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him. “Bear down on the toy as if it’s Daddy’s cock.” Gripping the base of my semi-erection, I guided it to his lips. “Open up.”

He latched on like a needy baby and batted away my hand so he could hold it himself.

I sighed contentedly and eased myself deeper into his mouth.

Sex had never been this amazing before. Peyton’s deep-rooted desire to please, not to mention how fully he threw himself into every sexual act, made me feel worshiped and coveted. He was always reaching for me, just like I reached for him. We had this explosive chemistry, and we clicked so well.

“Fuck the toy, Peyton,” I murmured huskily. “You can go slowly if you want, but I want to see that beautiful body move up and down.” I caressed his face and neck, and I gently wiped away the waterdrops clinging to his eyelashes. “Pretend it’s Daddy’s cock you’re riding.”

It seemed to work after a while. He was beginning to relax, and maybe it helped that he concentrated more on sucking me off. It distracted him from the pain, I was guessing.

“That’s better,” I praised. “You’re almost taking all of it now. Maybe you’ll be begging for my cock before we get to Nassau on Thursday.”

He nodded and redoubled his efforts, fucking himself on the dildo and hollowing out his cheeks around my cock.

I succumbed to the sensations and let them wash over me. Closing my eyes, I pushed myself in and out of his needy mouth until I came in hot spurts.

Peyton could wait. I loved it when he was desperate for me, and he’d be struggling not to be clingy while we worked if I didn’t let him come.

“Sir, there’s an email from Mr. Brooks with the Three Dots Agency,” Peyton said. “It looks like it contains a pitch. Do you want me to print it for you?”

“No, that’s fine. I can read it here.” I extended my hand, and he gave me my work phone. We’d reached our last day outside of Freeport and had just a quick meeting with the hotel manager left. We were on our way to the hotel restaurant to meet with him right now, but I’d been looking forward to Bennett’s ideas. As we turned onto the path weaving between the bungalows and the main building, I scanned the email and felt my interest pique with each sentence.

The man had done his research, and he was continuing to do so. He was letting me know this was just the first proposal.

I wasn’t sure it would be needed, frankly. His vision of what Westwater could be… I truly liked it.

“‘Beyond the brochure,’” I read, nodding to myself. Bennett wanted to show how Westwater could protect local culture instead of blending in or, worse, fitting the image of those corporations that tried to erase it.

Going local could, in his words, involve everything from cooperating with local businesses, highlighting what a city had to offer—be it through art on the walls, history, or the food we served and the toiletries we provided in the rooms—to emphasizing that we didn’t merely protect the local heritage; we were the locals. Our staff was always local. There was a stock photo of a woman throwing a smile over her shoulder, the focus being on the print on the back of her polo.

“Ask me about my favorite sushi place in town.”

Bennett listed a selection of alternatives.

“Ask me about the best times to visit museums.”

“Ask me what time you can catch the sunrise.”

“Ask me about the next food festival.”

I rubbed my mouth and glanced up; we were almost at the restaurant, and then I returned my attention to the email.

I saw the issues, of course. These changes were expensive, and there was always a backlash when major companies tried to fit in while wearing a tiara, so to speak. But Bennett was on to something worth fleshing out. Technically, the concept wasn’t new—even for us. In some of our more exclusive locations, we already collaborated with other brands—although they tended to be of the high-end variety, such as shower products and artisanal refreshments.

The email went on for several paragraphs, but I had to pause here for now. Right where Bennett explained that the personalized uniforms could be replaced or combined with framed signs at the check-in counter, in the elevators, et cetera, depending on the location and the brand of hotel.

Something to consider, definitely.

Peyton opened the door to the restaurant, and I nodded in thanks and welcomed the blast of