I pay the driver, and Morgan and I get out of the car.
The heat is stifling.
The driver gets our bags out of the trunk, and a hotel porter is already loading our luggage onto a cart.
I have one small suitcase and a bag for my laptop and shit. Morgan has a large suitcase, a small suitcase, and hand luggage.
Apparently, she doesn’t travel light. But I haven’t commented on that fact, for fear of getting my foot stamped on again—or worse, getting kicked in the nuts.
We walk into reception and straight to the desk.
“Hi.” The woman behind the desk smiles at us.
“We’ve got a reservation under Cross.”
She taps some keys on her keyboard. “Ah, yes. Mr. Cross and Miss Stickford. Staying for three nights. Miss Stickford, you are in our Flower bungalow. Mr. Cross, you are in the Hibiscus bungalow. The bungalows are attached, so you are right next to each other.”
Awesome.
“I’ll just need a credit card in case you want to charge food and drinks to your room. Nothing will be charged until you check out.”
I pull my company credit card from my wallet. She takes it and swipes it through a card reader, and then she hands it back to me.
“Here are the keys for your bungalows.” She puts them on the counter.
I pick them up and hand Morgan hers. She doesn’t say a word. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time she spoke. I’m starting to wonder if her voice has stopped working, which wouldn’t be an entirely bad thing.
“Also, here is a map of the hotel.” The receptionist lays it out on the counter. “This is where your bungalows are.” She taps to a point on the map. “Just follow the path out of here, and you’ll find them, no problem. Chula has taken your luggage straight to your bungalows, so they will be there, waiting for you.”
“Thanks,” I say, picking up the map.
“Do the rooms have air-conditioning?” Morgan asks the receptionist.
So, her voice is still working. Shame.
“Yes. The bungalows are all fitted with air-conditioning.”
“Do the bungalows have Wi-Fi?” I ask.
“Yes. You can access Wi-Fi anywhere on the hotel grounds. Here is the Wi-Fi address and password.” She hands me a slip of paper, which I pocket.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Enjoy your stay with us.”
Yeah, I’m sure it’s going to be a blast.
Morgan walks out first, and I follow behind. We walk in silence to our bungalows.
When we reach them, Morgan unlocks the door to her bungalow. She walks inside and shuts the door behind her without a word.
Okay then.
I let myself into my bungalow.
It’s an open plan. Not huge, but it’ll do. There are two double beds, a TV, a small kitchen area, and a separate bathroom.
My suitcase is waiting for me by one of the beds. I dump my laptop bag on the bed and lift my case up onto there, too. I open it up and get my wash bag out, and then I go take a shower.
Fresh out of the shower, I dress in shorts and a T-shirt. Then, I check my phone.
A few emails from Chrissy. Dom and Coop are arguing over an upcoming basketball game in our group message. But, apart from that, nothing of interest.
I could go get something to eat, I guess, but I ate on the plane, and I’m not that hungry. I’m not tired either.
So, what should I do?
Fuck it. I’m going to go to the bar and have a drink.
I pocket my wallet and cell and let myself out of my bungalow.
I lock the door behind me. Then, I hesitate, wondering if I should knock on Morgan’s door and ask her if she wants to join me.
But then she’s not exactly talking to me at the moment, and I don’t relish in the thought of having her tell me to fuck off again.
So, I shove my hands into the pockets of my shorts, and I wander off in the direction of the main hotel.
I find the bar easily enough. It’s right next to the outdoor swimming pool.
I take a seat on one of the barstools and order a pint of one of the local beers.
I’ve just taken a sip of my beer when a woman slips onto the barstool next to me, putting her purse down on the bar.
I glance at her, and she smiles.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.”
She orders a white wine, and I take a moment to look her over.
I’d say she’s in her late thirties. Long red hair. Decent rack. Attractive face.
She’s no Morgan. But then no one is.
Hence the situation my cock and I find ourselves in.
The bartender puts the woman’s wine down in front of her, and she takes a drink. Then, she turns on her stool to face me.
“I’m Audrey.” She holds her hand out to me.
I slide my hand into hers. “Wilder.”
“Interesting name.”
“I’m an interesting guy.”
“I bet you are.” She laughs softly. “So, Wilder, tell me, what brings you to San Kamphaeng?”
“Work.”
“What kind of work?”
“I’m here to meet with a supplier to check out materials.”
“Materials, huh? So, you work in the clothing industry?”
“Lingerie.”
Something hot flashes in her eyes. “Lingerie, huh? Which brand? I might know it.”
“Under Her.”
“Would you believe me if I said I was wearing one of your bra and panty sets right now?”
“I wouldn’t have a reason to disbelieve you,” I say.
She smiles. “So, what exactly do you do at Under Her?”
“What do you think I do?”
“Well, the fact that you’re here, meeting with a materials supplier…I’d say, buyer.”
“CEO.”
“My ex-husband’s a CEO. Not for a lingerie company though.”
Ex-husband. She wants me to know she’s single. Meaning she’s looking for a hook-up.
I can’t even muster up the effort to care. Right now, all I can think about is Morgan and what she’s doing back in her room and if she’s even noticed I left mine.
