by Meg Ripley
Her sighs quickly became moans, gaining momentum, making him wonder what it would sound like—what it would feel like—to make her scream for him. He gripped the base of his cock and slid it down her lips.
"Pull me in," he moaned. Her hand covered his and she guided him to her tight entrance, lifting her hips to ease him inside of her. She sank onto him, her channel gripping him with unbelievable pressure. He grasped her hips, holding her down against him as he lifted his hips, grinding in a low circle. Her breath halted, caught in her throat as her hands moved to interlock with his fingers. He lost track of time, moving his hips in a slow, sweet circle that had her shivering and gasping. He would have done that for longer, but she shifted, rising up and moving down again, creating a different sort of rhythm. She kept an even tempo, her breasts swinging each time she pumped her hips.
She felt so damned good, it was hard for him to keep himself reined in. He wanted to flip her onto her back and pound into her until he exploded, but if he did that, he would only last a handful of minutes, at the most. It was easier to keep himself in check if she stayed on top and controlled the speed and the angle, and good God, she felt so damned good.
Mary pulled his hands up her body, leaving them over her breasts. He squeezed and kneaded the globes, watching her from beneath heavy eyelids. She quickened the pace, slipping her fingers between her swollen lips, seeking out her clit. Within seconds, her walls clenched around him, squeezing and contracting with rapid flutters that sent bolts of pleasure through him.
His muscles clenched, his abdomen and thighs pulling tight as the pleasure began to culminate at the base of his spine. She dropped her head back and cried out, a shout that seemed to echo into the night, pushing him over the edge. His cock jerked and he shuddered to a gasping, sweaty stop. She collapsed on his chest, burying her face in his neck, and he could do nothing but wrap his arms around her.
****
"What the living hell is wrong with you?" Jason hissed.
Vincent caught the tennis ball that had bounced on the court in front of him and turned to look at Jason where he had strode out onto to the playing area. He waved at the young girl who was playing opposite him and she sulked slightly before walking over to the booth on the other side of the court, taking a swig from a bottle of water while simultaneously smoothing her almost bizarrely bouncy blonde ponytail.
"Do you need to speak with me, Jason?" Vincent asked, walking toward him.
"I went to see Neil Simmons," Jason said, keeping his voice at a low, conspiratorial level.
"Oh, you did," Vincent said with a short laugh. "I told you he was a bit of an eccentric."
"He is far more than a bit of an eccentric, Vincent," Jason said. He stepped toward the path that led away from the tennis court and Vincent followed. "He seems to have somewhat of an obsession."
"With dragons?"
Jason was taken aback by how casual Vincent was about the situation. They climbed into a large gazebo and sat down on one of the integrated benches. After Neil Simmons told him that he was going to have to impress his son before he would make any sort of decision about his investments, he had brought Jason through another few rooms of the house, pointing out several more paintings and pieces of sculpture that featured dragons. It wasn't until they got outside, however, that the feelings of discomfort had really intensified.
The grounds to the back of Neil's house were as sprawling as the home itself, and in the distance Jason could see the hint of a huge wall that surrounded the space. Neil had brought him out into the grass and opened what looked like an electrical box on a post coming out of the ground. From the box, he had drawn a remote control that he directed at a shed to one side.
The doors to the shed opened and Neil pressed another button. A moment later, several small dragons streamed out of the building, their wings spreading so that they could fly through their air. One opened its mouth so that a stream of fire spewed out, nearly singeing the grass below. For a moment, Jason worried that these were very young dragons that Neil was keeping captive, but then he looked closer and realized that they were in fact just robotic dragons programmed to move, fly, and breathe fire like incredibly large, complex toys.
"You told him about us," Jason accused.
"What are you talking about?" Vincent asked, pulling a wayward piece of fuzz off of the ball and letting it fall to the floor of the gazebo.
"You know very well what I'm talking about. I saw all of the statues and paintings, and even those awful robots."
"And you think those mean that I told him about the dragon world?"
"How else would he know about the labyrinth well enough to have a mural of it in his gallery?"
"Because I painted it for him," Vincent said.
"What?"
"I didn't tell Neil anything about the dragon world. He is just an aging, eccentric man who has a fantasy streak. He loves dragons of all kinds, so he commissioned some pieces from me. When I first met him, he only had that statue in his foyer and the gaudy red smoking jacket I'm sure he was wearing. I did everything else for him over the course of the last couple of years."
"Even the robots?"
"Even the robots. He said that he wished that dragons were real and that he could have a few around the grounds so that he could watch them fly. Well, as much as you think that I would betray several thousand years of lineage, I didn't actually just come to the Club and ask to borrow a few of the young from the lower families so that he could have his exotic pets. I designed the robots and got some help building and programming them."
"Sorry, man. I didn't know you did that kind of work."
Vincent waved him off. "No big deal. How did it go with him anyway? Did he like your presentation?"
