He didn’t allow himself to think about if the nameless guy had ruffled his own hair or another hand had done it for him. Wasn’t an option, anyway.
“What about that brother over there?” Kimbra said.
Ron looked. “Oooh! He’s gorgeous!” They both watched as another guy walked up to him, kissed the guy on the lips, and locked hands with him as they turned to finish talking to the other couple the man had been talking with when the second man walked up.
Then they both spotted the matching wedding bands on their left hands.
“Aww,” Kimbra and Ron said in matching disappointment.
“Well, he is cute,” Ron said.
“Don’t worry, boo. We’ll find you someone.”
They headed back to their rooms to change and grab towels before returning to the pool. Kimbra brought her Kindle, her ID, and her credit card.
“What are you planning on buying?” he asked.
“Something tropical, icy, and hopefully with a lot of rum. Or tequila.”
“You know what they say.”
She tipped her head at him as they were heading for the stairs. “Mead’s my speed?”
He laughed. “No. It’s mead is forever, but that’s not what I was thinking. What came to mind is one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.”
“I thought it was tequila makes my clothes fall off?” She started to head down. “Or wine’s fine, but liquor’s quicker.”
He cast an appraising eye at her turquoise green bikini, the jewel-tone blue and purple scarf now pulling her hair back and off her face, and the purple and fuchsia sarong around her hips. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped her and adjusted the sarong’s knot a little lower on her tummy.
“Glad I shaved the kitty this morning,” she groused. “Like it’ll see any action.”
“Oh, stop. You’re gorgeous.”
“Pretty pussies don’t matter when you’re surrounded by nothin’ but oblivious hounds, hon.”
They staked out loungers next to each other and he bought the first round of drinks for them. Two piña coladas, and they were just strong enough to not risk sending them both to bed early.
Kimbra served as Ron’s base of operations as he ventured out through the pool courtyard and talked to guys. No one he really hit it off with yet, though. He’d brought condoms and lube and test results and hoped he’d get to put all of them to use tonight.
He caught another glimpse of the twink but lost him in the growing crowd. After dark, the whole pool courtyard area would turn into an open-air dance floor, complete with lights, and more people were arriving.
Which would, hopefully, improve his chances.
By seven, after several fairly weak drinks each, he was ready for a break and wanted dinner. He’d only hit it off with one guy so far, but that guy was a Top in both senses of the word—in bed and in the dungeon—and Ron wasn’t feeling the least bit bottomy tonight.
Kimbra was slowly making progress with her TBR list thanks to a full Kindle charge.
A quick return to their rooms, and they both changed into shorts and headed back down to the restaurant. She’d kept the bikini top, and he’d donned a short-sleeved button-up shirt, but hadn’t buttoned it. He hadn’t missed that she’d brought her phone this time, either.
He knew she was doing this for him and if he wasn’t dragging her around with him, she’d probably have retreated to her hotel room by now. She was still trying to make a little bit of an effort, but they’d only seen six women so far who didn’t work for the resort, and they’d either been paired with women or men.
Not even any single women for her to ogle.
He felt a little bad about that. She was bi, so she could appreciate both ends of the spectrum, even if the majority of eye-candy that evening wouldn’t be the slightest bit interested in her through no lacking of her own.
They ate on the patio again.
“How you doing?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Vertical.” She tapped a fingernail against the glass of the second rum and Coke she’d ordered with her dinner. The first had already been consumed, and the current victim was half-empty. “I’m thinking I’m done with tropical and edging myself slowly toward straight-up trying to buy a bottle off a bartender.”
“Slowly?”
“Or not-so.”
“Sorry, sweetie.”
She sat back. “Not your fault. I need to get off my ass and make some hard decisions here soon. Difficult to really put my heart into this when my heart’s elsewhere.”
He was going to try to be a good friend and press for more when their waitress returned to check on them, prompting Kimbra to order another refill. Then a group of guys were seated at a table next to theirs.