“My divorce was finalized a week ago,” she continues. “That’s why I’m here, on a trip with my friend to celebrate my return to singledom.”
“Where’s your friend now?” I ask out of politeness.
“Oh, she’s in her room—sunstroke.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “So, Wilder”—she moves closer to me, tilting her body toward mine—“I’m not usually this forward,” she says in a lowered voice. “But”—she hesitates, biting her lip—“I was wondering if you’d like to…come back to my room with me.”
I stare at her, waiting for something to happen in my pants.
But there’s nothing.
Not even a flash of excitement at the prospect of fucking a hot divorcee, who probably hasn’t had sex in a long time.
Fucking Morgan and the fucking voodoo she’s put on my cock.
I hate her.
Well, I don’t hate her.
The awful fucking truth is, I can’t have sex with anyone else because I want Morgan.
No one else. Only her.
And I hate the fact that I can’t have her.
I let out a breath. “I’m really sorry…” I say. I see a flash of disappointment flicker through her eyes. “It’s not you,” I’m quick to add. “You’re hot. Really hot. Any other time, and I’d be grabbing your hand and leading you straight back to your room. But”—I stare down into my beer—“I just…can’t.”
“You don’t have to explain. It’s fine.” She plasters on a smile and downs her drink. “Can’t blame a girl for trying though, right?” She slips off her stool and picks her purse up.
“Audrey, just because I said no…don’t let that put you off. What I mean is”—I rub my forehead—“the next guy you ask back to your room will be all over that…you.” I force a smile. “If this were a few wee
ks ago and you were asking me to go back to your room, I wouldn’t have hesitated. It’s just…my head’s a little screwed up right now.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “Love will do that to you.” Then, she walks away.
I want to call after her and tell her that I’m not in love with Morgan. My dick and I are just a little obsessed with her. Well, a lot obsessed.
But whatever.
Sighing, I drain my drink and leave the bar.
I take the long walk back to my bungalow.
When I get close, I see Morgan is sitting out on the terrace, reading a book. She’s wearing this long black caftan, and her hair is tied up in a knot on the top of her head.
Fuck. She’s beautiful.
It’s weird. For the last thirteen years, I thought she was judgmental and stuck up.
But, deep down, I liked her. I just didn’t like the fact that she didn’t like me, and I didn’t know why.
It’s frustrating to have someone hate you for no reason at all. Especially when, under any other circumstances, you would have wanted to be friends with them.
Wanted more from them.
Wanted more from her.
Like I do now.
Her head lifts from her book as I approach. She doesn’t look at me like she wants to kill me, so I take that as progress.
I sit down on the chair next to hers. “Can we have a cease-fire? We’re in this beautiful country, and I know we’re here to work, but I’d like us both to have a good time as well.”
She sighs and closes her book. “Okay,” she says.
My eyes flick to hers. “Okay?” I echo.
“Yeah. You’re right. You did a dickish thing with the Craigslist ad, but I wasn’t entirely innocent either in all of this. So, yeah, let’s call a cease-fire. We have to work together, and we were getting along okay before the whole Sierra incident.” Her mouth tightens around Sierra’s name.
“I am sorry about that.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I lean back in my chair.
I risk a glance at her, and she’s frowning. Her mouth still tight. Her eyes lit.
And then it dawns on me that maybe she’s not pissed because I slept with her assistant. She’s pissed because I didn’t sleep with her.
She’s jealous. And she wants me.
I know I said that to her when we were arguing—that she wanted to screw me—but I didn’t actually believe it. I was trying to piss her off.
Now, I’m starting to think I was right.
There’s a fine line between sex and hate. Okay, so it’s love and hate. But Morgan and I don’t love each other. We just want to fuck each other’s brains out.
And knowing that makes the whole staying away from her a hell of a lot more difficult.
It’s early evening, and I’m sitting in the back of a stretch limo with Morgan beside me. Niran, the owner of Ananda, and his wife, Noon, are sitting opposite us. We are on our way to watch a Thai boxing match—at the insistence of Niran.
I figured we’d probably just go out for dinner and drinks with them, but apparently, Thai boxing is the thing to do here.
Should be interesting.
Morgan and I went to Ananda today and spent the day looking around the factory and meeting with Niran and his staff.
I learned a few things today. Apparently, Morgan can speak Thai—hot as fuck. Even though Niran can speak fluent English, Morgan would at times speak to him in his native language. I got a semi from just listening to her speak.
I also learned that Ananda had some great fucking silk. Better than our Chinese supplier to be brutally honest.
I’m surprised no other company has swooped in and bought up all their stock. But I’m also really fucking glad they haven’t.
I was really impressed while walking around the factory. It was a larger setup than I had expected. And the materials were of incredible quality. Seeing it all, watching Morgan’s face light up at the prospect of her idea coming to life, was quite simply fucking awesome.
I slide a glance at Morgan.
She’s looking extra fuckable tonight.
She has on a sleeveless white dress. Low cut in the bust and shorter on the legs than I’ve ever seen her wear. I’m guessing it’s because of the heat here. Thank you, Thailand. So, she’s showing plenty of those golden pins. I’m finding it hard not to spend the whole car journey just staring at her legs.
