When he locked the collar around her throat, she felt again like his captive, ready to do whatever he demanded.
He poured some oil into his palm and slicked back her hair, making it darker and sleek against her skull. Working slowly, he coated her body in the oil, until her skin gleamed golden brown in the subtle lighting. She moved under his hands, not speaking. Transformed into someone else. A pet who only felt and responded.
He hung heavy gold earrings with a Mayan look in her pierced ears and attached a golden chain to the collar, letting it dangle between her breasts, the loop handle brushing her navel. When he set the silver remote on the counter, she simply accepted the teasing vibrations of the bullet inside her, moving in an undulating dance.
Miguel pulled out a leather strap, thinner than the belt had been, and began lightly stropping her with it, letting it land here and there on her skin, following the primal rhythms over her movements. It didn’t hurt so much as remind her of her helplessness. The way the strap kissed her, wrapping here around her thigh, there flicking the side of her breast, conspired to add a level of static to her thoughts. White noise that blurred them away.
When Miguel stopped, set the strap on the counter and turned off the vibrator, she simply waited, beyond anticipation. He released her and took up her golden leash. She blinked at him, uncertain, and he kissed her, running a fond hand over her oiled hair.
“Cocktail time.” He smiled.
Walking with her and holding her leash, as naturally as he held her hand on the beach, Miguel led her out to the terrace. Torches had been set up around the pool and lit, their flames paling against the sunset. A table for two, also surrounded by blazing torches, sat at the rail, looking over the ocean where the sun lowered in slow magnificence. Miguel held her chair with perfect manners, dropping the leash so it once again dangled between her breasts.
He’d arranged for sangria with fruit and the gold foil umbrellas. A platter of appetizers tempted her. They sat and watched the sun sink into the ocean, while the torches blazed into brighter light.
When full night fell, Miguel took her leash and led her to a frame of poles that stood at one end of the torchlit pool. He attached her to it as he had before, displaying her like an exotic decoration. This time he strapped her harder. Time expanded. Or slowed. Became endless. He paused to strip off his shirt. She hung there, stretched so tightly she couldn’t move, while he moved around her barefooted in his linen slacks, sweat pouring down his chest.
He worked the strap on every surface, even sending teasing licks to her breasts and spread sex, grinning when he made her cry out. They didn’t speak. They’d moved beyond words. When he dropped to his knees before her in a worshipful pose, she accepted his mouth on her as yet another sensation, rippling through her like water, like the torch heat on her body, like the sting of the lash.
She knew better than to let herself come.
By the time he lowered the frame, so she lay spread-eagled on her back, the tiles warm on her behind, she’d moved beyond the hope of orgasm. She only wanted him to keep taking from her. He stood over her, a dark silhouette against the leaping flames, fitting a condom over his cock and taking her in, in all her conquered glory.
He crawled over her on all fours and delicately placed his teeth on her taut nipple. Knowing what would happen, she braced for it. Using only his teeth, he scraped the spiral clamp off her left nipple. She whimpered, thrashing her head. Then she held her breath when he sucked off the other. She screamed when the clit clamp released, then again when he scooped out the bullet and replaced it with his cock, convulsing helplessly around him, the immobility making it all that much more intense, the orgasm seizing her like a wild animal, its jaws rending her apart.
Miguel covered her mouth with his, riding her bucking body, sweat slicking their skin, until they both collapsed.
“I’m sorry.” She finally found the breath to say it. “I came without permission.”
He chuckled, a dry, totally sated sound. “This one time, I believe I shall let it go. But only because I, too, lost my head in the moment and forgot that rule.”
December 30
Sixth Day of Christmas
Six Geese a’Laying
Miguel, of course, had more meetings with the advent of Monday, so Tilda woke up with him. Not that she could help it, after the shrill ring of his phone jerked them from deep sleep. She felt a little guilty about whoever had to wash their oily sheets, but Miguel told her to leave it. He’d said it in a curt enough tone that she’d dropped the subject immediately.
Her ardent lover of the weekend had already withdrawn behind a moody scowl and he swore at someone on the phone about some faxed documents. Thinking it the better part of valor, she slipped on her black dancing dress and discreetly made her exit, amused to find herself doing the walk of shame in last night’s party clothes. When she passed another woman who looked her over knowingly, she returned the smile.
Oh yes. I got laid last night and it was beyond amazing.
She didn’t mind a bit of a reprieve. Being around Miguel and living his resort lifestyle was like drinking expensive vodka—an extraordinary treat, but not something you could do all the time. Her body ached in every joint, her clit and nipples painfully sensitive to the touch, and little red marks and bruises spotted her skin.
Already fatally distracted by the early calls, Miguel hadn’t mentioned arraying her for the day and she’d accepted the out gratefully. After a long, hot shower, she put on a simple sundress and went down to the hotel shops. Since her gold bikini had not reappeared and she wanted to keep as much of her all-over tan going as she could, she bought another bikini. Not as skimpy, but it was white, so she thought Miguel ought to like it. She lingered over the pretty belly-button jewelry, wishing hers was pierced. When she’d been strung up and oiled in Miguel’s bathroom, it had struck her that it would look nice.
