Some Like Them Rich

by Shirley Hailstock

  “I know assumptions are dangerous, but I think you’ll be finished by midnight. Meet me here.” He pressed an electronic key in my hand. “Guest house. Take the path behind the tennis courts. It’s the only one there.”

  When I looked up his back was disappearing through the ballroom door. I took a step toward him and stopped. More emotions than I could name raced through me. Anger was the most prevalent. No way was I going to his guest house. What nerve! Who did he think I was? I know some rich women were known for their bedroom antics. But why would he assume I was one of them? My photo had never been splashed on You Tube or supermarket tabloids.

  Swinging around, I stamped through the ballroom door. Every line of my body charged with rage. By the time I got back to the rental house, my anger level was high enough for steam to expel from all my orifices. I wasn’t some bimbo looking for a summer fling. I had serious business on my mind, and if I’d once entertained the thought that he could possibly fit into the picture, I didn’t now.

  I would not be there. I simply would not go, I told myself. He could wait all night for all I cared. It would serve him right for making the assumption that I would fall for something this theatrical. I mean, slipping keys into women’s hands? That went out in the decadent eighties. Of course, I was born in the eighties, so no one had ever handed me a key to his hotel room. Not even the rough or semi-rough men of Brooklyn had done a thing like that.

  As I turned the plastic rectangle over in my hand, it felt warm. Probably because I was so hot with anger at the suggestion it represented. But there seemed to be something else about it, too. I looked at the clock on the mantel in the living room. It was just shy of eleven o’clock. I knew what I would do. I’d teach him a lesson. I would go. Right now. I’d leave the key. No note. I’d leave it in the middle of the bed. He could wonder what it would have been like to have sex with me. And I hoped the thought kept him awake all night.

  My breath came in short gasps as I approached the door to the guest house. I had to hold on to the courage that wanted to desert me. I trumped it up and kept walking, my eye on the goal. I’d come this far, and the party was still going on in the ballroom. Don was likely still there. Hadn’t he said it was his job to take care of his guests? What he wanted to do with me went beyond the bounds of his profession.

  The guest house set alone in a crop of woods that made me think of either Little Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel. In either case, I could be devoured. Better to do what I came to do and escape back to the safety of my own guest house.

  I pulled the plastic key from my bag and stepped onto the porch. Before inserting it, I listened for any sign that he might be inside. Silence greeted me except for the chirping of crickets, the arresting sound of the ocean in the distance, and the breeze moving the tree branches. The distant sound of music from the ballroom didn’t reach the secluded building.

  The latch released with a click the moment I pushed the key into the specially fitted door lock. The door was pulled inward. Don Randall materialized before me.

  “You’re early.” He smiled, opening the door wider and giving me a full view of him. He wore only a pair of boxer shorts.

  My eyes grew large and bright like stars. My breath came in short gasps. I tried to speak only to find my voice had abandoned me. I was so surprised to see him, I could say nothing.

  “I only came to return your key.” I held it out to him. He reached for it, but his hand wrapped around my wrist and he pulled me over the threshold. The door closed, the compressed-air mechanism forcing it shut, the way all hotel room doors closed. The click was as loud as a cell block locking for the night.

  “That’s not why you came,” he said.

  Chapter 5

  Touching her told me what I already knew. She was hot. Like a beautiful fire, red and gold as it burned, drawing its prey closer to the flame until it was engulfed, unable to escape without serious burns. I knew better, knew I should move away. I should never have invited her here. The next three months were crucial to the deal I’d struck with my father. I had to stay on point, stay focused on my goal. But I was finding it hard, maybe even impossible to turn from her. She was here and I wasn’t letting her leave.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d take me up on my offer,” I said, but I knew it wasn’t true. I would have bet good money she wouldn’t show. I’d given her my key, something I’d only done for my sister or when I came to the platonic rescue of a friend. I’d never given it to a woman I’d only seen a few days earlier. Amber was no platonic friend. Tonight I had nothing like that in mind. And Amber Nash knew it.

