by Kenya Wright
Two tables were outside. Hundreds of candles formed around the space in the shape of a heart. A small table rested in the center. The finest silverware on the yacht lounged on that table. White roses in a silver dish finished the setting off as their flowery fragrance merged with the food's tantalizing aroma.
Two servants stood farther away, next to a large table. A buffet of small dishes covered it. Anything a woman could desire lay in one of those bowls, from savory to sweet, meaty to simmering soup. I made sure the chef provided it all. I needed to fulfill Dawn’s every desire, make her fantasy come true. And I had to be her fantasy. She joked about Disney princesses like they were insignificant little waifs, but I could see that she hoped to be a princess one day. That secret want glazed in her eyes, telling me that she still yearned to be swept off of her feet and treated like royalty.
And that's just how I'll get her.
I pulled out a chair and let Dawn sit down.
I'll probably bend her over this table when we're done eating. I should have Chef Michel grab some whipped cream.
Before I could get in my own seat, she asked, “How did your mother pass away?”
I hung in mid-air with my knees half bent and a dumb expression plastered on my face. In my head, the evening was going according to plan, but once again, Dawn changed the schedule.
“W-why?” I asked.
“I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have asked that. It’s a pretty awful thing to ask.” She grabbed the water and gulped some. “How about I apologize and blame it on the alcohol? Maybe I shouldn't have drunk those shots.”
I slumped into the chair with less finesse than I'd planned to. “Why did you want to know about my mother?”
“It was just sad. I was wondering how it happened. It's a pretty rude thing to ask. I'm really sorry.”
I held my hand up. “No. It's fine. It's just . . .no one has ever asked me that.”
Her regretful expression shifted to skeptical. “I don't believe you.”
“Trust me. No one's ever asked me that. Not even guy friends back at any of my boarding schools or in college and definitely not any of the women from the games my brother and I play. I'm just surprised that you asked.”
“I'm pretty nosy.”
“Well,” I held my hands together, “Do you really want to know? It might make you sad.”
“It's up to you if you want to tell me.”
I rubbed the inside of my palm. “My mom committed suicide.”
She covered her face. “Oh God. I'm really sorry for asking—”
“No, seriously. It's fine.” I waved my hand. “This happened long ago. It's been twenty years now.”
“Which would make you twenty-eight?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Okay. Again, I apologize.”
Quiet hovered over us for a while. For once, I was at a loss for words, trying to figure out why she'd even asked that question. What did she have to gain? What could she do with that information? Was this part of the game somehow, some sick strategy?
I peered at her. “Why did you really ask me that?”
“I just wanted to know. Haven't you ever just wanted to learn about a person, figure out why that individual is who he or she is?”
“Not if I didn't need the information for a particular reason. Why would I care about anyone else?”
“No disrespect, but that sounds pretty cutthroat and selfish.”
“People talk about how violent ghettos are, but don't realize how scary it is around the wealthy. No one’s family gets as rich as the people I know, from being good Christians and loving the world.”
“Really?” Her cheeks rose as she grinned.
I immediately loved the way her whole face lit up with excitement. “Really. There’s a whole lot of rich people who are seriously corrupt individuals.”
“Okay. Then prove it,” she said. “Tell me what's the craziest gossip you've ever heard among the rich and twisted.”
“You mean something crazier than two brothers playing mind games with women?”
“Yes. Even wackier.”
“I know a man who has four wives. And with each wife, he has kids with them. The worst part is that none of the families know about the other. Each woman lives in a different country.”
She placed her elbows on the table and balanced her chin on her hands. “How could they not know?”
“Well, he pretends to be middle class in these four different places. These families live in third world countries. He acts like he works really hard to provide for them. Apparently all four think he has a job that keeps him away for the seasons.”
“So he spends each season with a new family?” she asked.
“Yes. If I can remember correctly, he only visits each place when it is a warm season. He detests the snow.”
“Poor dick head. How many kids does he have?”
I hit my head trying to remember. “I don't know. I keep thinking twelve, but who knows. It could be more.”
“That's horrific.”
“It's life.”
“No, that's not.” A wrinkle formed at her forehead. “It's some spoiled guy taking advantage of lots of people for his own pleasure. Why not just buy up an island, ship people in, and tell them to worship you. Why all the lies and deception? He should just get it over with.”
I laughed. “That was the other piece of gossip that I was going to tell you. There's another guy I partied with. He told me that he bought an island and did just that. He has fifty people walking around it, serving and calling him king.”
“Now you’re full of it. This island does not exist. In fact, please tell me it isn’t real. Please.”
“Oh it’s a hundred percent real. I could take you there. You wouldn't believe it.”
“You've actually been there?” she asked.
“Oh yes. Freakiest experience I've ever had.”
“Oh my God. I really wish I could see that. Sadly, I would probably be dragged off the island for slapping him or something.”