I keep imagining them wrapped around my waist while I fuck her.
She’s wearing flat sandals on her feet, which is different, too, because Morgan is always in heels in the office. She looks so much smaller with the flats. She’s not particularly short for a woman. I’d say she’s about five-seven or five-eight. But I’m six-three, so she’s a hell of a lot smaller than I am.
I stare at her feet. She even has pretty feet. Her toenails are painted pink, and there’s a toe ring on her second toe.
I want to take those sandals off her feet. Kiss my way up her instep and up her leg, right up to the apex of her thigh, push her panties to the side, and lick a path up her pussy.
And, now, I’m hard. I shift in the seat, moving my leg to hide my stiffy, as I think about the silkworms and pupa that Niran showed us today, which they use to make the silk. He even had me touch them.
Fucking gross.
But thinking of that does the trick, and my cock is down again, which is good, as we’ve reached the Phichit Boxing Stadium. Well, I say stadium, but it looks more like a bar or a seedy strip joint from the outside. It’s just on the main street, nestled in between bars and restaurants. The entrance is open, and a guy is sitting on a stool.
The driver opens the door for us. Niran gestures for me to get out first, so I do. I climb out the car, and then I hold a hand out to help Morgan out. She takes it, and I curl my fingers around her hand, loving the feel of her soft skin, imagining how it would feel around my cock.
I hate to let her go, but I have to. I don’t want to weird her out by keeping hold of her hand. I have to take things slow with Morgan. Show her what an awesome guy I really am. We’re only just back on even footing, and I don’t want to fuck things up by rushing it.
Niran gets out of the car, helps his wife out, and then walks over to the guy on the stool.
They shake hands and exchange words, and then Niran gives him some money.
He gestures for us to follow him inside.
This place looks shady as fuck. I put a protective hand on Morgan’s lower back as we start to walk inside. She shivers under my touch. I hold back my smile.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this place,” I whisper to Morgan as Niran and Noon walk on ahead.
“It’s fine.”
“You say that now. You won’t be saying that when we get murdered.”
Amused, innocent eyes flicker up to mine. “Stop being a pussy, Wilder. We’re not going to get murdered in here.”
“Hey! I’m not a pussy. I’m all man, I’ll have you know. Total badass.” I have the urge to flex my muscles to show her just how tough I am.
“Sure you are, Cross.” She pats my chest with her hand.
Niran is holding open the door to the arena as we approach.
Morgan leans close to my ear and whispers, “Do you want me to go in first, check out the place, and make sure no murderers are in there, waiting to kill you?”
I lean back and look into her laughing eyes. “You’re hilarious,” I mutter. I move past her, going through the door first.
The sound of her tinkling laughter behind me lights me up inside.
I step inside the arena, which is just basically a large room with a boxing ring in the middle, surrounded by rows of tables with seating, and a bar around the edges.
“I got a table close to the front for us,” Niran tells me.
Morgan and I follow Niran and Noon over to our table. Noon sits first, Morgan takes the seat next to her, then I sit next to Morgan, and Niran takes the seat next to me.
Niran pulls out a pack of cigarette
s. “You smoke?” He offers me one.
“No.”
“You mind if I do?”
“Not at all.”
I hate smoking. Fucking detest it. But plenty of people are already smoking in here, so I’d have just looked like an ass if I’d said I had a problem with him smoking.
“Morgan?” He offers a cigarette to her, and she declines.
Niran passes the cigarette pack down to his wife, and each of them lights one up.
A waitress appears to take our drink orders.
I order a Heineken, and Morgan orders her usual of vodka, soda, and lime. Niran orders a beer, like me, and Noon orders a glass of wine.
Noon and Morgan are chatting away, so I make conversation with Niran while we wait for our drinks to arrive.
“So, tell me about the rules of Thai boxing,” I say to Niran.
“Okay, so Muay Thai, as we call it here, is known as the art of eight limbs because hands, elbows, knees, and legs can be used to attack your opponent. So, there is the Chok technique, which is punching. Sok, which uses the elbows.”
“You can use your elbows in Thai boxing?”
“Yes.” He nods, smiling.
“Sounds brutal.”
“The fighters are well trained. Train every day. And they fight once a week. But most professional boxers retire early.”
I nod in understanding. Basically, they get the shit kicked out of them on the regular, so their bodies are fucked up at a young age.
Sounds fun.
“Okay, so where was I? Oh, yes, next there is Te, which involves kicking. That’s one of the most used fight actions in Muay Thai. Also, Thip, which is a foot-thrust, and Chap Kho, which is clinch and neck-wrestling.”
“So, basically, they just get in the ring and beat the hell out of each other?”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “But it is also an art form. Very entertaining to watch. You will like it.”
“I’m sure I will.”
The waitress comes over with our drinks.
I glance at Morgan, and she meets my eyes with a smile.
“Oh, the first fight is about to begin.” Niran claps his hands.
I watch as two pint-sized guys get into the ring.
“So, who are we cheering for?” I ask Niran.
“Sot Ponlid. He is the one on the right.”
“He is our favorite boxer,” Noon tells me.
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