  She had class. A lot of it. But I’d seen two sides of her personality. She’d been straightforward and businesslike this afternoon when she asked about the Vineyard’s activities. On the dance floor, she’d been warm and exciting. She held herself as unapproachable, quick to brush off anyone she didn’t think was worth her time. But anyone looking at the luscious way she moved would know where there was heat, there was fire. And where Amber moved, she burned a trail.

  “I’m glad you came,” I said.

  She looked up at me. “I gave my actions serious thought.”

  “I’d be disappointed if you’d decided against this.” I couldn’t tell her how much it meant to me that she’d opened the door.

  “Would you?”

  “Extremely,” I said, pulling her into my arms. She came without resistance, still wearing the satin gown she’d had on at the party. I slipped my arms around her waist. I liked the feel of the fabric; like water it skimmed her body, covering, clinging, enfolding. Often cool to the touch, beneath it was a warm, hot, vibrant woman.

  And I wanted her.

  My mouth settled on hers, hard, hungry, insistent. I wanted to devour her. I was devouring her. I wrapped myself around her, drawing her to me, pulling her inward as if I needed her to be part of my makeup, part of me, inside the same skin, sharing the same heartbeat. My blood was her blood.

  She met me with a force I’d never known. My tongue dipped deeply into her mouth, plunging, mating, dancing, fighting, dominating. Sounds smacked as our heads moved, shifted, our lips sought the others. My arms welded her to me. She was soft, like cotton candy, a pure confection that could evaporate on touch, but she remained solid in my arms.

  I needed her now, wanted her in my bed. A need so strong I thought I’d burst washed through me. The bedroom was a world away, almost at the other end of the bungalow. I didn’t know if I could make it, didn’t know if the force that both pulled us together and kept us in individual bodies would allow me to get that far. I found the zipper at the base of her dress where the back plunged into a tantalizing V. Slowly I pulled it down. Opening it was like peeling back the door to a furnace; inch by inch, heat radiated from her skin. As I separated the teeth, I could feel the steam of her desire against my fingers. I touched the widening space. Her skin was sizzling. My body grew harder. I didn’t think it could do that. Then Amber melted in my arms.

  Pulling her closer, I went to heaven in the fantasies that skated through my mind just by her being there. I pushed the dress down. Starting with the area right above her breasts, slowly I ran my hands over her, feeling her accelerated heartbeat, hearing the hitch in her throat when my fingers encountered puckered nipples, stopping at her waist and riding the curve of her hips until the dress slipped away and fell in a heap at her high-heeled feet.

  Her hands reached the waistband of my shorts. Thumbs reached just inside them and circled, like a branding iron, around my waist and back. Reflexively my hands tightened on her. I squeezed her as sensations went through me. Her hands came together at my stomach. With her palms against my skin, she moved them up and down. Starting at the top, she slid her fingers into my waistband. Fire flashed, torrid and explosive. Blood gushed from every point in my body, centering in my groin. I grew even harder, erect, and full of need. Using her hands like weapons of sexual destruction, she set my skin ablaze.

  She kissed my chest, her tongue licking lik
e dragon fire, burning me, teasing me. Every molecule of my body tightened, stiffened, hardened, in want of mating with her. Long fingernails scored my penis, seeking, traveling, working their way up and down, surrounding its head and teasing the hard ridge until every arousal point in my body was shouting and bending her backward, escalating the fever pitch of my need. Still she kept her hands on me, moving them up to the top of my shorts.

  “Amber,” I groaned. I couldn’t stand it much longer. I was going to explode in her hands if she didn’t stop.

  “What is it?” she asked, her voice darker and deeper than I’d heard it before. I had the feeling she was trying to control it. “Want me to stop?”

  I couldn’t answer. Her fingers met my shorts and conquered the barrier. Freeing me and imprisoning me at the same time, her hands were a practiced instrument, caressing me, teasing my penis as she placed her skin to mine. I groaned, the strength in my legs threatening to give out. I forced my knees to support me.