“Yep. I'm sure that's against the law there.” I considered the possibility of flying off with Dawn to meet Cedric the Fifth, the guy who did in fact purchase an island for people to worship him. It would be worth the energy and money just to sit in a room with the both of them. There was no way Cedric would be the same after a visit from Dawn. She just had a way of changing everything. Yeah. I gazed at her, telling myself that my studying her face was all about the game and not some need to imprint her alluring beauty into my mind.
“And are there any rich women who are being equally repulsive or can only the men have evil fun?”
“The women are worst. The really wealthy ones have little secret harems of big guys waiting on them all day and night. There are several resorts that only cater to affluent wives. I've heard that it's a male escort’s dream come true to get a job there. However, once they actually start working, they realize it’s hell.”
“Well bravo to them.” She tapped my water glass with hers and then took a sip. “Let's hope that I'll be one of those loaded women one day, torturing hot guys at my will.”
“And do you plan to marry wealthy?”
“No, buddy.” She stuck that lovely tongue out again. “I'm simply going to rule the world after I get my degree. I figure it’ll take ten years after school or so to adequately stake my claim on the world’s power structure.”
“Then law school sounds like a good move, but sitting across from me is an even better one. My money could get you there faster.”
“I don't need to marry rich. I can get it myself.”
“I bet you could.” And I wasn't lying. Dawn exuded the same type of ambitious spirit my dad had and all of the other hard hitters I knew around the globe. She'd get whatever she dedicated herself too. I couldn't get over her drive and loved having her in my presence.
“I would ask you where you went for college, but I'm sure it was some big school, so instead tell me your major,” she said.
�
��Business.”
“Yeah, right. Tell me what you really hoped to major in, before daddy or whoever told you to major in business.”
How’d she know Dad forced me to do business?
“Food. If I could have, I would've gone to a culinary arts school,” I said.
“Well, you couldn't go then, but why not go now?”
I shrugged. “I don't need to.”
“But it's something you love.”
“I enjoy lounging under the sun even more.”
“But doesn't that get boring?” she asked.
Okay. This conversation needs to go to a romantic topic and off of me.
“What makes you hot, Dawn?”
“Stop avoiding my question. Don’t you get bored lounging all of the time?”
“Sometimes. When I’m really restless, I call up my brother to meet me on the yacht to play a game.”
“How many times have you guys played this year?”
“Ten.”
“It's June right now, so that's a lot of games. How long did most of them last?”
I combed my fingers through my hair, ready to stray away from this interrogation. “A week or so, not too long at all.”
She shook her head. “And you'd rather do that then learn how to make exquisite meals?”
“Yes.” I felt a little embarrassed, but I shook it off. She was no one to try and impress. I didn't care if she judged me, all I needed was for her to open up those sexy legs.
“Well, you should at least do both,” she suggested. “Maybe take a class here or there, nothing too strenuous, but you should definitely have other passions besides women and sitting on your ass.”
“Is that what Dr. Dawn prescribes?”
“Yes. Find at least two loves in this life that have nothing to do with the space between a woman's thighs. Surely there are tons of rich guys out there truly living.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh wait. I remember this article about a wealthy guy that had learned how to fly airplanes. The year before that he was climbing mountains. Several years earlier he was a licensed deep sea diver. Granted, he is probably an asshole alpha too, but at least he's more interesting.”
At least he’s more interesting? Did she just insult me?
“I'm not fascinating to you?” I grimaced.
She blushed. “Well. . .you're. . .good-looking.”
A bad taste coated my mouth. My temper was leaving its cage of control and slowly spilling out. “But I’m not interesting enough for your liking?”
“You're just not my type.”
There were few times when an awkward feeling entered my gut. This was one of those instances when a strong sense of failure rained down on me. I didn't know if making me feel like crap was her tactic, but she'd won.
“Are you hungry?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“No.”
Quiet took our conversation’s place for several minutes. Tense silence. After another ten minutes of me mentally brooding about what she just said, she stood. “I think we should probably get back.”
“Our date isn't finished.” I got up with her, but instead of heading back to the yacht I got in front of her. “Let's at least eat.”
“You're upset.”
“No, I'm not.”
“Your face is all colored with rage. You're practically steaming out of your ears.”
Calm down. Her opinion doesn’t matter.
“You just. . .pissed me off, but I'll be fine.”
Instead of one ounce of regret, she crossed her arms over her chest and tossed me a wicked grin. “What pissed you off? Was it when I said the truth about you? Would you rather I lie and say how fabulous you are?”
My dick hardened. It should have done the opposite and stayed soft. Instead it stiffened and pressed against my pants. That smirk on her face and her know-it-all stance made me long to bend her over that table and take her right there. She laughed.
“What's so funny, Dawn?”
“You can't deal with one woman not finding you appealing.”
“I can, although it doesn’t happen much.”
“I bet it does.”
“It doesn’t, but I'm sure one or two women in this world don’t find me appealing.”
She raised her hand. “Well, add me and it's three.”
