Page 11 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

He slams in deep, one last time, and goes still—groaning my name against my skin as he spills inside me, his entire body shuddering.

Silence crashes in.

Breathless. Shaky. Just the fire and the brutal thud of our hearts.

He doesn't move. Just leans his forehead to mine, both of us drenched in heat and sweat and something that feels too much.

Eventually, he sets me down, slow and careful. His hands linger like he's not quite ready to let me go.

I tug my dress down over my trembling thighs, still pulsing from the aftershocks.

"I'll get some water," he says, like he didn't just completely unmake me.

He walks away like he didn't just fuck me into the wall.

Casual. Loose. Zipper undone. His cock—still half-hard, slick and heavy—swings between his thighs as he moves.

I can't stop staring.

He strides into the kitchen, muscles flexing beneath that bare torso like a fucking predator—wolfish, unapologetic. He opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, cracks it, and takes a slow pull. His throat works, muscles rippling with every swallow.

Then he looks at me.

That look burns. Pure heat. Pure hunger.

"You okay?" he asks, voice deceptively mild. "Not what you expected when you came up here, I'm guessing."

I don't answer. Can't. My legs are trembling, my panties ruined, and he's standing there like he's got all the time in the world to do it again.

He sets the bottle down and starts walking back—slow, deliberate. His cock bounces slightly with every step, thick and tempting and not done.

He stops in front of me. Lifts a brow.

"I've been thinking about fucking you since I caught you on the stairs," he says, voice rough. "That tight little skirt. That mouth. The way you tried to pretend I didn't get under your skin."

He turns and gestures toward the bed.

Four-poster. Rings gleaming in the firelight.

Then he points up.

Ceiling beam. Hooks.

I swallow.

"You have three choices," he says, voice like sin. "You pick… or I'll pick for you."

He steps closer. His cock brushes against my dress. Deliberate.

"One—" he lifts a finger, "I tie you to that bed and make you scream so loud you lose your voice. Wrists bound. Legs spread. Nothing but my mouth and cock and your begging."

He leans in, lips just shy of mine.

"Two—" another finger lifts, "you drop to your knees and suck me like you've been fantasizing about since the lodge. You have been fantasizing about it… haven't you, Amelia?"

I suck in a breath, but he doesn't let me answer.

"Three," he says, smile curling wicked and slow, "you tell me I'm in charge and I decide which one comes first."

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