by Lia Lee
But not this night.
This afternoon I’d plucked a nymph from the sea. Those wide, watery hazel eyes and flowing brunette curls made her seem like Thetis personified. And like Peleus I’d embraced her while she shape-changed; from damsel in distress to strong and stoic water goddess. She certainly caught my attention. Mila. An unusual name for an unusual girl. Definitely goddess-worthy, and she didn’t need to know the true identity nor the nefarious womanizing reputation of this particular mortal, Derric Faris. Son of Steven Percival Faris, Australian media mogul.
Son of Satan, more like it.
The overstuffed, cynical prick has never been much of a father to me. I don’t know if he was any different before my mother died, but he certainly hasn’t done much to prove his altruism or love of family since then. I barely remember her, or how she managed to live with the jerk for those eight years I was on the planet before she passed. Sadly, all his money couldn’t save her.
Cancer doesn’t recognize financial or social status.
The door to Mambo Wambo is directly in front of me. Right. Time to drown all these useless, painful memories in a cold brew, and bury my ego in some sweet American pussy. Because Derric Faris gets laid. Always. It’s barely even an effort given my looks and social position here in Sydney. But it’s what makes the tourist girls so interesting. They don’t know about the heir to the Faris throne. They didn’t fall on their knees before me like my cock’s a water fountain in the middle of the outback.
All they see is me. Derric, the lifeguard. And I’m happy to keep that fantasy alive for them.
I push the door open and walk inside, a gust of chilled air issuing from within the darkened interior. Red and yellow pendant lamps hang from the ceiling at various heights and glow like lighted balloons floating in mid-air. The music thumps in a steady, primal beat and the scents of spilled beer and stiff whiskey assault my nostrils in the most delightful way. I scan the room for Mila and Claire as I make my way to the bar. If I don’t see them I can at least order a drink while I wait. But since I’m fashionably late at quarter past nine, I assume they’re already here.
It’s not long before I spot them. Claire’s bobbed blonde hair glows like a searchlight under the colored lamps. They’re at a table in the corner. Mila’s facing away from me, her sinuous brown hair draping across her nude shoulders. She’s wearing some kind of black mesh halter top that exposes the tanned skin and taut muscles of her back. I want to touch that deliciously bronzed body again and twine that curly hair around my fingers.
“Derric!” Claire calls, rising from her seat and waving me down. “Over here.” Not much mystery to that one, I think. She’s as easy to read as a roadmap. But Mila... she’s different. She acknowledges my approach with barely a turn of her curly head. Am I in for a challenge with her? Good on ya, Miss Mila.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask.
“It is,” Claire says, beaming with flirtatious intent, fixing a glazed stare on me. She’s definitely had a few already, I can tell.
I smile and seat myself. “Well, whoever the bloke was he’s out of luck now. How’s it going this evening, ladies?” My head swivels between the two. Both pretty, but I’ve no interest in Claire. “You seem right as rain, Mila. I see my concerns were unfounded.”
Mila’s brown eyes take me in from beneath her shaded brow. Calculating. Sizing me up. Seeing if I’m worth her trouble. “I’m quite recovered, yes,” she says with a nod. “I don’t think I said thank you earlier... so thank you.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Claire interrupts. “We owe you a drink. What’s your pleasure, Hero of the Day?”
My pleasure? “That’s a loaded question, love. Sure you want to go there?”
Claire squirms with childlike delight. “I meant to drink.”
“Silly me. A four-x will do, thanks.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve got this,” I say, signaling to the server. “A schooner of four-x and another of whatever these lovely ladies are having.”
“I think I’ve had enough,” Mila says, pushing her empty glass aside.
“Oh, don’t be such a party pooper Mils. Our guest of honor has just arrived. We have to at least toast his health. Have another. No one’s driving!”
I look at Mila. “I was looking forward to raising a glass with you.” Even in the dim orange light, I detect a blush in her cheeks. A shy smile curves up one side of her mouth. Too adorable for words.
“Alright. But we’re getting the check for this round, okay?”