"Well, he didn't actually let me give the whole presentation, really. He was too busy bringing me through the house, showing me his art and flying his remote control dragons around. I told him as much as I could about it and he seemed to be pretty onboard."
"That's great! So, you landed the account, everyone's going to be happy, and you’re sure to get that promotion."
"Well, not quite. He said that he was impressed and liked the idea, but that he doesn't make his investment decisions on his own anymore and I am going to have to impress Shayne."
"Shayne?"
"I'm guessing it's his son. Do you know him?"
Vincent shook his head, standing up and starting back toward the tennis court where Jason could see the young girl looking around in confusion as if she thought that Vincent had simply disappeared.
"No. I didn't even know that he had children. He never talks about kids."
"Well, from what he said, this guy is kind of a hard ass and isn't going to be as easy to sway as Mr. Simmons himself. I have a feeling that the nostalgia and fun family times tactic that I was going to try on Neil isn't going to work on Shayne. I'm going to have to come at him with sheer numbers and some solid concepts for what would be done with the investment capital."
"Good luck."
Jason nodded and left Vincent at the tennis courts, heading back toward his car. He wasn't going to have time to relax in the lounge that evening; he needed to get home so that he could revamp his approach and make sure that he was ready for an appointment with Shayne Simmons.
****
After seven calls that got intercepted by a somewhat surly secretary and two messages left in a voicemail inbox that had only a beep rather than any form of greeting, Jason finally had an appointment with Shayne. The secretary had called him with the same cheerful attitude she had had the other times they had spoken and informed him that he was to meet Shayne at eight o'clock Friday evening at Neil's house.
Jason repeated the process of announcing himself into the speaker, driving up to the valet, and knocking with the pineapple just as he had the first time he visited the home. This time, though, instead of the door gradually gliding open and a subdued servant standing behind him, the door swung open nearly before he was able to finish kn
ocking and he found himself staring at a stunningly beautiful woman who didn't seem terribly pleased to see him standing on the front porch.
A very familiar, stunningly beautiful woman.
Jason's heart jumped to his throat. The morning after their tryst had been a pleasant one. She made him coffee before driving him back to his car, let him kiss her goodbye, and smiled at him as he climbed behind the wheel. But she never offered her phone number, and he had the feeling they were both supposed to walk away with nothing more than a pleasant memory. But he'd been thinking about her ever since, and he had already convinced himself to return to the bar to find her again.
"Mr. Cross," she said, her tone completely neutral, her face set in a perfect mask. If she recognized him, she gave no sign of it. In fact, she was so indifferent, that for a moment, he had to question himself. Was he mistaken? Maybe this was a different woman with a very strong, uncanny resemblance? But it couldn’t be—he noticed the freckle on her nose. The birthmark below her ear.
"Yes," Jason said with a bit of hesitation. "I'm here to meet with Shayne Simmons, I believe he's expecting me."
"Come in."
The woman stepped out of the way and Jason walked past her, taking in a breath of the spicy, yet distinctly feminine scent that she wore as he stepped into the foyer.
It almost made him dizzy and he had a flashback to the way she clenched around him, the way she screamed for him. He was so distracted by the memory that he thought he must have misheard her when she said, "I'm Shayne."
She held out her hand to him and Jason took it, wondering if he was caught in a strange nightmare. Or maybe this was a setup? Perhaps Vincent had discovered his one-night stand and concocted all of this in an elaborate attempt to drive Jason crazy and destroy his life? Jason honestly couldn't say Vincent wasn't capable of it, but he couldn't think of a single motive for the other man to go to all of the trouble.
"Hi," Jason said, knowing that his voice probably sounded higher and more tremulous that he would have wanted it to, but not able to control it.
"Shayne. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise. Let's speak in the parlor."
What the hell did that mean? Had she been drunk that night? Was that why she didn't remember him?
"Okay."
Shayne started toward the parlor and Jason followed her, taking a moment to appreciate the sway of her lush hips beneath her prim navy suit. Even in this weird bizarro-land, she made him itch to touch her. She had pinned her hair up into a severe knot at the back of her head and Jason couldn't help but remember what it looked like when she let her locks tumble down.
Jason entered the parlor and crossed to the same chair that he had sat in when he spoke to Neil, setting his briefcase at his feet again and reaching to release the clasp.
"I don't know how much your father has told you about the opportunity, but I brought along some information—"
"Let me stop you, Mr. Cross."
Shayne cut Jason off and he looked up at her, realizing that she hadn't sat down yet.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sure that you went to a lot of effort to put together a presentation, but I don't want to waste your time. I only asked you here tonight to let you know that we are not interested in this investment. I know that my father has built you up and told you that he is really excited, but I don't look at potential investments as opportunities to do something fun. I look at them as business, and frankly, an old family theme park is just not a good business to get involved with. I'm sorry, but we are not going to be making this investment."
"How do you know that it isn't a good business?" Jason asked. "Have you invested in a theme park before?"
"No, and for good reason. These parks are not sustainable."
"This one has been in continuous operation for more than a century."