  The hook on her bra was low, almost at her waist. I released it. It fell away. I took the weight of her breasts in my hands. In a frenzy, I undressed her, our mouths staying together as if glued. Our hands washed over each other as if contact was as necessary as air. I pushed her against the wall, pinning her there, burying my tongue in her throat and imprinting her with my form.

  I could stand it no longer. I grabbed my shirt from the sofa and pulled a condom from its pocket. Quickly I sheathed myself. Amber was back in my arms the moment I finished. I lifted her. Her legs went around my waist, her red heels digging into my legs. I forced her against the wall and drove into her. Her back arched, holding on to me. I filled her, rooted myself inside her. The sound that came from her throat was a language all her own, but it was music to me. I drove harder, banging her as pictures danced and jumped. Feeling the softness of her flesh as my hands contracted and released in the same rhythm as I plunged and released inside her, I couldn’t get enough. I needed more and more of her.

  She clung to me, holding on as I rode her, rode hard and fast, harder and faster, so fast I thought I’d break through the wall. But it felt good. She felt good. I was lost to stop, to do anything but continue this exquisite torture. To say I was out of control was like saying I could lasso the moon. Unable and unwilling to stop, I felt I was going to die here. The two of us could be nothing more than a rapid fireball that ignited and consumed us. Yet the prospect of it did nothing to quell my energy. If anything I pumped faster, filling and releasing, lost in a zone so sexually charged that I was sure an explosion was imminent.

  I felt her scream. I had never shouted before. I thought it was Amber shouting, but the voice when it registered in my ears was mine. I was calling her name, calling the Lord, thanking the heavens for the one flash of light so blindingly pure and carnal that I prayed it would come more than once in a lifetime.

  Sweat poured from us. I collapsed against her, my slick, liquid body holding her up with strength that was nearly expired. I was weak from my arms to my knees. Her feet slid to the floor, but we remained joined in the most intimate way. Gasping and gulping air, I knew I was in trouble.

  Amber Nash may try the ice princess persona. She might present that face to the world at large, but to me she was the soul of fire, hot, blistering, consuming, electrifying, passionately torrid.

  She brought out the beast in me. One I wasn’t sure would ever be able to go back in.

  “I need a drink,” I gasped. My voice was raw and my body throbbed with the aftermath of an experience I could compare to nothing previous. Sensation rioted through me like a rocket defying the bonds of gravity. I wasn’t sure I could stand on my own if Don disconnected from me. My body was full, my need satisfied. Yet I was hot enough to spontaneously combust and thirsty enough to drink the Atlantic dry.

  Don took a step back, taking me with him. My legs slid down the length of his and touched the floor. I was still wearing my heels. The rest of my clothes were scattered about the room.

  Taking my hand, he said, “Come on.”

  As we went toward the kitchen, I saw his shirt lying along the back of a chair. Grabbing it, I slipped my arms through the sleeves. Don hadn’t bothered with his shorts, comfortable in his nakedness. He had a beautiful body.

  The room was dark. He turned on a soft light over the sink. It provided weak illumination and filtered delicately through the room, turning table and chairs into definable three-dimensional objects.

  I stared at him as he moved, totally comfortable in his suit of brown skin. He was more powerful out of his clothes, fully aroused and at ease with me watching him. I hadn’t grown up in a house where people walked around undressed. Sometimes one of my sisters might show up for breakfast in a bathrobe, but we were generally fully dressed and presentable before we appeared. I liked this feeling of freedom. This was his domain. He had the right to move through the space in whatever form of dress—or undress—he pleased.

  He opened the refrigerator to get us something cold to drink. “Glasses are over there,” he said, indicating the cabinet behind me.

  I stared at him a moment before turning. His chest was defined, flat stomach, long legs. His coloring was even from what I could see in the dim light after the refrigerator door closed. I got the glasses and approached him. I hadn’t buttoned his shirt. Don’s eyes stared at the gap of skin peeking out between the white columns of cloth. Deliberately I walked slower, letting him look at me. I felt sexy, totally female, and I liked having him look. The shirt slipped and gapped as I moved and Don’s eyes followed the fabric’s movement. I’d never felt this way before, sexy, wanton, and ready to repeat the scene we’d finished only moments ago.

