Exposed (Haven Cove)

by Lola Finn

  I was checking them for glimpses of her. Of her ass bent down as she checked the cabinets beneath the counter for a notepad. Or I was watching the way the guests checked her out when she leaned over the counter to point out the path to the beach on the Haven Cove map.

  Distracted. All fucking day.

  But I can’t risk slipping up the way I did today again. I cut it damn close in her staff cabin just now, ready to pin her small frame to the cot. Another exchange that turned heated where I could have taken her right there. And she wanted me too, no question about it.

  The thought has my balls aching as I drop into my executive chair. Fucking problem.

  I’m the biggest issue right now. I have no idea why this girl has me so twisted over her. I’m entranced, losing my fucking mind because of it.

  I groan, reaching for my phone. With her once again distracting me with her bratty little comments, I forgot the main reason I even went to her cabin.

  Right now, I have an employee running around the resort with my dick on her phone.

  So, less than five minutes after telling her not to text me anymore and then sprinting until my lungs burned, trying to drive her out of my head, I pull up our messages.

  Could you please be sure to delete the texts and pictures? Thanks.

  I recline in my chair, dragging a report with me off the desk to read. But my focus only lasts until the phone dings, and then I trade paper for phone and smirk at Palmer’s response.

  You sure are a lot nicer over text, Mr. Briggs.

  I scroll back up through our messages, the ones I haven’t deleted. Pictures of her perky tits and tight little body, my fist around my hard shaft, and others of my hard cock from several different angles. Jesus.

  Seeing as 90% of our texts have been photos of my cock, I understand why you might think that.

  Two texts. It took me two goddamn texts before I couldn’t help myself. I scrub a hand over my face before I try this all again.

  Delete them.

  I’ll be checking Monday to ensure that you have.

  I wouldn’t actually go through her phone, but she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know shit about me other than I can make her come. But fuck, can I do that.

  Okay. I’ll delete them.

  Perfect. One problem solved. I start to put my phone down, but then it pings. I flip it over, and my pulse thunders in my ears, seeing her message.

  No harm in sending more then, right? Since I’m just going to delete them anyway.

  My cock throbs, obscenely tenting my athletic shorts. I know this game—we played it the first night after the bar. For every picture I send, she’ll send another.

  Here’s where my logic kicks in. Where I remind myself she’s my employee. I’m her fucking boss. She’s eighteen. I’m twenty-five. But instead of throwing my phone in a drawer and locking the fucker I lower my hand, gripping my cock through my shorts.

  Incentive.

  Seconds after she sends the message, a picture pops up, and the blood roars in my ear.

  Palmer lies on her stomach on her cot, her tits pushed together, rosy pink nipples peeking over the top of her black lace bra. The bottom half of her face shows, and she has her teeth buried in her bottom lip.

  In under five seconds, I’ve ripped off my shirt, and I’m pushing down the waistband of my shorts and boxers. My cock is hard as steel when I pull it out, not caring about any of that other shit right now. I snap a picture, my hand wrapped around my cock and the thick head jutting out of the top of my fist, and I hit send.

  I keep stroking my length, my eyes locked on the screen.

  The next picture she’s flipped over on her back, her matching black panties halfway down her hips, so I can see her fingers pushing between her shiny, bare pussy lips. I groan, my balls heavy as I continue to slide up and down my shaft, catching the pre-cum leaking from the tip and bringing it down, making my cock glisten.

  Another message from Palmer pops up, this one a voice memo, and my dick jumps in my hand. I suck in a breath when I hit play, hearing her restless breaths and whimpers.

  “Briggs,” she says on a moan, and I growl, jerking my cock faster and closing my eyes, remembering how tight she is, thinking about how she’ll grip my cock while I plunge into her.

  My phone vibrates.

  Give me more.

  I don’t even hesitate, too far gone with her right now. The line’s been crossed tonight. I’ll figure out how to straighten the fucker out tomorrow.