Including a hot redhead Ron offered a smile to, who smiled back at him.
Kimbra poked Ron in the arm and used her eyes to shove him toward the guy.
Taking that as his cue, he turned to talk to him. “Hey. Ron.” He held his hand out.
“Gary.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Maybe this night just turned around.
Chapter Three
Kimbra paid the bill after ordering herself another rum and Coke. She caught Ron’s attention, waved, and then left him to his new friends. The nice thing about the resort was since it was one whole property, you could take your drink and walk around with it.
That’s what she did.
As she wandered through the courtyard, she tried to get into the thumping bassline of the music, tried to keep time with the beat, but it just wasn’t happening tonight. She knew if she returned to her room she’d only sit there reading and moping and wishing she was out and about.
Without an outside distraction, resentment would start to seep in that Eve couldn’t be bothered to find time to spend with her.
Resentment already had started creeping in more frequently as of late, no matter how hard she tried to beat it back. No amount of rationalization that it was about Eve and not about her could completely eradicate it, either.
Now I understand what Walt felt like. Maybe this is my karma.
The twink she and Ron had seen earlier sauntered by and paused, approached her, a nearly empty drink cup in his hand.
“Hola, mami,” he said, giving her a long look. “Watchoo doin’ here?” He had an annoying, nasally, most likely fake accent that didn’t go well with his adorable body and sweet face.
“Probably same thing you are.”
“Choo single? ’Cause if choo are, maybe I can help tonight.”
“Yeah, I’m single.” She switched to Spanish. “Are you even eighteen yet?”
His brow furrowed. “What?”
Kimbra took another sip of her drink and tipped her head as she appraised him. “I bet my friend Ron could tear your ass up in bed and leave you begging for more. He’s hung like a horse, I’m pretty sure. He’s single and looking. Want an introduction?”
He shook his head. “I’m not readin’ choo. Choo speak English?”
She switched back to English. “Why you callin’ me your mami if you can’t even habla the lingo?”
“Oooh, choo sassy. I like dat.”
His fake accent was pissing her off. “Watch it, baby, or I’ll spank your ass.”
Used to closely observing people during depositions and questioning and while testifying, she spotted the shift in his gaze immediately. A nearly desperate hunger that didn’t strike her as sexual appeared in his eyes.
More…literally desperate.
Like “rescue me” desperate.
He stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers now. He stood maybe five-seven, and she was five-eight. “Maybe I’d like for choo to spank my ass, hmm?” He reached out and traced a finger along her belt buckle. “I’d make it worth choo while.”
“I ain’t no hooker, baby.”
“Di’n’ mean dat.” He closed the distance, so close she could smell the rum on his breath and the sad desperation that nearly washed off him
. “Might be gay, but not stupid ’nough to turn down a legit spankin’ from someone hot as choo. I got soda an’ rum back in my room. Choo spank me, really spank me…” He smiled and flicked his tongue over his upper lip in an unmistakable gesture. “I make choo happy.”
She pointed her other hand over her shoulder, waving it toward the general direction of the leather bar off one corner of the courtyard. “You could have leather Tops on your ass as well as in it. Why me?”
His nostrils flared just a little, and she spotted how his throat worked as he swallowed. “Maybe I’m not lookin’ for someone in my ass tonight. Maybe I need to trust someone. Choo look like someone I can trust.” He wrapped his mouth around the straw in his drink again and took a seductive pull off it, making sure to lick his lips.
Part of her brain screamed at her to smile and say no thanks.
That part was kicked out by the rum and her clit, which thought this was a mighty fine idea. “You better be at least twenty-one.”
“I am.”
“And can prove it.”
“ID’s in my room.”
She glanced back to where Ron was still chatting away with the ginger and the man’s friends.
Fuck it. Maybe she’d never even have to admit to Ron that she snagged the cutie if he scored with the redhead and was too busy wrapped up in his own rut.