  “I like the shoes,” he said.

  I didn’t look down, although the urge to do so was sharp. The tone of his voice caused my nipples to point. It wasn’t my shoes that his eyes were on, but the triangle of skin from my neck to my breasts. He knew how to get to the point without words.

  After only a few minutes, my body was growing hot again. I wanted him again. I wanted him to run his hands over the fabric, pushing it from my body and smoothing his hands over my burning flesh. Evidence of our previous engagement had my legs sticking together. Yet heat and color ran like a river under my skin.

  “I’m never going to think of that shirt again without seeing you wearing it,” he said. I knew he understood what I was doing, what my body was saying.

  I set the glasses on the table and he poured. We drank, each looking at the other. I couldn’t believe I wanted him again. I felt the tightening of internal muscles, the wet flowing sensation that signaled arousal. And I could see the evidence clearly on Don. He’d removed the condom, but his erection was still straight and hard. Both our glasses thudded on the table at the same time.

  I reached for him. My hand traced his chest, outlining it as if I were a sculptor taking in all the angles, every valley and nuance of change, every shadow, every rock-hard surface. My fingers skimmed his nipples. I both saw and felt the intake of air that signaled an ageless need.

  I leaned forward, kissed his neck. His skin was as hot as mine. His heart drummed against my tongue as I licked the pulse in his neck. His fingers closed like viper grips around my arms. I knew it was to support himself and I smiled as I worked my way down his chest. My mouth opened and I sucked his nipples. He shuddered. I felt it run through him, knew the tighter squeeze of his hands on my arms.

  I pushed him into a chair and straddled him. I kissed his neck, his cheek, and his mouth. It was hot, wet, hungry. I matched him, sitting up, controlling the kiss, my tongue deep in his mouth, his hands spiraling small circles under the shirt. Fire ignited trails wherever he touched me, over my back and stomach and up to my breasts. I moaned when his thumbs padded across my nipples. My breasts were heavy, areolas distended and pointing. His hand went into the pocket of the shirt. I felt his fingers on my breasts. My nipples crested into small pebbles. His eyes met mine and held. For an instant or an eternity, we spoke only with our eyes.<
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  Then he pulled a second condom out. As he cracked the foil packaging, I took it from his fingers and slowly covered him with it. My eyes never left his face as I sheathed him in the second skin.

  His body jerked at my touch. I felt his hardness grow stronger. Something inside me tightened. Lifting my hips, I anchored myself over him.

  Don pushed the shirt from my shoulders and kissed me. Sensation erupted throughout me, like some powerful light beam that shot through my system, telegraphing erotic signals with his touch.

  I reached down, between our legs, and took him in my hands. Slowly I sat, moving a centimeter at a time, swaying my hips to the music in my head. I held my breath as the pleasure of him moving upward and inward filled me. His head fell forward, against my shoulder. His arms circled my waist and drew me more fully on his lap, more securely over him.

  I heard the huge breath he took in, knew he was covering an emotion so strong it could reduce him to weakness. I started the rhythm. Pacing it, bracing, arresting, then increasing, building speed until I was riding him wildly like a horse racing the wind. Don grabbed my waist, working with me as I rocked back and forth on the heels of my shoes. He moved me up and down to a rhythm in our heads. Control snapped. To my ears it was like a gunshot.

  I no longer cared about anything except continuing the feelings, the pleasure, the sensation that Don was giving me. It took over my entire body. I had no mind, only passion, only nerves that were high-energy fibers wanting to be stroked, and each stroke brought on more need, more want, more pleasure. I wanted it, needed it, would allow nothing to stop it. I rode with him, thinking of nothing except the rapture that spread through me. More and more, faster, harder we rode each other, bucking like a new bronco that neither of us wanted to tame, to destroy that wildness that was its nature.

  Don’s hands raked over my skin. His fingertips squeezed my breasts tightly. My head fell back as I felt both pain and pleasure. I had never felt anything like this. And I loved it. I didn’t care if he knew. I wanted him to know.