“As you say, lady of the sea.” It’s absurd that a couple of girls on holiday, who most likely only have a few bob left, should pick up my check in a place I could probably buy several times over. But I’ll let Mila think she’s gotten her way. For now.
Claire’s hand closes over my forearm as our drinks arrive. “Yes, this is our treat,” she concurs. Orbs of light from the overhead lamps reflect in her dilated pupils as she leans toward me. Unlike her friend, she has no trepidations over imbibing more liquor. But it’s all good fun. What’s a holiday without getting flat-out legless a time or two?
“Cheers,” I say, lifting my beer.
“Cheers,” Mila echoes, tipping the rim of her girly-looking cocktail in salute.
Claire’s glass clinks heartily with mine. “Cheers, mate,” she says, attempting an exaggerated wink before taking a long pull on her straw.
“You’ve been in Oz for a while then, picking up the local lingo?” I ask.
“Nearly two weeks. We’re headed home day after tomorrow,” Claire says.
“Aw, it’s a shame we didn’t meet earlier. I suppose this is a farewell drink, then. Where’s home for you?”
“New York,” Mila answers.
“Yep, back to the grind,” Claire adds.
“What do you two girls do for work?”
Mila smiles, her body language opening up a bit. “Claire and I run a business there.”
“Really? Entrepreneurs, eh? Good on ya. What sort of business?”
“Graphic design and interiors. It’s called Church & Strait.”
“It’s our names—Mila Churchwood and Claire Strait,” Claire says. “And a play on words, you know, ‘church and state’.
“I get it,” I say, nodding. “Clever. How’s the biz doing?”
“Well enough to afford this vacation!” Claire sets down her drink that she’s made short work of.
“I’ll drink to that. To your success,” I say, toasting each of them in turn. “Next shout’s mine.”
Mila scowls at her friend but quickly lightens up. “Take it easy, Claire. That’s got to be at least your fourth Mai Tai.”
“Oh, you’re counting now?” Claire pouts. “You need a few more to catch up.”
“Oi, drinking’s a national sport down here,” I say. “No harm. You’re just getting limbered up. I’m a lifeguard, remember? I’ll rescue you if you get in too deep. Go for it.”
“There, see? You’re not the only one who gets to be rescued, Mils.”
Mila shakes her head. “My partner, the lush.”
“No worries,” I say, nursing my own beer. The girls may not be driving, but I am, even though my flat’s not far. “So, you two are artists? Ripper. You must turn a few bob in New York City.”
“It’s expensive to operate there, but you know, go big or go home. We’ve done pretty well so far.”
“Pretty well?” Claire says. “If doing work for Dior, Macy’s, Chase and NBC is considered doing well, then, yeah, you bet your cute Australian ass we are.”
“NBC? As in television?” That piques my interest, media brat that I am. “I can see you’re both talented. So, which of you is the brains of the outfit?” I ask, ignoring Claire’s ass comment.
“The one whose brains aren’t in her panties at the moment,” Mila answers.
Claire laughs. “Well, someone here’s panties could use a few brains. And other things.”
It’s clear the two are the kind of fri
ends who’ve known each other a long time and are impervious to good-natured insults traded between them. I signal the server for more drinks. The sooner Claire is under the table the sooner I get Mila alone. From Claire’s ribbing, I’m getting the picture: Mila is a young, ambitious career girl who’s all work and no play. She could use a good send-off to remember her holiday by. And I’m just the bastard to supply it.
“Here’s to you, ladies,” I say as the server sets out our next round.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Mila says, shaking her head.
“Live a little, Mils. I’ll race you. Chug it.” Claire tosses away her straw and lifts her new glass to her lips, downing its contents in four gulps.
Mila groans and covers her eyes.
“You can do better than that, I reckon,” I say, nudging Mila’s elbow. She looks up, and our eyes lock. I see a little fear in those amber-browns, but also a little mischief. And determination. She doesn’t back down from a challenge.