"But it's failing. No amount of money can bring back the dead. It would be kinder to put the park out its misery and allow the old man running it to retire."
"You're right. Money can't bring back the dead. But I'm not interested in flushing your money down the toilet and I'm not here to waste your time, either. If I didn't think I had a sustainable business model, I would not have requested this meeting."
"So, you have a chart and some numbers. You make your commission whether or not you're right. My father stands to lose much more than he has to gain."
"Has it ever occurred to you that your father might value something more than money?"
She snorted. "Of course it has. That's why I'm the one who handles the money."
"And do you really think I'm here to scam your father out of his money?"
"Your intentions are none of my concern. I only care about the outcome."
"And you can predict the future?"
"It's not difficult to predict the future of a disintegrating amusement park in a poor economy."
"It's not as dire as you think. That's why I'm asking you to hear me out on this."
Suddenly, he was feeling far more involved in this account than he had ever thought he was going to, and the idea that Neil's daughter was ready to just reject him without even taking the time to hear what he had to say about the park was infuriating.
"I don't think that I need to hear anything more."
"What have you heard?"
"That it's a small family-owned theme park with attendance that is dwindling rapidly and has no discernable theme to build off of, which translates to a dying park with little to no chance of revival. An investment would be a waste of time and a waste of money."
"What about Mr. Kelsey and everything his family has worked for?"
Shayne's face remained cold and still.
"An investment would just be getting his hopes up to have them dashed even harder. It would be cruel to give him a sense that he could save his park when the truth is that those small family parks are dropping like flies and there's no stopping it. It’s kinder to just let the park die now so he can move on."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time." He exhaled slowly. "Is this because of...the other night?"
Her eyebrow twitched and he saw a crack in the mask for the first time. "It has nothing to do with that."
"Why didn't you tell me your real name?"
"I did. Only my father calls me Shayne."
"I like Mary better."
"If you think just because we..." She sighed and he caught a glimpse of the woman that had been so difficult to leave behind. "Jason, my father has lost millions of dollars to poorly made investments. He can't afford to lose anymore. Good luck. I hope you find what you're looking for and I hope the park is a huge success. But you won't find your investor here."
Jason could see the conversation was over. Knowing he'd lost the battle, feeling like he lost the war, too, he rose from his seat. "Thank you for your time. I can find my own way out."
****
Jason drove to Adventure Isle without a plan. He didn't know what to say to Mr. Kelsey. He wasn't quite prepared to admit defeat, but he didn't have much hope for a miracle, either. Some part of him thought that if he saw the park again, he might be struck by fresh inspiration, but deep down inside, he knew what the likely outcome of this meeting was. He didn't want to disappoint the older man, but Mary's—Shayne's—words kept circling in his mind. It was kinder to put the park—and by extension, Mr. Kelsey—out of his misery now, rather than string him along with half-baked promises and pointless hope.
There were fewer cars in the overgrown parking lot on this visit, which made sense as the sun was low on the horizon. Realizing how late it was, he hoped he hadn't made a mistake by driving all the way out to the boonies without at least making a call. He grabbed his phone and scrolled through the contacts, searching for Mr. Kelsey's phone number. The front booth was empty and the gate beneath the half-dark dragon was closed. Jason sighed. He supposed it would serve him right to waste an entire trip out there.
Mr. Kelsey picked up on the third ring. "Adventure Isle!"
&
nbsp; "Hi. It's Jason. I hate to just drop in on you, but I'm at the park and—"
"You're here? I'll be right out." The call disconnected, and moments later, the great gate swung open, admitting Jason inside. He shivered with a sense of déjà vu, thinking about the door to his father's den. "Jason! How wonderful it is to see you. Come in, come in."
His first tour through the park had been lackluster; now, it was just depressing to see the half-dead blinking lights and hear the rising and falling music playing for no one. "I was hoping to hear from you."
"I'm sorry, I don't have any good news to report."
Mr. Kelsey's face fell and Jason regretted driving out there more than ever. "No one wants to invest?"
"Not yet." And probably not ever. Was he ready to deliver that final blow? How much time could he spend on this account with his promotion, his entire career, in the balance? "A park like this...it's a difficult sell."
"What would make it an easier sell?"
That was a good question. Location would make a hell of a difference, but there wasn't anything they could do about that. The proximity to the city was helpful—a family could take a day trip—but it would have been better with other tourist attractions, or at least more lodging available. There were bigger, better parks available throughout the region, and most of them more conveniently located with up-to-date attractions.
"At this point...I'm not sure."
Their previous tour did not include Mr. Kelsey's office, but now he led Jason through a door marked PRIVATE and turned on the light. The walls of the office were covered in photographs from the past sixty years—some in black and white, some in color—most of them faded and worn around the edges. The photos marked the history of the park, chronicling the passage of each year, of every new and failing trend, of generation after generation. Jason's eyes roamed over the images until his gaze landed on a familiar face. He crossed the room and stood directly in front of it, staring intently, unable to believe his eyes.
