One Hot Winter Break (Yardley College Chronicles Book 2)

by Sharon Page

  Sticking out my tongue, I lavishly lick him. I open my lips, make a tight ‘o’, and slide my mouth down over his cock. Then I suck him hard.

  Jonathon leans over. From behind, he grabs the toy that is still deep in my pussy and begins pumping it in long, slow strokes.

  I want to focus on sucking him, but it’s hard since the sensations in my pussy are so intense. I’ve climaxed so much I don’t need anymore. I want to make Jonathon come, but it’s like a battle between us. He wants to bring me there first.

  I think surprise is my key to delighting Jonathon, to making him explode.

  I suck his cock sloppily, making oodles of saliva, soaking him, and I let some of it wet my index finger. I have his trousers and briefs at his knees. With him bending forward, it’s awkward, but I attack from below his balls, wiggling my finger between his ass and the seat. A trick I’ve read about, one that shocks some guys and thrills others. Jonathon shifts, startled, and that gives me the space I need.

  I press my finger to his tight, puckered anus. Wriggling it, I ease it in just a little.

  “Mia, not that,” he says.

  But I don’t listen. I never agreed to be a submissive. Sex is a partnership. With Jonathon, I can have a true and honest partnership. He knows some of my darkest secrets, my deepest pain.

  I think that gives me the right to use my finger to stimulate his snug, sensitive butt.

  His body responds. His muscles open for my finger, letting me push it deep inside. I feel the softness of his walls, hot and like velvet, as his ass grips my finger tightly.

  I slide my finger in and out, pleasuring him. I’m tempted to go for two fingers when his ass starts to move with my thrusts. He’s moaning. I love hearing that sound of pleasure and vulnerability.

  “Fuck it,” he says. “This is so good.”

  I love making him feel good.

  We rock together, my lips sucking his cock as hard as I can, my finger gliding into him, while he’s driving the sex toy deep into me. With my other hand I play with my clit.

  I can’t hold on. His cock in my mouth keeps me from moaning or yelling, but my body goes wild with orgasm. Every nerve ending explodes.

  Then I feel Jonathon’s cock growing in my mouth. My tongue senses a sudden pulsing.

  “God, Mia,” he growls. His hips jerk up and I take advantage to push my finger deep inside him, and his come shoots thick and fast into my mouth.

  As he falls back against the seat, he groans, “That was amazing. You are even more incredible than I dreamed you would be. This is going to be a fantastic week.”

  ***

  After Jonathon removes the toys, he leads me to the lavatory so we can clean up and fix our clothing. The washroom is four times the size of one in a regular airplane. He leaves first while I finish, and when I return to the seat, champagne awaits me. Jonathon hands me a flute. We clink glasses, then a lunch of grilled chicken and salad is served.

  At one point I poke my thumb lightly with my fork just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  One thing about relationships in college, I’ve discovered: sex is so new and cool and you have so many pent up fantasies all you want to do is make love.

  After we eat, Jonathon explains that he was up late catching up on work. I realize that for all he deliberately tries not to succeed at school, he is diligent and dedicated to the work involved in his investments.

  “You should nap,” I assure him. “I don’t mind. I can read.”

  The seats are designed to recline completely. Jonathon stretches out, crossing his long legs at his ankles. The champagne tingles on my tongue. I pull my book out of my carry-on, but I don’t look at it. By the time I’ve finished my drink, Jonathon is sleeping. Looking boyish and gorgeous, relaxed in slumber with his long lashes brushing his cheeks.

  I pour more champagne, needing to do something while I think.

  Ryan would never have tied my hands and put clamps on my nipples. I would never have asked him to do it. I basically let him think I was a virgin.

  Maybe I do belong with Jonathon. I was scared to tell Ryan anything that might hint at my past. With Jonathon, I don’t care what he knows.

  After Jonathon saved me from the stalker on campus, I was completely shaken and freaked out. I kept giving into waterfalls of tears, and I desperately needed someone to talk to. Jonathon was so sympathetic and he revealed that he had abuse in his past too. A different kind of abuse than I experienced. Mine was sexual, his was physical.