  I hit record on the voice memo, pumping faster and harder. “Slip those fingers inside you, Palmer. Fuck yourself for me, baby girl.” I groan, just imagining it. “I want to hear you come all fucking over your fingers, and I’m going to come listening to it.”

  Hitting send, I scroll up to her last picture and set my phone down so I can rub my swollen balls. I’m so fucked, so lost and not even wanting to come up for air. Not until I hear her moaning my name again.

  By the time her next message appears, I’ve worked my cock until I’m panting and groaning, ready to come to her breathy sounds. And she doesn’t disappoint.

  I tap the screen, and her gasp fills the office, infiltrating my brain. She cries out, and I can picture her thrusting her fingers inside that sweet little cunt, grinding her clit into her palm. As if she weren’t already making my balls throb, she sends a photo of her wet pussy stretched around two of her fingers, and I growl.

  “Fuck, Briggs,” she says through the recording. “I’m going to come.”

  Palmer moans, and my cock pulses as I listen to her gasping in pleasure and coming all over her hand for me. And then I’m coming fucking hard. I groan, my balls drawing up, and then hot cum shoots out, landing on my abs in sticky streaks as I keep stroking and coming to the erotic sounds of her climax until I collapse further in my chair.

  I take a few deep breaths as I swipe my phone off the desk.

  Show me.

  Shaking my head, I can’t help but smile as I send a picture of my cum covered abs, my cock still hard and shining.

  Your turn.

  Palmer answers right away with a picture of her sucking on her fingers, tasting herself, and then she sends one more message.

  Mmmm. Thank you for helping me ENJOY myself.

  She throws my words from earlier back at me, and I let my head fall onto the back of my chair, grinning way too fucking big for a guy who is utterly doomed.

  Chapter Seven

  Briggs

  Palmer might have been right about me being nicer through text messages. It’s been our primary form of communication since I jerked off in my office to the sounds of her coming, and we’ve stayed completely civil the past few days.

  Civil and still texting each other every dirty thought we have about the other. I thought it would be easier if I stayed away from her, if I just kept myself from being alone with her until she works her way out of my system.

  Instead, I’m like a druggie with every filthy message between us giving me just enough to keep from going through withdrawals. I can’t get her out of my head. The way she tips her head back when she moans, the way she tastes on my tongue.

  I pull out my phone to distract myself from going out to the front desk and dragging her back into my office. I scroll through the posts on the Exposed account because I’m a creature of unhealthy obsessions lately.

  I stop on one of the more recent posts, but not to drool over the toned stomach of the chick in the picture, or how her legs spread enough to show the solid strip of black material between her thighs.

  No, my attention locks on what’s behind her.

  The girl is sitting on a wooden floor with a cot in the background, undoubtedly from a staff cabin. But at the top of the picture, almost entirely cropped out at the top corner, there’s something on the cot. And that something looks a hell of a lot like the cover of a computer—blue-green, sparkles maybe. Like the one on Palmer’s cot when I was there the other night.
<
br />   Of course, this means anyone that has access to her cabin could’ve taken the picture.

  But then my eyes fall to the caption, and my blood starts pumping harder.

  Now show me yours.

  It only takes a quick scroll through our messages for me to find not once but twice when Palmer’s sent me something similar. My gaze lifts to the monitor on my desk, where I can see her entering information for a guest on the hotel side of the lobby.

  I snort at myself, shaking my head. I’m reaching here, trying to connect the chick who has me all twisted and the soft-core porn some staffer’s posting. It could be one of her roommates or someone in a different cabin altogether with a teal, glitter computer cover—probably more likely than I think given teal is the color of ivies at the Cove.

  Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion Palmer’s not super experienced, another thing that drives me fucking insane about her.

  Well, shit. Now I’m more keyed up over her than when I started trying to distract myself from her. Then again, I can’t say I’m all that surprised it backfired. Palmer Evans is proving to be more than a problem. I’m starting to think if I let her, this woman might end up my undoing.

