Page 108 of Mexico Can Choke On It
The digital clock on the nightstand glows 11:52 p.m.
“You’ll be the one knocking on my door tonight.”
The arrogant prediction echoes in my head. I had delivered that line with such insufferable confidence, so sure I’d left her dripping for more. Convinced I held all the cards.
And now, it’s pushing midnight.
I stalk toward the balcony, anxious for some air. The night breeze carries the whisper of distant waves and the rustle of palm fronds, but underneath it all… silence.
Deafening, mocking silence.
Was the whole thing an elaborate game?Get the billionaire to blow his load in the jungle and walk away laughing?Was I a conquest?Her one-time power play to bring the rich boy to his knees?
I bet Petra’s in her room right now, texting her friends, rating my orgasm noises on a scale of one to pathetic.
“Guess what, girls? I jerked off Bryce Sterling. He came so fast, I thought he was sneezing. And then he whinnied like a dehydrated pony.”
I bury my head in my hands.Jesus.
Or maybe—fuck—maybe I was too aggressive. Too rough. Maybe when I pulled her back against my chest and covered her mouth to muffle her cries, she felt trapped.
Shit. What if I crossed a line?What if she didn’t come knocking because she’s afraid to be alone with me?
I fall onto the bed, a man defeated, the Egyptian cotton sheets cool against my overheated skin. The phone on my nightstand is a glowing beacon of bad decisions. I snatch it up, thumb hovering over the screen as my mind cycles through increasingly desperate options.
Maybe I should text Gavin.Not about the sex stuff, obviously. Just… ask if Petra mentioned me. Casual. Brotherly concern.Hey, how’s your sister? She seemed exhausted after the ATV ride.
“What in God’s sweaty name are you thinking?” I mutter to the empty room, tossing the device. “You can’t text him. He’ll figure it out in five seconds, drag you back to the jungle for a ‘bonding hike,’ and push you off a cliff.”
I pick up my phone again. I could message her.And say what? Thanks for putting 110% into that handjob. How about we finish what we started?
No. Out of the question. That’s pathetic.
But what if she’s lost? It is a huge house. What if she can’t find her way to me through this labyrinth ofhallways?
“Sterling, you’re grasping at straws. She’s fine. Her room is literally across the hall from yours. She’s probably sleeping and hasn’t thought about you once.”
My brain isn’t listening. It simply plays back a reel of her sweet sounds, smells, sighs, and sensations.
Listen, brain. Petra is trying to one up me. She thinks if she holds out longer, she wins. If I cave, if I go to her first, she will never respect me. This is Classic Pip—rattle the unshakable gentleman.
How did I not see this coming?
I grab the scotch, take a swig, and immediately regret it. The ice has turned to water, transforming aged perfection into lukewarm disappointment—kind of like my entire evening.
Fuck, I want her.
12:03… Blaring proof I’m a failure.
I should let it go. Stay here. Be rational.
Instead, I catapult off the mattress and head for the closet.If she wants a reaction, very well. She shall have one.No more games. Just two adults who clearly need to address unfinished business.
I stare at the silk robe just hanging there. Getting fully dressedisadmitting defeat—as if I’m preparing for a meeting instead of whatever sexual standoff is about to unfold.
The robe wins.
I slip into the midnight blue silk, not bothering to tie it completely—loose enough to appear casual, but still dignified. Not vulnerable. Just appropriately annoyed at being kept waiting.