“Lead the way, sugar.”
* * * *
His room was poolside on the second floor in the northern building, almost exactly directly across the courtyard from hers. As she followed him up the stairs, she couldn’t help but stare at his cute, tight little ass in his Speedo.
He knew she was watching, because halfway up he stopped and cast a smile at her over his shoulder. “Choo like what choo see?”
She stepped up next to him and smacked his ass, hard, not holding back.
He rubbed the spot. “Ow! Motherfucker.”
No accent.
She sweetly smiled. “Well, well, well. If you want your spanking, honey, stick with your real voice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered before he continued on up the stairs.
But she spotted a hunger in his eyes that he hadn’t possessed before.
She waited until they were inside the room to grill him. “Why the fake accent, kiddo?”
“Sorry. Kind of the persona. Sometimes helps me find guys easier.” This voice fit him perfectly and aged him a little. He was probably much closer to thirty than twenty, despite his looks.
His room was a single king like hers, and the same blue walls. He’d left the bedside lamp on, so while it was dim, there was still enough light to see by. He walked over to the mini fridge and pulled out a two-liter bottle of soda. The bottle of rum sat on the dresser, and the ice bucket had been recently filled. He reached for her cup.
“Now, see? Your real voice is perfectly fine.” She finished off the last dregs of that drink and handed her cup over. He added ice but before he could splash rum into it, she stopped him. “Lemme see your ID, honey.”
He rolled his gorgeous light green eyes, but set everything down and dug a wallet out of the bag on the floor on the other side of the bed, removed his ID, and handed it over.
The Florida driver’s license definitively stated he was a safe driver, an organ donor—and was, in fact, thirty-four.
Holy shit.
Closer examination of it led her to believe it was genuine.
“Damn, boy. You look good for your age.” She pulled out her phone. “Ivan Gonzales Mercado. Helloooo, sweetie.” She took a picture of his ID.
“Hey!”
“Don’t worry, sugar.” She returned the ID to him and her phone to her back pocket. “I’m an attorney, which means I like to cover my ass. Kimbra Luzon. Why’s a nice boy like you with a name like that faking a Spanish accent?”
He tucked his ID back into his wallet. “My grandmother used to teach me when I was little. She was from Puerto Rico.” He accurately rolled his Rs on the last two words and sounded more genuine this time before dropping that accent again. “I used to be able to hold conversations with her completely in Spanish. I’ve forgotten a lot of it.”
“My papi came to Florida as a kid from Cuba.” She swirled her fingers in the air, indicating the glass and that he should resume refilling it. “I grew up speakin’ it. My mother taught school and made sure all of us were fluent in Spanish. Helps me out in my line of work.”
He started to hand the glass to her, but she said, “Uh-uh. You take a sip first, sugar. Not that I don’t trust choo, but I just met choo.”
He smiled and took a long gulp from it before holding it out to her. She took it, and he set about refilling his own.
Taking long swallows, she knew she probably shouldn’t have it. He’d mixed it strong, so that it was more like Coke-flavored rum than a rum and Coke. The accumulation of alcohol already in her system had shoved her well over the “good buzz” level and into felony DUI status, she was pretty sure.
Still, she offered him a smile. “You neg, right?”
“Yes, ma’am. You want my test results?” His body was slim, trim, not an ounce of fat on him, and his long, gracefully nimble fingers held her interest. She could picture him maybe playing the piano or something suitably artistic like that.
Wondered what those fingers might feel like against her flesh.
“I’d say yes, except I don’t have any of my own,” she admitted. “Honestly wasn’t expecting any action this weekend with anyone, much less a guy. So if you want to back out after I spank you, I’d understand. I won’t hold you to it.”
“No,” he quietly said. “I trust you.” He downed another long gulp from his own drink.
“So what do you do for a living?” she asked. “Fair’s fair.”
“I’m a doctor.”