  ***

  “Good morning, Mr. Briggs.”

  The melodic voice behind me would have plenty of men on their knees, but I cringe. Fuck. I forgot about my monthly meeting with Isabelle at ten.

  I force a smile, turning around to the hotel’s accountant. “Ms. Martinez.”

  “Ready for our meeting?” She beams at me, her head tipping to the side so her black waves fall further over her shoulder.

  Like me, she works year-round at the resort with the two of us meeting regularly to discuss budgets and expenditures. A pretty standard relationship between a company’s accountant and management. On my side, anyway.

  From Isabelle’s perspective, we’re still in a transition period between our first date and the second one. Even though the first and only one happened well over two years ago. It ended with me dropping her off at her door and dodging her mouth for her cheek when she tried to kiss me.

  Nothing against the woman. She’s beautiful, nice enough, and has a good family as Brent has pointed out on more than one occasion. It’s just my cock has spoken on the matter, and he’s not interested in Isabelle.

  He’s a pretty huge fucking fan of the blonde at the front desk, though. Palmer taps away at the computer, pretending to not pay any attention to us behind her even though her head twists around so she can hear every word and breath exchanged.

  “Sure,” I say, sounding a little more enthusiastic than I feel about it as I follow Isabelle back to my office.

  My eyes meet Palmer’s right before I round the corner, and I smirk at the rigidness in her muscles. I’m a sick bastard, wanting her jealous over something that will never fucking happen. Especially since I keep telling Palmer, she and I will also never fucking happen.

  Most glaring difference there is Palmer can send me a message about wanting to ride my cock, and I’ll be hard from my front door to the lobby door. Like this morning.

  I leave the office door open on my way in and take the seat behind my desk. And as my ass hits the cushion, Isabelle jumps up from her chair to go shut the door. I lift an eyebrow at her on her way back, and she shrugs.

  “We don’t need the entire staff knowing Brent’s finances, do we?”

  I shake my head. “I suppose not.”

  As a full-time employee, we’re spared the Haven Cove polos and khakis, sticking more to business casual, but as she sits back down, she still manages to work the skirt of her dress halfway up her thigh, giving me a sultry look.

  I ignore her, nodding to her empty hands. “Did you bring the reports?”

  “Oh! I printed them but forgot to grab them. I’ll be right back.” She starts to get up again, but I reach for my office phone.

  “No need.”

  She relaxes again as I hit print on the reports and dial the extension for the front desk. It rings once before Palmer answers in her fake customer service voice. I much prefer the breathy, raspy, turned-on version.

  “Haven Cove hotel and resort, how—”

  “Behind you,” I growl, and I watch her spin in the camera. “Care to bring those financial reports into my office?”

  “Sure I won’t be interrupting anything?” she snipes before the line clicks.

  I should be irritated with her tone, furious she would dare hang up on me. But I smirk, setting the phone down, and my eyes are already on the door when it opens and in she comes.

  She marches around the desk to me, brushing her ass against my arm as she sets the papers down. I breathe in her vanilla scent for the first time since Saturday, not having let myself close enough to until now.

  I’m probably an idiot for letting it happen at all, but Palmer jealous, her chest rising a little faster and her jaw set, fuck does it have my cock thickening and blood boiling.

  “Isabelle, this is Palmer Evans, the new receptionist for the front desk.” I bring my gaze up to Palmer’s, her fiery green eyes narrowed at me. “Isabelle is Haven Cove’s accountant.”

  Palmer turns to Isabelle and forces a smile. “So nice to meet you.”

  “You too, Palmer.” Isabelle grins, her voice sugary-sweet. “And wow, teal is such a great color on you.”

  Palmer waits for a beat, and I think she might dive at the woman. “Thanks.”

  Then she walks out, not offering a compliment in return, and I wipe a hand over my smile, clearing my throat as the door slams behind her.

