Lisa Wells - Dib

by Lisa Wells

  When he got his hands on her, he was going to give her an ultimatum, you either have an orgasm or you tell me the truth. None of this bullshit, everybody’s happy drama.

  If she wanted an orgasm, all she had to do was work with him to get it. If it meant her giving him instructions on what it took to make it happen, well, he’d listen. He wasn’t too proud to ask for directions. The important thing was for them both to feel satisfied when it was over.

  Curiosity nagged him to open the envelope. Maybe it held the clues to her needs.

  Stubbornness caused him to ignore it. The damn woman had called him Tom, then stuck him on a separate plane, and made him doubt his manhood. Games weren’t his idea of foreplay. Sex, was his idea of foreplay.

  He’d get around to reading the letter. Just not yet. He would wait until the plane was air born. He was thirty years old, too old to be playing games. He should have told Lacey that upfront.

  What was it about her and orgasms? Had she ever had one? Was she frigid?

  “May I get you a beverage?”

  Covey forced a smile. This flight attendant was as cute as the first. And by the looks of her ring finger, just as single. “Have you ever faked an orgasm with a man?” he asked.

  The smile on her face disappeared and she turned to the row beside her to take their beverage order.

  Under normal circumstances, he would make it a point to get both attendant’s names and phone numbers before he exited the plane. Today, however, he was making bad impressions with both of them. When she turned back to him, he smiled apologetically. “I’ll have a Scotch, and I’m sorry. I was out of line asking you that.”

  “Every woman’s faked an orgasm at least once,” she said, as she handed him the drink.

  “How can a man tell when a woman’s faking it?” he asked.

  “You can’t,” she said, and then pushed the cart down the aisle to the next row of seats.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Covey muttered.

  The seat next to him was empty. Lacey should be sitting in that seat. Then, he could just ask her about her sexual history. He tried to stretch his legs. Even in first class, his long legs were cramped. Since hitting the big-time in the music world, he’d become spoiled. If he was going to fly, he preferred flying his own jet. There was more room and more privacy. Had Lacey ever been done in a plane? He found it amusing she didn’t recognize his name. It was a little bruising to the ego. Sure, there were other men named Covey James, and he’d done what he could to be as different from the real Covey James as possible.

  “Sir, would you like me to hang your jacket up?”

  Covey declined. “No, I’ll just put it under the seat,” he leaned down to stash the coat. When the plane landed, he wanted to make a quick exit. He didn’t want to have to stop and get things out of the overhead bin.

  Lying on the floor, under the seat directly in front of him, was another envelope. He picked it up. No name was written on the front of it, but it smelled of Lacey. Unable to resist this one, he opened it up.

  Tom,

  Get some rest on the plane; you’re going to need it.

  Lacey V.

  Covey swore under his breath and crumbled up the note. If he never heard the name Tom again, it would be too soon.

  He glared out the window and watched the clouds come and go. New York was one of his favorite cities to visit. Probably, because he could bring women here, show them a good time, and avoid all of the tabloid gossip that happened when he was spotted in his own state with women. Texas had spies everywhere. Most were hired by his grandmother. Or, that was his theory. She was always trying to keep tabs on her grandsons, and she wasn’t above hiring a private eye to do it. None of them had ever been able to prove their theory, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t accurate.

  Finally, giving in to curiosity, he fished the second letter out of his pocket and tore open the envelope. A flimsy sheet of green paper lay inside. He read:

  I was once floating lazily down the BuffaloRiver when the water rose unexpectedly. My canoe tipped over and went down the river without me. I floundered for dry ground.

  Cold and scared, I sat on the riverbank for two hours waiting for someone to come by who would give me a lift down the river to my camp. A nice couple from Peculiar, Missouri rescued me that day.

  Ever since then, I have fantasized about how it would have been had I instead been rescued by a fun-loving hunk. Now, I’ve done it again. I’m stranded on a secluded riverbank, and I need you to rescue me.

  Please hurry and be my hero.

  Lacey V.

  Covey stared at the note and shook his head. There was no way he was going to do that. He would contact her and let her know this fantasy was a no go.

  She was crazy. Sexy, but crazy. Definitely, crazy.

  He checked his watch. The plane couldn’t land quick enough. He needed to find a way to contact Lacey from the airport.

  Stranded on a riverbank? The fantasy sounded intriguing and fresh. And, with the right couple, it would work. Casp would have enjoyed being stranded on a riverbank with Lacey. He was a camping fool. Give him a tent and a campfire and he was happy.

  Lacey could sell this fantasy to one of her customers. Just not to him. He didn’t do canoes. Covey picked up his drink and pictured Lacey alone on a riverbank.

  Alone and naked.

  Alone and naked on a riverbank.

  Alone and naked on a riverbank in the moonlight.

  Alone and naked on a river bank in the moonlight with blonde strands of hair curling around her breasts.

  He replayed that image several times. It was a good one. Damn, he wished he could indulge her on this fantasy.