She caught her reflection in the body-jewelry mirror and the sensual smile on her face took her by surprise. The memory of the night before had her looking like that gold-draped feral woman, all sex and oil and taunting captivity. She was almost sorry Miguel had unlocked and kept the collar and cuffs. Though they were hardly the kind of thing she could wear around the resort.
Stopping by the sport shop on her way to the beach, she picked up some snorkeling gear, so she could practice her newfound skills. She rented one of the beach cabanas and spent the day with the book she hadn’t touched since Thursday, snorkeling in the lovely shoals around the resort’s bay and sunbathing. If the cabana boy who brought her sparkling water with mint, and the occasional adult beverage, noticed the sex marks on her body, his polite demeanor never hinted at it.
Miguel didn’t put in an appearance all day, so around sunset she went back up to her suite, took another shower—both to get out the salt and because her hair still felt oily—and dressed in one of her light sundresses. She ordered a bottle of wine and snacks, ready to sit on her little balcony and enjoy the fading light.
When a knock sounded on her door, it wasn’t room service, but Miguel.
“Hi.” He’d surprised her. “Come on in.”
He looked harried and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t stay. More meetings. It never ends.”
The room-service guy wheeled up behind him. “Not even for a glass of wine? It’s sunset.” She smiled, thinking of how they’d watched the sunset the night before, the state she’d been in, but he didn’t return it.
“I can’t.” He took her arm and pulled her into the sitting area, out of earshot of room service setting up her little party for one on the balcony. “Can you wait a while for me? I’ll be back later so we can do six geese a’laying.”
“You know, you don’t have to follow the song letter by letter.”
“I’d like to get at least one thing right, okay?” He snapped it out and she gazed back at him blandly, showing him by her lack of reaction how over-the-top he was behaving.
“Miguel. This is a game. It’s a
fun game and I like it, but I’m not a case for you to win.”
“I know.” He raked his hair again. “I should apologize.”
“But you won’t.” Amused, she went up on tiptoes to kiss him. “I’ll wait. Go finish your meetings and we’ll work out your mood after.”
He nodded, then, surprising her again, pulled her into his arms for a tight embrace. “You’re a good woman, Roo. Good for me. I do apologize. I was a jerk.”
“You’re allowed. You’re under a lot of pressure, it seems, and I didn’t mind having a bit of a kink-break today.”
Concern cut through his stressed distraction. “Are you sore—did I hurt you?”
She shrugged in his arms. “I’m fine. Good sore. You rocked my world and it’s nice to feel it steady under my feet for a day, okay?”
“Okay,” he said into her hair. “You smell good.”
She laughed. “I thought that oil would never come out.”
“It looked hot though.”
“Yes.”
* * *
When he returned, several hours later, he’d changed out of his suit and wore his charming smile—the fake one meant to cover how he really felt. Which, near as she could tell, was a sour combination of pissed and disappointed.
“How did the meetings go?” she asked, knowing that he wouldn’t say, but unable to keep herself from asking.
“Never mind that. Ready to go?”
“Where are we going—what should I wear?”
He leered at her, but his heart wasn’t in it. “That sundress is fine. You won’t be wearing it for long anyway.”
Simmering with impatience, he held out his arm for her. In his other he carried a basket. He attempted to stroll, but his pace was just a little too quick.
“I know this is your game, but I’m really hoping waterfowl are not involved in what we’re about to do.” She said it teasingly, hoping to lighten the mood.
It worked a little. The smile he gave her was amused. “I thought I’d stick to the ‘a’laying’ part.”
“Works for me.”
“Sometimes I think everything works for you, Roo.”
She turned that over, wondering if it was really as barbed as it felt. “What do you mean by that?”
He shrugged, taking them down the polished stone steps to the sandy beach. “Just that you’re uncomplicated. I envy that about you, really.”
As her feet sunk into the soft sand, the top layer still warm from the day’s sun, cooler beneath, she considered that he didn’t really know her. Of course, he didn’t need to. Theirs was, by definition and design, a short fling. Full of kinky sex and fun, but nothing else. It hadn’t really bothered her before this moment.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked into her silence. “I meant it as a compliment.”
“Not wrong, exactly.” They’d walked down the beach a ways, deeper into the shadows, out of range of the resort lights. “It’s just that—I’m on vacation, so of course I seem uncomplicated. But that’s not who I always am.”
He stopped and set down the basket on a ridge of dry sand, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. At first his lips were gentle, but they turned fierce quickly and her body thrummed with excitement, liking the edge. Her annoyance transformed into desire and she returned the kiss with equal intensity.
“This is who you are.” He muttered the words against the skin of her neck as he licked and bit his way down it, tugging down the straps of her thin sundress. Taking her hand, he put it on his hard cock, straining against the light linen trousers he wore. “And this is who I am. Nothing else is important. Yes?”
“Yes.” She hissed out the word as his hot mouth found her taut nipples, answering more the sweet pleasure than anything else. Letting it swamp her, she gave herself over to it. He stripped her and himself and she let him lead her, naked into the warm water.