  He didn’t tell me who did it, but I assumed it happened at his father’s hands. Jonathon understood what I’d been through. He explained how he didn’t trust people; how he had built walls around his heart.

  I thought the abuse in his past explained his desire for bondage and domination, but he insists it is not the reason. That is a misconception, he explained. Brains are programmed differently for pleasure, and his just happened to be made this way. But his past has hurt him. It’s made it impossible for him to trust. He claims I’m the first person he feels he can trust because I open up to him so much.

  If you can talk to me, maybe that means we should be together.

  Jonathon said that to me just before Winter Break, when I told him I loved Ryan. Maybe he was right?

  After what I had just experienced, I know I could love Jonathon. Very intensely. What I don’t know is if he can love me.

  What happens if I fall hard for him, and he never breaks down his walls enough to love me in return?

  Chapter Three

  From the windows of the plane, I see stretches of white sand beaches. Sunlight glints on the aquamarine water of the ocean surrounding a long, tree-dotted island—one of the British Virgin Islands. Smaller islands surround it. From above, I can see many tall hotels, but I don’t know which one is the Azure resort.

  Jonathon suggested I take a window seat for the view and he was right. It’s spectacular. I have my nose pressed to the glass so I can see everything.

  We land and walk down a stair from the plane onto the tarmac, where we stand in brilliant sunshine. A mellow breeze tosses my long hair around my face. I walk beside Jonathon to the airport terminal, feeling like a movie star from the past, arriving glamorously by private jet.

  After we have the bags and have cleared customs, we head out to meet our waiting car.

  “I can’t wait to get into a bathing suit,” I say.

  Jonathon winks. “I can wait to get you tied to our bed.”

  I shiver which could be attributed to the air conditioning but that’s not the reason. I agreed to try…anything. Having my hands tied with bondage tape was both exciting and unnerving.

  On the plane, I focused only on the sex, on the scenario we were playing, on thrilling Jonathon. But now memories are biting at me. Things from my past that I’ve really tried to forget.

  If I were blindfolded, after all, I wouldn’t have to think about what was happening. If my hands were tied, playfully, I could pretend that I couldn’t stop anything. That nothing was my fault.

  I thought I could look at this week as a fun sexual adventure.

  I still believe it. I just have to keep my memories under control. But maybe I should warn him.

  “Jonathon—” I begin, but a man in uniform steps forward, holding a sign by his chest. He’s young, good-looking, blond, with skin that’s a blend of honey and copper. He wears a welcoming smile. “Mr. Powell?” His voice is deep and melodic.

  Jonathon nods.

  I can’t broach the subject of bondage in front of a stranger. I’ll have to tackle that later.

  “Your car is right outside,” the driver continues. “The blue one by the curb. Let me take your bags.”

  The young man opens the car door for me, tips his cap. I slide into the blessed coolness of an air-conditioned, beige leather interior. Jonathon joins me. He catches my eye and gives me a dazzling, wicked grin.

  The car purrs along the highway from the airport. Soon we’ve reached the waterfront. “This is incredible,
” I breathe. The water really is pure turquoise, and I glimpse stretches of blinding white beach. Most of the buildings are white stucco, though the towering hotels are like ribbons of glass that curve along the shoreline. The mirrored facades are every color of the rainbow—exotic turquoise, cool blue, dazzling gold, elegant rose-pink.

  I peer at them, taking mental notes of their architecture. One day I will design something like that. I don’t care what the professors in the School of Architecture say—the ones who have already advised me to switch majors because they don’t think I have the right sense of style. I’m willing to work hard and I can learn.

  I’m carrying my hoodie, but I’m still really hot in my jeans and body-hugging t-shirt. What I desperately want is to strip into a bikini. We turn, and ahead I see an array of boats moored at an intricate network of docks, bobbing in a harbor.

  “The hotel is near a marina?”

  Jonathon leans close to me. He hasn’t touched me much since our session of sex on the plane. Maybe he’s giving me some space. Maybe he needs some. He points to the horizon. “The resort is on a smaller island. It’s a ten mile boat ride. It has all amenities but if we want to come back here for shopping or dinner, it’s a short trip.”

