Page 1 of Stalk Me

Swimming with the Sharks

The stranger’s lips trail down my neck as the boat rocks beneath us. I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation of his hands sliding under my dress, but it’s not enough to make me forget why I’m here. Nothing ever is.

I turn and guide the stranger’s hand from my waist to the hidden zipper of my dress. He unzips it in one motion, and my dress falls away. The cold air of the small bathroom bites my skin. My nipples stiffen, and a small moan escapes his lips. He admires the curves of my body, lost in desire. He fails to notice that no matter how beautiful I look, there’s always something missing.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers against my skin. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. They always say that, these nameless men who think they can fix me with empty compliments and eager touches. At least the sex distracts me for a while, and I’m good at pretending. He leans closer and pulls me against him. Our bodies press together as his fingers tangle in my hair. His touch doesn’t make me forget, but it’s enough to make me pretend, if only for a moment.

I push the stranger down on the covered toilet seat and straddle his lap. The bottle of expensive champagne he brought tips over, spilling across the floor. He starts to reach for it, but I grab his chin, forcing his attention back to me. “Leave it.”

His pupils are blown wide with desire as I grind against him. He’s handsome enough—all clean-cut jaw and perfectly-styled hair that screams old money. Probably another trust fund baby sent to Shark Bay University by parents who got tired of cleaning up his messes. We’re all the same here, broken toys of the elite. They send us away when we’re too messy for them, too fucked up to pretend they can fix us. This is where they come to pick up whatever pieces are left. I understand these boys better than the others. After all, I’m one of them.

Loud laughter booms through the thin door. “Ollie!” someone shouts. “Get your ass out here!”

The stranger groans. “Just ignore them,” he says between kisses. I run a hand through his hair, pulling hard enough to make him gasp. He leans into the touch, desperate for more, like an eager puppy.

“I don’t usually do this,” he pants as I unbutton his shirt. Another lie. I saw him eyeing me the moment I stepped onto the boat, recognized the practiced way he approached me with that bottle of Dom Pérignon. He’s done this before, probably with girls just like me. He isn’t even as high as the rest of them. He’s likely some small-town rich boy looking to get laid and forget his own misery. I can’t blame him. I’d probably be on drugs, too, if my parents hadn’t confiscated them.

A wave slams against the side of the boat, and the toilet squeaks with the force of it. The boat sways. Someone laughs, their voice carrying down the hall. If I close my eyes, I can imagine I’m with someone else, someone who would erase the darkness in my mind, instead of reminding me why I’m here. But those desires only last a few stolen moments.

“Shut up,” I tell him, crushing my mouth against his. I don’t want to hear his stories or his excuses. I just want to feel something—anything—that will drown out the echo of Alex’s voice in my head, begging me to stay.

I shake my head, willing the thoughts to leave. There’s no use in wishing for things I can’t have, not when I’m barely holding on as it is. When he disappears, I’ll have nothing, and no one left.

The boat rocks harder as the waves pick up, and I use the motion to my advantage, moving against this stranger in a rhythm that makes him moan.

He whimpers as I trail my mouth down the column of his neck. My tongue flickers across his skin as he pulls me harder against him.

He slips a finger inside me and groans. “You’re so wet.”

“Stop talking.”

His lips leave a trail along my neck as I pull my dress over my head and push him back against the tile. There’s a brief hesitation. The air shifts, and it almost feels like the beginning of some grandiose, heartfelt, and all too sincere speech.

“I don’t even know your name,” he gasps as I reach for his belt.

“Good.” I silence him with another kiss, rougher this time. Names mean attachment, and attachment is dangerous. My parents made that perfectly clear when they showed me those pictures of Alex—proof that they’re always watching, always ready to destroy anyone who gets too close. I can’t fail him like that again.

The stranger stills. For a moment, he studies me, confusion and desire muddling his expression, but eventually, he kisses me back. We each need something from the other tonight. Why ruin it with sob stories? I drop his belt, ignoring the clank with which it hits the floor.

I refuse to think about Alex or my parents or the fact that this boat is taking me to what amounts to a prison, no matter how prestigious its name is. Right now, there’s only this—skin against skin, pleasure without connection, control without consequence.

He grabs a condom from his back pocket and quickly shoves his pants down. I watch him roll it over his length, distracted by the thoughts swarming through my mind. Why do all my mistakes start with kisses, and why the fuck did the stranger’s smile remind me of the boy next door?

Before the stranger can say anything else, I lift myself just high enough for him to guide the tip of his cock to my opening. My breath catches as I drop onto him, my fingernails digging into his shoulders as the tension between us grows. Someone calls his name. Loud laughter. Drunken chatter. Voices drift through the walls of the bathroom, muffled by the waves and wind. I slam onto him again. I just need to drown out the voices. I close my eyes, leaning back slightly as the waves pick up. Just a few more minutes of oblivion…

As soon as we’re off this fucking boat, the inevitable panic attack will sneak up, an incurable snake ready to strike. But right now, that thought fades as well. Nothing left but sweet, sweet nothing, and bodies pressing together in an artful rhythm.

Pleasure pulses across my skin, heat twisting my core, ready to break free at any moment, and maybe tonight, this stolen moment is all I need to last another few seconds, hours, or days. Pleasure ebbs and swells, pulling me deeper into the current, forcing me to lose focus on everything that surrounds me, all the reminders, all the emptiness, and all of the monsters. There is only the movement of our bodies, the darkness in the room, and the echoes of voices just outside the door.

“Almost there,” the stranger groans, his hands sliding up my thighs. “We should?—”

“Quiet.” I press a hand against his chest, keeping him pinned to the wall. “Just shut up and let me take what I want.”

Bright lights filter in through the grimy bathroom window, and even though they flash once, twice, three times, I still ride him. Our breathing increases, our bodies moving together, his cock filling me deeper with each thrust, and his voice begins to deepen, the syllables becoming more guttural. A sense of complete desperation surges forward, as if there’s nothing more between us than shared trauma and a mutual desire to lose ourselves in one another. We’re two broken souls sharing the same experience, and in these precious moments, the space between us isn’t loneliness and despair, but the fragile thread of hope. Something so delicate, a breath away from being lost forever, but strong enough to exist anyway.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but I silence him with a roll of my hips that makes his words dissolve into a groan. I don’t want to think about our destination or what awaits me there. Instead, I lose myself in the physical—the dig of his fingers into my skin, the heat building between us, the way my body responds automatically while my mind stays carefully, blissfully blank.

The stranger’s eyes shut as his head falls back. He bites his lip, pushing into me harder. I feel my body reacting to his, the tightness curling my toes. One more thrust and the orgasm rips through me with blinding force.

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