They stood knee deep in the gentle surf, skin to skin, clinging to each other as they kissed and touched with hungry caresses. How she could want him so much, after the many, many times he’d already sated her, remained a mystery. But she craved his touch and he seemed to need hers, by the way he growled under his breath as he kissed and bit at her.
Pulling her into deeper water, he lifted her onto his hips and she sank onto his rigid latex-covered cock, with a sigh of delight. The ocean swirled around them like a third lover, caressing every inch of her skin. He pumped into her, staring into her face, the frustrated energy in him rolling into her, stoking her higher. In that position, his cock hit her exactly right and she couldn’t hold back.
“I need to come,” she gasped.
“Then do it. First of six. Do it now.”
As if her body heard his command, she convulsed, climaxing while their slick bodies moved together. Before she’d recovered, he was wading out of the surf, carrying her to the shallows where he set her down and moved her onto all fours. Her body still throbbing from the first climax, she sobbed with pleasure when he entered her from behind, gripping her hips and pounding relentlessly. She came again almost immediately, with that kind of chain orgasm that just built on the previous one.
As soon as he felt her go over, Miguel pulled out, ignoring her cry of protest, and sat, pulling her onto his lap to straddle him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and steadied herself by gripping his shoulders as he worked her up and down on his iron erection. His jaw clenched with the effort not to come and he held her tightly by the waist.
“Again,” he demanded. His mouth clamped on her breast and she whimpered, unable to stave off the orgasm he wrung from her. This one seemed to carve out from deep inside and she screamed when it released.
He stood her up then sank to his knees, tonguing her. She gripped his hair, uttering a wordless protest as he worked her clit with relentless determination. Astonishingly, her body responded with increased heat, her thigh muscles tensing under his clawed fingers, riding up another wave.
Miguel lay back in the sand, pulling her down with him. She moaned when he entered her, but gave in when he draped her legs over his and held her tight to him. With his muscular thighs, he pressed her legs together. The position created unbearable pressure on her slick passage and clit. She thrashed, but he held her compressed and she came apart, splitting at the seams, biting his shoulder as she did.
No surprise, he rolled her onto her back without withdrawing, continuing his motion. She came again. Or continued the same orgasm, she wasn’t sure. But he must have thought so because he took her ankles in a strong grip and levered them up to her shoulders.
She cried out at the deep pressure, digging her nails into the sand, unbearably penetrated, while his dark face stared down at her, the veins in his temples throbbing, his jaw tight.
“Last one, Roo. Give it to me. Now.”
With a wail, she did, holding nothing back, dissolving past her skin and into blackness.
* * *
When she came back from the little death, as the French so accurately call it, Miguel lay beside her on the sand, still breathing hard. She hadn’t been aware of him coming—or of him rolling off her, for that matter. His eyes were open and he stared at the starry sky as if it had offended him somehow.
She touched his hand and he jumped, as if startled to find her there. Quickly, he smiled, and twined his hand with hers.
“I had planned on that being more romantic,” he confessed. “I brought a blanket and everything.”
“That’s all right.” She squeezed his fingers. “Though I may be digging sand out of my bits for days.”
He winced. “Dammit. I’m sorry, Roo.”
“Two apologies in one night? This must be some sort of record.”
“Clearly this is not my day.” He sat up, brushing off the sand. “I should get back. There’s some paperwork I need to look at. I have a plan for tomorrow night, to celebrate.”
“What are we celebrating?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “So nice to be on vacation. It’s New Year’
s Eve.”
“Wow—already?” How the time had flown by.
“I made an appointment for you at the hotel spa. My treat. The works. Then tomorrow night we’ll go to a very special place, and we can spend New Year’s Day seeing some ancient ruins, if you like. Something romantic.”
“I like. I take it even Mr. Miramoto doesn’t work on New Year’s Day?”
Miguel shook his head, the worry settling around him again like a cloud. “He flies back to Tokyo tomorrow night.”
“Does that mean you’re winning?”
“No, Roo. I believe it means I’ve probably lost.”
December 31
New Year’s Eve
Seven Swans a’Swimming
Tilda liked a luxurious spa session as much as the next gal, but she’d never treated herself to a place like the Spa at D’Oro.
Everything was in shades of beige and gold, with subtle splashes of copper and dark grey for contrast. The ladies there, all clad in pristine cream coats, dark hair drawn back into sleek ponytails, makeup impeccable, treated her like a princess.
They smiled and led her gently along, a soak in a bath of warm milk and honey. A bone-melting massage, followed by an invigorating eucalyptus rub. When they settled her into the chair for her facial and applied the soothing, pore-tightening masque, another young woman wheeled in a cart with hot wax.
“Have you ever had a Brazilian before?” She beamed her beneficent goddess smile.
“Am I having one now?” Tilda asked, taken by surprise.
Distress marred her sweet complexion. “It’s part of the package. Do you not want it?”
The man was diabolical. Had she noted that to herself before? Why yes, yes she had. He likely predicted she would go along with this rather than cause a fuss. Neatly cornered.
“Go ahead.” She listened to the care instructions—no sexual activity for twenty-four hours? Like that would happen. She’d have to lump it—and laid back and let the waxer do her thing.
Five Golden Rings (Facets of Passion) Page 7