  “We’re not going to your private island, are we?”

  He laughs. “No, my father is vacationing on that island this Christmas, and I didn’t want to be near him.”

  His family does have a private island.

  I’ve ridden on ferries and that was the type of boat I pictured. Instead, we board a sleek speed boat. Our luggage is stowed in the back, the engine roars, and we shoot out of the harbor into open water. The boat bounces on the waves, throwing spray in our faces. Jonathon’s arm is around me. I hold my hair back out of my face, thrilled. This is…stunning. The glorious sunshine and the warmth, the vast beautiful ocean, the cooling spray that tastes salty. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

  Laughing, I turn, intending to kiss Jonathon. He puts his finger to my lips, stopping me. Perhaps he doesn’t like public displays of affection, but given what he does in public at his clubs and what he did to me on the plane, I’m amazed.

  Soon, I see the island, a small strip of lush greenery surrounded by water that fades from mysterious indigo to clear bright blue. “That white ring…isn’t that a reef?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jonathon assures.

  We speed toward the reef. My grip on the side of the boat tightens. Then suddenly we slow, sending a wash of water ahead of us, and our captain—pilot?—guides us in through a narrow channel. We disembark and board an open-air vehicle that looks like a fancy golf cart. Again we have a driver, this one in a white uniform consisting of a short-sleeve shirt, shorts, and a white cap.

  He bids us a good-natured ‘Good Afternoon’ and winds his way around the people milling on the wooden dock. There’s lots of noise. Tourists chatter, golf cart horns honk, boat engines roar, seagulls caw.

  “I really want to strip off my jeans,” I whisper to Jonathon, certain my words can’t be heard over all this sound.

  “Mmm, good idea,” he murmurs. He leans over me, undoes the zipper of my fly with speed and consummate skill. His fingers slide down, moving inside my panties.

  “Not here. Not yet,” I whisper. At his look of disappointment, I feel a spurt of guilt. To tease him, to keep enticing him, I ask softly, “What exactly do you do when you tie a woman up?”

  “I like to be creative,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll tie you up when you’re spread-eagled on the bed so I can fuck your sweet pussy. Or have you lie on your stomach, which allows me to do naughty things to your lovely ass. I might tie your ankles and hands together, and arrange you in interesting positions to fuck you. Would you like to be bound hand and foot while you suck my cock, Mia?”

  His voice is low, soft, so innately sexual it makes my pussy throb. Emotions swirl and crash in me like water over the reef. I have to be honest. “The idea of being tied up excites me. But—”

  “But there’s more?” Jonathon’s voice is gentle, inquisitive.

  I may be about to disappoint him, but I’m not afraid to be honest with him. “You know I’ve known abuse,” I say very softly. “I thought I could look at anything as a fun, hot game. A fantasy. But I’m afraid that being a submissive might be just too close to what I’ve been through in my past.”

  “Don’t worry. This is completely different. You always have the power to say no, to stop the game, even when you’re tied up. The fantasy has nothing to do with what you’ve been through. You will always be in control. And you remember the rules of my clubs: safe, sane, consensual.”

  “You will be the one holding the spanking paddle,” I point out, my voice quiet.

  “I will only take you as far as you want to go this week.”

  But after that? I have boundaries—I just don’t know yet exactly what they are. I suspect this week is going to make me figure them out.

  When I know what my limits are, how close do I want to flirt with them? Would I be willing to cross them for a man as gorgeous, as understanding, as powerful and tempting as Jonathon?

  ***

  Our car purrs into a semi-circular drive and stops beneath a soaring concrete canopy, a beautiful feature that ripples and undulates like a sail and defies its material. We pass through gold-tinted sliding doors onto the huge floor of a foyer with a tall, bubbling fountain in the middle. The reception area has vaulted ceilings. Palms stand in enormous ceramic pots.

  A woman in a white suit approaches Jonathon before he even takes a step toward the reception desk. “Mr. Powell, how delightful to see you again this year. Your usual suite is ready. Champagne is already chilling. Benjamin will bring up your bags.”