The braying laugh escaped her before she could clap a hand over her mouth. “Nah, get da fuq outta here. Seriously, what do you do?”
“No, seriously. I’m a doctor.”
“A real one?”
He smirked. “Define ‘real.’”
“Like, a teaches philosophy kind of doctor, or prescription-pad kind of doctor?”
“Plays with people’s insides kind of doctor. Kind of why I’m here this weekend.” Dark clouds entered his expression.
“What’s going on?”
His tight, pinched smile looked all the more painful for his effort to make it. “Bad week at work. Lost a patient late yesterday in the OR. Was just getting ready to finish and let my resident close when she coded. Couldn’t get her back. Had to tell her husband and three kids, their spouses, and their grandkids, that I killed Meemaw.”
Kimbra heard the record screech in her brain. “Whoah, honey. What do you mean you killed her?”
He shrugged. “My hands were in her chest. She was my patient. She died on my watch. Makes me responsible for her.”
Kimbra reached out and stroked his arm, a few pieces of his puzzle now snapping into place.
He was looking for his own mental escape, much like she was. “What kind of doctor are you?” Whether he waxed or was naturally lacking in a lot of body hair—she suspected the second—his skin felt smooth, soft.
“Surgeon.” He took another long drink. “I mean, yeah, she had other health issues. Technically it was a stroke that killed her. We can’t predict those. But it was probably triggered by the surgery. Sooo…”
He shrugged. “It’s still me having to sit down with her family and answer their questions and let them take potshots at me, when they feel like doing that. Some do. It’s almost easier on me when they do. Yesterday, they didn’t. We all cried together yesterday.”
“How often do you lose patients?”
“In Sarasota? More often than I’d like. Unfortunate side effect of practicing what I do in a community with a large retiree population.”
“I’m from there, too.” She sat on the end of the bed when the room dipped and spun a little around her. “So you feel you…what, need to be p
unished?”
“No. The pain helps me…go away. For a while.”
“And so does the alcohol?”
“I can’t drink, usually. I never drink during the week, even after work, because sometimes I’m called in for emergencies at night. I won’t drink at all tomorrow. I allow myself to get plastered only on the weekend nights I come up here, when I know I won’t be called in because they have someone else on call since they know I’m ‘out of town’.” He made finger quotes around that.
“Why won’t you trust the leather Tops to take care of you then?”
“Long story, and pretty much all about me rather than any of them. And my history. From way back when I was a kid.” Another of those tight, painful smiles. “Right now, I’m drunk as shit, I want to get my ass spanked as hard and as long as you can do it, and then I promise you, lady, I’ll make your eyes roll back in your head.”
“What about you?”
“You don’t have to help me out. I can go jerk off in the shower.”
“What if I want to help you out?”
He held up his cup. “Once this kicks in, and after the spanking, maybe I’ll take you up on it, if you still feel up to it.”
* * * *
She was beautiful, with her curly hair and her blue eyes, her skin a few shades darker than his own. Yet she also wore a subtle, attentive air. Not a hint of narcissism about her. She’d asked about him, seemed concerned about him.
Maternal.
This wasn’t the first time he’d ended up with a woman instead of a man on one of these trips, but he’d felt increasingly desperate as the day faded into evening without him hooking up with someone.
The leather bar wasn’t an option he wanted to contemplate. Not tonight.
Not as fragile as he knew he was right now.
Maybe if he hadn’t lost a patient yesterday and hadn’t held off trying to self-medicate at home.
He shoved all that away as he chugged his drink. The belch bellowed forth as he mixed a refill, this one even heavier on the rum. “’Scuse me.”
She laughed. “Sugar, you’re adorable.”
“Not adorable enough, apparently.” He decided fuck-it, and shoved down his barely there bathing suit, turning to face her. He wasn’t exactly hard, but his cock, in response to her stinging ass-slap on the stairs earlier, had perked right up.
Blue Motel Room [Suncoast Society] Page 3