Blood pumped to my dick and all I yearned to do was stroke it.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“Why?” I licked my lips.
“Because you don't look mad anymore.” She stepped back.
Smart girl. If I was less of a gentleman, I would’ve torn that lace off of her.
“Do you realize that your insults make me horny?” I asked.
“Maybe that's the tequila?”
I drank in her cleavage. “No. It's you and your mouth that's got my body unbalanced. I don’t know why, but the more you piss me off, the more I have to fuck you.”
“Then I should probably be quiet.”
“Oh no. Go ahead. Tell me more about how you hate me, but before you do, you need to pay up on my six kisses from drinking those tequila shots.”
I'm going to shut that little mouth up.
I seized her waist, lifted her up onto the table, and slung a few dishes away. Plates and bowls sank into the sand. Groaning, I propped her lovely behind on the edge of the table. She shrieked, but couldn't say anything else once I kissed her. Those words got lost in my tongue and her groans. Grumbles of annoyance transformed to sighs of relief. I didn't know which one of us started making the noises, but the more we kissed, the more we both surrendered to animal need.
“You make me crazy you know that?” I nibbled at her lips. “Why do you know what buttons to push?”
“I'm not trying,” she gasped and leaned away. “I'm just telling you the truth.”
I tensed. “Then you really don't like the man I am?”
She bit her lip and turned away. “I did say you were good-looking.”
“What else?” I hiked her gown up and exposed those beautiful legs. “Is that it, just my looks?”
“Maybe I need to learn more about you but for now it's just your body and face.”
Breathe. Just breathe.
“What?” she asked.
Keep your head in the game. Don’t lose your temper.
“That pisses me off,” I blurted out. “Why does that annoy me?”
“Don't ask me. My opinion shouldn't be important to your life. Like I said, it could be the tequila.” She stared at my fingers. “Please put my dress back down.”
I clasped onto her bare thighs instead. “What would make me turn into the guy that you desired?”
“That's a ridiculous question.”
“Just tell me.”
“Ambition, the drive to do something with your life as well as help others when you could. That's what really makes me wet.”
“Ambition? Come on. That's not the only thing that makes you wet.” I sucked my teeth. “Are you trying to tell me that you're not wet right now?”
She avoided glancing my way.
“Then that's a yes,” I said.
“It doesn't matter if I'm wet.”
“Hell yes. It does.”
“I already told you I was attracted to you.”
She tried to scoot away. I kissed her again, slipping my hands up the lace fabric. Her nonchalance about my not meeting her needs aggravated me. We both knew she was wet, but I had to feel it for myself. Something inside of my body drove me crazy to confirm it. Maybe her insults wouldn't be so hard to swallow down if I knew she was hot for me, even though something in the back of my head said it wouldn't satisfy me either way.
“I loved seeing those pretty folds on my sun deck. Can I touch her tonight?” I sucked on Dawn’s neck.
She arched into me. “Yes.”
What?
I’d been ready for a challenge, eager in fact. The damn woman was unpredictable. If she wasn’t insulting me, she asked about my mom. If she wasn’t making me t
hink badly about myself, then she was driving me crazy with her body. Now she sat on that table with the moonlight shining on her skin, telling me I could caress her center.
I froze. “Yes?”
“Just one touch.” Her voice came out shaky.
Maybe the tequila is working on both of us.
I tried my best to take my time, but I pushed through the fabric, yanked back her panties, and groaned out loud as soon as my finger greeted that soaked treasure of hers.
“You're way more than wet.” I thrust into her, praying that I would be lucky enough to have my cock experience that same liquid warmth. She felt so good around my finger, tight, and soaked in want. It did insane things to my system. She seeped into my skin, made me desire more than her flesh.
“Mmm, Freddy.”
“Oh please, say that again.”
“Freddy,” she moaned.
My whole body set on fire.
She let her head fall back. Those wavy strands poured down to the table while her breasts rose in the air at face level. I had no time to wonder about the servants or if I should ask. The guitar no longer played and the singing had ceased.
Everyone better make themselves scarce. I don't want anything to interrupt this.
I yanked down her gown and freed her breasts. She possessed lush caramel mounds decorated with almond-colored nipples. I captured one with my lips, sucked that stiff nipple in and flicked my tongue across the tip.
“Oh, Freddy.”
“That's it.” I licked her nipple again. “You sure you don't want to tell the big bad rich boy to stop?”
She spread her legs open a little wider. “Not yet, unless this counts as sex.”
“No way.” I glided my finger in and out of her. “Sex is my cock inside of you. There's no way I'm going to let you take my cock out of the game. Not when you get this wet around me.”
She trembled. “You can't blame me. Your hands work magic on my skin.”
I slipped my finger out of her and circled her throbbing bud with my thumb. “Then I am your type?”
“No.”
I didn't know why, but I stopped fondling her.
No? As wet as she is, she fucking says, no?
“What?” Panting, she stared at me.
“I'm still not your type even though my fingers are inside of you?”