  He couldn’t. It wasn’t just because he preferred hotel rooms and chlorinated water. There was more to it than that. He didn’t do canoes. He’d almost died when he was ten from the undertow of a river. His mother did die. He didn’t do rivers.

  It was imperative he reach her before she took off down the river. Leaving her stranded was not what he wanted to do. A stranded, naked Lacey on a riverbank may not be willing to finish the weekend with him. He really wanted to see what other fantasies she had planned and to make her desire explode.

  Who was going to rescue her if he didn’t? How would they meet up again if he didn’t rescue her? Dammit, she should have asked him if he did rivers. Some people are afraid of the dark, some spiders, some death, his thing was rivers. He could feel the fear lurking just waiting to jerk him under the water.

  Chapter 12

  Lacey hopped into her canoe and sat squarely in the center of the back bench. If all went according to plan, she’d have her orgasm back in a couple of hours.

  She waved cheerfully to her cab driver who was standing with his thumbs hooked in the straps of his overhauls. His face covered in a protective scowl.

  “Bye,” she said, before sticking the tip of her paddle into the bank and pushing her canoe out into the flow of water.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea? A man died this summer when he got trapped against a tree.”

  “Really? How?” Lacey asked, as she got the feel for the boat.

  “Boat tipped, current sucked him under a tree where he got trapped.”

  “That’s horrible.” Lacey didn’t want to think about it. The normal consequences of not knowing how to canoe was flipping the boat and getting wet. Once in a while, there’d be a tragedy and someone would die. Usually, the tragedies happened early in the spring when there was a lot of rain and the rivers were up.

  The cab driver spat tobacco on the ground. He reminded her of Botox. All growl and no bite. “Hell, yeah, it’s horrible,” he said.

  Lacey could tell he was genuinely worried, and she didn’t want him to spend his night worrying about her. She did some back paddling to keep the canoe from moving and did what she could to ease his mind. “The sun’s still up, I can see, and I know how to swim if I dump. I grew up on the river.”

  He spat again. “Why don’t you
wait for your man friend? It’ll be safer if the two of you float together?”

  It was safer to float with two. But, he wasn’t thinking safety in numbers, he was making the assumption Lacey was the beginner and her man would be the expert. He was another form of a good ol’ boy. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine; I grew up on this stretch of the river. Just go back and pick him up at the airport, drop him off here, and send him down the river to find me.” Lacey stopped back paddling and let her canoe float into the current.

  “Those rapids are serious, we’ve had a lot of rain” he barked.

  “Okay,” Lacey shouted back.

  The rapids, in question, were upon her within moments. They were a little tricky, but they were short. On a scale of one to ten, they were only a seven. “Surely, anyone can manage to get through them unharmed,” she said, while expertly maneuvering the paddle to allow the canoe to slide through the fast moving water without a hitch.

  It was too bad someone had died on such a simple stretch of the river. He must have been a real novice. Or, real drunk.

  When the sun disappeared, she looked up at the sky and grimaced. There were a lot of clouds moving in. The sun would be down soon; a cloudy night could hinder Covey’s progress down the river. Hopefully, his plane was on time and he’d be on the river long before the moon was an issue. Even a seasoned floater might find it difficult, or impossible, to maneuver in total darkness.

  With the recent rains, the driver was right, the river was moving at a quick pace. Even the normally quiet parts of the river were bubbling with a spitfire attitude. She probably should have checked on the water level one last time before she embarked on the float trip.

  What would happen if Covey knew nothing about paddling a canoe? Would the rapids flip him? Maybe. Probably not. Unless, of course, he panicked and tried to do something stupid.

  If all went well, Covey would find her and they would enjoy a moonlit float down the river to the luxurious camp she had waiting.

  Tonight, they would try out the duplicate to the new sex toy she had ordered for the Burdette’s.

  She had been saving it for her honeymoon. It was an invention that sent its designer into the multi-millionaire club. There was a current two-month waiting list to obtain the gismo. Lacey lucked out and got hers before they went on sale to the public. She knew the distributor.

  Tonight, she would see first-hand if it delivered on all of its promises. Anticipation spread like warm chocolate syrup on ice cream through her body puddling in anticipation between her legs.

  The riverbank she was going to be stranded on while waiting for Covey was a white sand bar. During the summer months, it was a hot spot of sunbathing college students. This time of year, it would be deserted and the trees would be decked out in their early fall colors.

  It took her about forty minutes of paddling to get to it. With ease, she lodged her canoe and hopped out.

  She pulled her cell phone out of her dry bag to call Maddison with an update. “Damn, it’s out of range.” Maddison would have to wait.

  She dropped her phone back into the water tight bag and went to work unloading the canoe. Then, she pushed the canoe back into the current and watched it float away.

  Once again, she was stranded. A shiver ran through her. There was no backing out now.

  She thought about Marty and his new wife. Were they happy? Would they be happier than her and Marty would have been? There were times when she wished she hadn’t come home that day and everything could have stayed the same. Days when she wished her life could go back to an uncomplicated relationship and a sure future.