Without another word, she reaches for the frothy white concoction in front of her and raises it to her lips. With a tilt of her head, the liquid drains from the glass. I watch the gentle bump in her slender throat bob up and down as she swallows.
Claire hiccups.
Mila finishes and licks her lips with the tip of her tongue as she throws a coy, inviting glance my way. Fuck. She’s sexy as hell.
I chuckle. “Well done.”
“Ohhh...” Claire murmurs. “Mils, I don’t feel so good.”
“Go figure,” Mila replies. “You want to go back to the hotel?”
“No... I... We’re having so much fun... I’ll be okay in a minute.” Claire looks up, soggy-eyed, and starts to sway in her chair.
“Right,” Mila says. “I’m taking you home before an ambulance does.”
“Allow me to escort you? I feel responsible for the pair of you—after saving your life and all.” I wink at Mila.
“Our hero...” Claire mumbles.
Mila rises from her chair. “Looks like you get to save both of us today.”
***
I wait in the hallway outside the girls’ hotel room while Mila tucks her friend into bed. In a moment, Mila emerges. I like what I see even more in the somewhat brighter light. The trim but curvy figure flattered by a shimmery black halter dress that reaches to mid-thigh. The tumble of brunette curls that frames her pretty face. Deep, alluring brown eyes and lush, pouty lips glistening with pink gloss. And, oh my, the tight round orbs of her tits just visible where the front of the dress splits below the neckline in a peek-a-boo style. I find myself searching for the tiny tattoo on her left breast that I’d seen earlier. Perhaps she even designed the dress herself. I’m impressed.
“She’ll be apples in the morning,” I assure her.
“I know. Thanks for helping me get her home safe.”
“My pleasure. Shall we go back to the Mambo? It’s still early.”
“Mmm, think I’ve seen enough of the inside of that joint. It’s your town, what other places do you recommend?”
“For drinks?”
“For anything.”
I smile at her innocent-sounding suggestion. “How about a short tour? Sydney by night?”
“I’d like that,” she replies, returning my smile.
We walk to my car as it wakes to the touch of a button on my remote.
“Uh, nice wheels. You must moonlight at something other than lifeguarding,” Mila says, admiring the Ferrari.
“Well, when you decide on something you really want, you find a way to get it,” I say, opening the passenger door. “Like running a top-tier graphic design business, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Mila smiles, sinking into the plush padding of the seat.
Oh yeah.
I drive through North Bondi and take the New South Head road that leads west to the Harbor Bridge, and circle back toward Bondi junction and the beach. On the way, we pass the UNSW campus, which I inform Mila is home to the art and design school.
“I studied at The School of Visual Arts in New York. It cost a fortune but, like you said, when you really want something....” Mila’s voice trails off.
“Strewth,” I say, steering us back toward Mila’s hotel. “You have to go for what you want in this life, with no apologies.”
I feel her stare from across the front seats. “What is it you want most, Derric? Besides a Ferrari? Or is lifeguarding it?”
“It’s not all I do,” I say cautiously. “But I know what I want right now.”
“What’s that?”
“To invite you up to my place and give you the holiday send-off you deserve.”
“That’s funny.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s exactly what I want, too.”
I glance over at her, raking my eyes over her luscious body, tense with anticipation. “No apologies,” I say, grinning.
My flat is just a few blocks from the beach, on the twenty-fifth floor of a newer high-rise complex, where the view of Bondi is spectacular. But we scarcely look at it as we leave a trail of peeled clothing from the front door and down the hall to the bedroom.
Mila’s skin is as warm and silky as it looks; my hands drag across her belly and caress her exquisite tits as she sits astride me, my cock filling her warm and wet channel. Her nipples are erect and hard as pebbles. I pinch the swollen brown disks between my fingers as she rises up and down like a piston over my stiff cock. The weight of her breasts slaps against my palms as they shudder with each stroke. She moans in pleasure at the ceiling, her head thrown back and her long spirals of hair swinging in wild abandon.
This sex is primal and earthy; exciting in a way I don’t experience often. Mila is no repressed wallflower, existing only for her work. This woman’s a sexual creature, letting her inner animal loose with no apologies, just like we’d agreed, and I fucking love it.