  At once, a grey-haired man with deep bronze skin comes forward, pushing a shining brass luggage cart. He gives Jonathon a beaming smile. “Good afternoon, sir,” he says.

  “Benjamin, I thought you had retired last year,” Jonathon says, shaking the man’s hand.

  “I got too bored with nothing to do,” the older man says.

  “This is Mia Reynolds,” Jonathon says, “My lady friend.” He introduces Benjamin as the backbone of Azure, which makes the man laugh and protest, but I can tell Benjamin is totally charmed.

  Jonathon can do that. He can make you melt, make you adore him. Then, sometimes he is elusive, quiet, reserved. He’s like Gatsby, watching silently over his guests at his parties, an isolated orchestrator with a mysterious past. (Even though I’m studying architecture, I’d loved English literature in high school.)

  Other times, Jonathon is stubborn, as he was with Lara about his bondage needs. And then he can be the Jonathon I know—a blend of all these things; kind, protective, and the most amazing friend in the world.

  I start to put my bags on the cart to save Benjamin the strain, but he rushes over and takes them from me. I suppose I’ve made a mistake, shown I don’t belong in this world, but I don’t care. It’s true that I have no experience with an exclusive resort, and I’m not going to pretend I have. I have to be myself.

  I’m more worried that my past—and all its baggage—will end up ruining this potential relationship with Jonathon.

  Our luggage is loaded on a wheeled cart that is attached to another fancy golf cart. Then we are driven to a sprawling building that looks like it belongs in Morocco. There are gleaming gold domes for roofs, curved stucco walls, exotic gardens filled with pink flowers and spiky plants. Our driver, Rene, explains everything to me as we go up the drive.

  “There are a dozen of these villas on the resort, miss,” Rene says. “They are separate and private, and just steps from the ocean. Each villa has dedicated staff, a private well-stocked bar, and you can order anything you desire from the main kitchen. We’re on call at any time of the day or night.” He wishes us a Merry Christmas when he drops us off and carries our luggage inside. Jonathon tips him generously, but doesn’t return the sentiment. So I say it.

  “Merry Christmas, Ren
e, and thank you so much.”

  Then we’re in our villa, alone. I pass through the entrance foyer into a circular, domed space, filled with curiosity. The huge round room is the living room. A flat screen T.V. spans the curve. Comfortable couches and chairs of white leather are arranged in a circle. On one side there is a bar; on the other, a large doorway which I guess leads to bedrooms.

  Right across from the foyer, the circular room juts into a square space that is glassed in with doors that open onto a terrace. And a pool!

  One of the doors is open and I realize the rhythmic, crashing sound is the surf on the beach. Sultry breezes, tangy with salt, waft into the room. From here, the sky looks almost pure gold with slashes of pink, and I realize the sun is dropping to the horizon.

  “Finally,” Jonathon says, dropping his carry-on bag. “Take a quick look outside at the sunset, then come back in here. I’ve been going crazy for the last two hours, waiting to tie you up again.”

  Chapter Four

  Am I ready to be tied up again? Ready to test and push boundaries already?

  After watching a breathtaking sunset, I’m quivering a little when I slip into the bathroom to wash up. There are three bathrooms in our villa. One has a huge walk-in shower done in decorative tile. The second has a soaker tub large enough for four people. It is set into the floor and surrounded by a plush, white carpet. The last one is larger than my bungalow, has a heart-shaped tub with jets, and a granite waterfall that frames the sink and mirrors.

  I end up deciding to use the one with the sunken tub. The room is decorated with black and silver art deco tiles and features a huge mirror framed in bulbs, like a Hollywood-style makeup mirror.

  After I come out, I take the wrong route and end up in a huge bedroom. A four-poster bed stands in the middle. Gauzy white fabric flutters around the bed. Large doors open to a terrace. Steps lead down from there to the white sand beach. Thick carpets surround the bed, all in an exotic, Oriental pattern. Furnishings of dark wood contrast with the pale beige-white walls. It looks like the room of a pirate who brought his old world sensibilities to his luxurious Caribbean home, built with his plundered booty.