  “Here we go.” I toss the papers onto the desk, so they slide to the other side.

  As Isabelle gathers them and starts in with numbers and the hotel’s earnings, I slip my phone under the desk and fire off a text to Palmer.

  Did I detect a touch of jealousy?

  My eyes drift to the screen on my desk as Palmer reads my message at the front desk and then starts tapping away.

  I nod at something Isabelle says about how we’re up from last quarter, but when my phone vibrates, I lower my gaze under the desk again.

  Nothing to be jealous of. We both know the entire time you’re in there with her, you’ll be wanting to touch me.

  Touch, taste, fuck, worship.

  You sound rather sure of that.

  I hit send just as Isabelle grins up at me about how last month alone has exceeded our best expectations, the best summer we’ve seen at the Cove in years, and I should be proud of how much the hotel has been contributing. And I am. I work damn hard to increase profits month after month—not an easy task in a place like this.

  Right now, however, I’m only half listening as the dots appear on my screen.

  You’ll see how sure I am.

  I glance over at the camera feed, the screen facing me and out of Isabelle’s sight. And thank fuck for that because Palmer moves over so she’s right in front of the camera and trails her fingers up the backs of her bare thighs.

  Last night I texted her how I could see her on the cameras, how every time she bends over and shows me a sweet glimpse of the ass in those shorts, I get hard and want to drag her into my office.

  And clearly, she’s using it against me right now, circling her hips so her firm ass pushes back toward the camera. I check the other cameras, but the lobby is empty, and I set the one for the front desk, so it fills the screen.

  Isabelle’s still talking, not even looking up from her numbers anymore, and my eyes stay glued to the screen. Palmer slips her fingers under the legs of her shorts, dragging them higher to show me the round globes of her ass. My hands are still on my phone under the desk—well, one is. The other moves to the massive bulge in my slacks, gripping my achingly hard cock.

  Palmer glances over her shoulder at the camera like she’s watching me watch her as she pushes her shorts higher on one side, so I can see her run her finger under the edge of her panties.

  Then she leans forward more
, bracing herself on the desk with one hand while the other slips deeper between her legs, moving her shorts right along with it. And then she sinks a finger into her pussy.

  I swallow a groan, my hips flexing under the desk as hers circle, her eyes still locked on the camera. Her lips part in what I imagine is a silent gasp as she pumps her finger in and out of her, wetness shining on her inner thighs.

  My cock rages in my slacks, my pulse thrashing as I watch her, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.

  “Isabelle—”

  She jumps when I growl her name, and hopefully, she doesn’t mistake the lust in my voice to have anything to do with her and her fucking report.

  I toss my phone onto the desk like I just got a text. “We’ll have to finish this later.”

  She looks startled but nods and then grins like she just realized it means we get an extra meeting this month. But I can’t say I really give a shit about how many times we meet. I’ve got one thing on my mind, and it’s not Isabelle fucking Martinez.

  She rises, heading to the door, and says something about seeing me later. I just grunt in response, the only thing I’m capable of right now, not even moving from my desk to walk her out. I can’t without showing her my cock’s ready to break my fucking zipper.

  On the screen, Palmer rips her hand out of her shorts at the sound of the door opening. As Isabelle disappears into the hallway, I follow not far behind. She’s just stepping out of the reception area into the lobby when I come up behind Palmer at the front desk.

  Palmer sucks in a breath, feeling me press my erection between her ass cheeks, both of us tracking Isabelle’s back across the lobby as she pushes back against me.

  “Should I remind you of your job description again?” I growl, leaning into her ear.

  “Was I doing something wrong?” Her voice has returned to an airy rasp.

  “Very wrong, Palmer.”

  She shudders, my breath hitting her ear, and the second the sound of Isabelle’s heels on the tile fades, I jerk her hand to my mouth. I wrap my lips around the fingers that were just inside of her little pink pussy, growling at the sweet taste of her.