a fact of life. It wasn’t the naked women, cries of pleasure, or slapping of flesh in Iris a few hours ago that had precum dripping from my dick. It was the memory of Raylan’s body pressed into mine this morning.

The rest of the Jack drains from the glass with that honest admission. I’m so fucked up. The corners of my lips turn up, and worries vanish when I hear the evidence she found the little gift I left for her. I had to take a few minutes to cool down after Iris’s bitch move in front of Raylan and I struck gold. The priceless, sexy gold nugget was Raylan’s ass swaying back and forth, escaping an embarrassing moment brought to her courtesy of Iris.

When we were out of sight from Raylan and her friends I let Iris have it. I’ve never disrespected Iris, but she’s also never given me a reason to until this morning. I know there will be more consequences for my actions and by damn Iris better know the damn same. She’s paying me. I’m doing my job. She has not one zero damn right to be possessive over me. There ain't no reason I can’t hook up with another chick while on the cruise as long as I do my job for her. Ironic as it sounds, hook-ups have never been my thing. The real me wants more than sex. Take that one for a spin on the highway of mind fucks of all mind fucks.

A song drifts into my room from Raylan’s. The naughty little girl picked one with some energy and a fast pace beat. I slide my hand into my sweatpants, squeezing my dick.

“Fuck,” I growl between clenched teeth.

My imagination runs wild picturing her spread out naked on her bed. Nervous at first, biting on her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed a sweet, light pink, and her nerves getting the best of her. I imagine her talking herself out of doing it, but relenting in the end. Her nipples are peaked, aching to have my tongue swirling around them.

I roll my throbbing cock out of my shorts, but before I can stroke it I hear her. The song is peaking in a crescendo and her screaming out holy shit.

“Good girl,” I whisper. “Give me more. Let go.”

Her light moans are barely audible through the walls. The song is on repeat and is starting over again. God, I’d give anything to watch her right now. I wouldn’t be a greedy man asking to touch her. All I’d need is to study her as she writhes in pleasure. A life sentence of it would be the sweetest heaven and hell at the same time. I stroke my cock using my imagination, matching her rhythm. I grip it so tight it's nearing a painful state. My balls jump in excitement. I’m strokes away from blowing my load.

“Roberto.”

My blood turns cold. Anger builds up inside to me until I’m at a raging state. I’m not a fool knowing exactly who Roberto is. I overheard him and his gang of dick bags talking in the dining hall. Talk about a group of slick motherfuckers thinking they’re bigger than life. They have a real big set of balls to dress up and pretend to be kingpins. They’re nothing but frauds looking for sugar mommas. It doesn't explain why Wank Stain is all over Raylan. Hell, she may be rich for all I know, but everything about her screams everyday girl.

It happens again then again. Wank Stain’s name rolling off her tongue like she’s ready to devour him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Fuck this shit. I pull out the remote I conveniently kept for myself. If there’s one thing I do well, it’s controlling the action in the bedroom. It’s my fucking specialty. Let’s see how fast little Miss Raylan learns.

My thumb lands with a thud on the stop button. The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention waiting for the answer. Seconds later the music turns off, her soft cries no longer, and not one single mention of Roberto. Not one to waste time when it comes to getting a woman off, I use the remote to build her orgasm right back up to where she left off. Every single fucking time she calls his name, she’ll be going right back to level one.

Game on, Raylan.

It's slow and steady at first. The absence of music makes it easy to hear the bed squeak against the wall. My hand stroking my cock matches the rhythm of her toy. I pick it up a pace to a pulsating beat. Her moans are now clear. No names yet just her cries of joy. A tingle runs up my spine and I know I’m a goner.

“Sorry, baby, we need to hurry things up a bit.” My cock grows harder with the knowledge of me giving this to her.

I click the button on the remote to a rapid-fire pace. She’s practically screaming at this point. No shame at all. She’s letting go and what I wouldn’t give to see her face as she does it.

“Fuck,” I hiss, feeling the first jet of hot cum stream out. I milk every single ounce of pleasure out, wanting more than anything to have my hands in her hair, guiding her mouth down on my dick until she sucks me dry.

A garbled sound comes from her room. It was almost a name, but her passion hijacked it. Her moans are the loudest yet. Then it happens.

“Memphis.”

Just like that, my dick is hard again.