I push upward with my hips to meet her as she slams downward, spearing her with my thick rod. She sucks in a sharp breath as I penetrate her so deeply I think I might rip right through her; hurting her is the last thing I want.
“Y’alright, love,” I whisper between panting breaths. “If you want to stop...”
Mila lowers her head to look at me, her eyes dark and brimming with need and desire. Her bouncy coils of hair fall around her face, making her appear even more like a wild creature than ever. Her chest glistens with sweat as it rises and falls with each breath.
“You don’t have to save me from this... Give me all you’ve got, Mr. Lifeguard.”
With those taunting words she lifts her body, allowing my slick shaft to slip out a few inches, then rams down on me again. Damn, she’s bloody fantastic. I eagerly meet each of her strokes, and I’m ready to come like a fire hose inside the girl.
“Mila,” I gasp out, feeling my balls tighten and the last strings of control snap and break.
My world goes white as I let everything go, my cock pulsing and blasting shot after shot of hot cum into the warm, willing vessel of this untamed, modern goddess.
No apologies.
Chapter Three
Mila
Holiday Hangover
Through half-lidded eyes, I take in the incredible sight of what I’m sure is the most perfect male body on the planet. Magnificently sculpted pectorals gently undulate up and down with each restful breath he draws. His abs display a rippling six-pack even in repose. Rumpled white sheets veil an astonishing specimen of pure male power, one that I know has scarred and spoiled me for life, but in the best possible way. I can still feel his raging-hard thrusts inside my warm and willing body, and I can’t deny I want more. But I know there can’t be. Soon I have to leave Australia and this wonderful vacation behind.
Derric. His name is Derric, and I can’t believe I’ve slept with a man I met on the beach not twenty-four hours ago. I don’t even know his last name. His gorgeous face tilts slightly away from me, one brawny arm thrown over his head in a languid pose of utter peace and confidence. His tousled, sun-kissed blon
d locks drape across his forehead, and I resist the urge to run my fingers through it lest I wake this slumbering masterpiece of manhood. He’s so fucking beautiful; there’s no other word for it.
And at least for one night, he was my masterpiece. All too soon he’ll be only a memory... A photograph tucked in a padded album hidden in a dresser drawer. A holiday fling. What happens in Oz never happened, Claire and I agreed. I sigh in wistful disappointment that this fantasy has to end, but in blissful satisfaction over the lovemaking Derric and I shared.
My God, I’d never been so turned on by a guy in my life. I have few inhibitions when it comes to sex; not exactly a female libertine, but I consider myself a free spirit. The artist in me, I suppose. The way he’d pulled me inside his apartment, flattened me against the door after barely closing it and kissing me with ruthless insistence, left me breathless. And his hand slipping inside the front of my dress to cup my throbbing breast, my nipples tingling in sweet pain as they hardened to diamond points under his touch, set me on fire.
I clutched at his shirt, impatient to reveal the finely-tuned, rock-hard body I knew lay beneath. His deft fingers pulled the lace that held the neck of my dress in place, letting the material fall away. With his nude torso pressed against my unfettered breasts, he lifted my legs to wrap around him and carried me to this room. He lay me on his bed, caging my body with his own half-naked one, his lips sucking the hard spikes of my nipples then tracing a line down my torso with his tongue. Soon, my dress and thong were cast to the floor, and my thighs parted to receive the ultimate Aussie kiss, his clever tongue thrusting into my wet and waiting entrance. Can’t say as I’ve ever been tongue-fucked before, and I came harder than I ever thought possible.
My private muscles clenched at the memory, wondering if there might be a repeat performance this morning as my hungry eyes rove again over his muscled landscape. Dare I touch him? Will he disappear into a dreamlike hallucination if I do? Suddenly he stirs, a low rumble issuing from deep within his burly chest. His head turns toward me, and his eyelids lift to reveal the dreamy ocean-blue irises I feel I could drown in as easily as the surf he’d saved me from.