  And then she’d remember the sound of them reaching orgasm together and the bimbo coming out from under the covers with him all over her face. It was the memory that always brought her out of her what could have been moods. There was no way she wanted to spend a lifetime with someone who would do that in his fiancé’s house, his fiancé’s bedroom, his fiancé’s bed. The man was a loser. She was better off stranded on a riverbank looking for a man who could give her an orgasm. Even if she was searching it out with a good ol’ boy that would probably do the same thing to his fiancé given the chance. Was there such a thing as a trustworthy man? Were they all susceptible to big boobs and lips that’ll pucker?

  At least Covey was her Mr. Wrong and she knew it. There was no way he could hurt her. Shaking off the melancholy blues, she opened the cooler and checked its inventory: wine, beer, cheese, peanuts, coffee, and whip cream. In the dry bag were some clothes, a CD player, and several CDs. They would listen to 80s love songs as they floated down the river.

  What if he only liked country songs? She hadn’t brought any country music. I don’t own any country music. They would just turn it off if they couldn’t agree on music. They would listen to the crickets. The sounds of nature would go divinely with the bottle of wine she had chilling on ice.

  Lacey allowed herself to think of the possibility she might really be stranded if Covey refused to come.

  She would just sleep on the river bank if he didn’t come. Tomorrow, she would figure out a solution. But, that wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t going to be necessary. Covey will come. He has to. He’s the hero type.

  The thought of him naked in the moonlight filled her with memories of the limo ride. She was shocked she’d gone through with it. She was proud of herself for getting into character and hanging with it. It hadn’t been easy. There were moments she dissolved back into Lacey Valentine, but ninety percent of the time she’d been a college virgin.

  Covey should have been more specific with the vegetable he picked to describe himself. He was hung as well as any model she’d ever seen in Playgirl. Perhaps, that’s why he didn’t mention a veggie. Which one would have really done him justice?

  There was little wonder she’d almost gotten her O back. If she’d been a normal woman, he would have given her many orgasms during the short drive to the airport.

  With a penis like his, he could give a nun an orgasm. He’ll manage to give a head case like me one.

  Chapter 13

  Covey stared at the driver in disbelief. “What do you mean, she can’t be contacted? We have to contact her.” He pulled out a hundred dollar bill and held it out to the man.

  The driver looked at him with exasperation. “Keep your money. I watched her float down the river over an hour ago. You can’t contact her; you have to find her.” The driver shook his head. “You damn kids and the games you play these days. It is damn dangerous for her to be out there stranded on a river bank in the dark.” He took a can out of his back pocket and stuffed a wad of chewing tobacco in the corner of his mouth.

  “Dangerous? How?” Covey snapped while putting the money away. He knew the answer. He just didn’t want to believe he was in this situation.

  “Well, anything could happen to her. Some idiot could float down the river and attack her. She could get bit by a snake. You’d better hurry up and go save your lady.”

  Covey felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. He hadn’t even thought of those dangers. His mind was consumed with the danger of the currents hiding underneath the inky water. “Why did you let her take off on her own if it’s so dangerous? Are there a lot of weirdoes on this river?”

  “It’s hard to say this time of year. Might have some out there doing illegal drugs and shit. She’s bull-headed, that little gal of yours. Wouldn’t listen to a word I said. I tried all the way from the airport to talk her out of it.”

  “Fucking great. I have no desire to get into that contraption and float down a river.” He’d never been in a canoe.

  The driver guffawed. “You’re kidding right? A big strapping boy like you’s afraid of the water.”

  Covey clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “Do I look like I’m kidding?” His childhood nightmares weren’t any of this man’s business.

  The driver’s expressive face sobered. He spat on the ground and scratched his bald head. “Hell, what are you, some city boy dressed up like a
cowboy?”

  “What does being a cowboy have to do with canoes and rivers?”

  “Well, if you’re the real thing, you’ve got it in your genetics to float a river. Just hop in and start paddling. Paddle against the water when you want to turn. You’ll get the hang of it in no time. You know how to swim don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Covey answered. He preferred doing his swimming in chlorinated pools where there were no surprise twisters lurking, ready to grab you by the ankles, and suck you into oblivion.

  “Then buck up and get going. It’ll come natural to you after a while. If you flip your boat hang on to it and let it float you down the river. I’d go find her myself, but it’s my anniversary. Promised the old lady I’d take her to town for the liver and onions special at Joes.

  Covey couldn’t’ believe he was taking river survival tips from a man who thought liver and onions were an anniversary dinner specialty. His doubt must have showed on his face, because the driver’s smile flipped upside down and he said something under his breath.

  Covey couldn’t hear which was probably just as well.

  He was torn between dread and decency. Lucky for Little Miss Fantasy Coordinator, decency won out. “I’ll figure it out. Like you said, it’ll probably come naturally to me.” He was a strong swimmer. What were the chances one person would get caught in an undertow twice in one lifetime? Lacey better hope the chance was zero.

  When he got his hands on her, he was going to choke her. Right after I have my way with her. And, the damn woman had better not fake an orgasm on him. He wasn’t the type of man women had to fake orgasms with. Never had been and he wasn’t going to start now.