She replayed his voice in her head and hugged her pillow, her long black hair fanning out. Moaning York’s name, she fell asleep with a smile on her face.
*
York Jones untangled himself from the array of limp, sweaty limbs draped over his chest and got up from the bed. He stretched and yawned, then walked across the room to an open window and looked out. The view from the top floor of the old farmhouse stretched across rolling mountains of trees. Between the trunks grew head-high marijuana plants, raised from seeds he’d had shipped from Amsterdam. York took a deep breath, feeling like he could physically absorb the entire energy of the newborn day.
The sunlight reflecting off the surface of the slow, meandering river beyond the fields pleased his eye, and the pungent post-sex scent of the bed behind him filled him with animalistic pride. York thought about taking a shower, but decided that breakfast was more important. His all-night antics with the three young women still asleep in his bed had made him ravenous, and his stomach rumbled like a hungry bear.
He took another deep breath, looking down into the front yard when he heard a dog bark. January was walking Bruno, the huge, powerfully built Rottweiler straining at the leash, eager for his early morning run. It occurred to York that he hadn’t had January in a while and the slim, leggy blonde wearing the regulation black bikini and thigh-high boots was probably aching for him. He watched approvingly as she bent to pat the dog on the head, her bikini panties riding up into the cleft of her buttocks, the lean muscles in her endless, tanned legs and apple-shaped ass rippling in the sunlight. York made a mental note to take January again and soon. He was a busy man, but he always liked to keep up on his carnal duties.
He turned from the window and looked at the trio snoring softly on his bed. He had outdone himself the night before. His lovemaking had reached a level of almost divine prowess, and eventually, it was the women who had fallen asleep. York couldn’t remember how many times they’d had sex — each one in turn, sometimes all three together — and he allowed himself a quiet, gloating chuckle.
March stirred in her slumber and tried to roll over, but February was lying on her arm, so she gave up and returned to her dreams. Then August huffed in her sleep, apparently wanting a little more room, which she didn’t get, and York almost burst out laughing. He found his jeans and t-shirt mixed up with the collection of black bikini tops and bottoms in an untidy heap on the floor, dressed quickly and quietly, then padded barefoot from the bedroom and down the stairs to the kitchen.
The smell of frying bacon assailed his nostrils, and his stomach growled even louder. September was at the stove, and she smiled when she saw him come into the kitchen. Her deep-blue eyes glimmered with a sheen that did not look entirely natural, making her eyes appear brighter than they would normally. She’d tied her long, jet-black hair in a ponytail and wrapped a chef’s apron around her naked body to protect herself from the spitting fat.
September dropped to her knees when York approached and waited as he considered her for a moment while he munched hungrily on a strip of crispy bacon he’d fished out of the huge metal skillet. York chewed and swallowed the pork, then stepped away from the kneeling girl, who uttered a small, disappointed “Ooo!”
York patted her playfully on the head. “Thank you, September dear. I don’t want you to ruin my breakfast.” He turned and sat down at the kitchen table. Obediently, September jumped to her feet and continued to prepare his breakfast.
York watched from the table. Her ass was getting fat, he thought. Not by much, and nothing that a few days of good old-fashioned, manual labor couldn’t remedy, but he believed her backside had lost its trim firmness, and he noticed a lack of bounce when she moved. York concluded that kitchen duties were making her lazy and made a mental note to assign July to domestic activity and send September back out into the fields for a while. She brought him his plate — piled high with crispy bacon, sunny-side-up eggs, and warm, fresh bread — and placed it on the table.
“Thank you, my dear.” Without warning, he slapped her on the backside.
September waited a moment to see if her cooking had pleased him, secretly hoping he might choose her to be his girl for the day, but when he neither complained nor reached out to her, she bowed her head meekly and turned to pour his morning coffee.
York grunted his approval and dug into the feast on his plate with ravenous gusto. As he ate, he ran the plans for the day through his mind. The stables needed work; a bolt of lightning had damaged the roof and rain had begun to leak in. He thought about who he should assign to the task, then decided he would call for volunteers. He wasn’t sure if any of his girls were afraid of heights, and he didn’t want to take the risk. He knew that every single one of them would do anything he asked, even if it meant putting themselves in danger, and he couldn’t afford to let someone fall off the stable roof. Not now when the group was so close to being complete.
He tore off a chunk of bread and thought about the new girl, his eyes lighting up with anticipation. He relished the idea of having a new woman on The Farm, and he made a mental note to have a room prepared for the new arrival. York laughed suddenly. That was his third mental note, and he hadn’t even finished breakfast. He toyed with the idea of appointing himself a personal assistant.
September returned to the table with a cup of hot coffee and placed it beside his plate.
“Tell me,” York said, “if Jesus had a PA, who do you think it was?”
September thought about it for a moment, not really understanding the question. The name of the only disciple she could remember from bible class popped into her mind, and she smiled, her eyes sparkling with the effort of pleasing her master. “Judas?” she asked hesitantly.
York threw back his head and howled with loud, raucous laughter.
Chapter Three
The American Airlines Boeing 747 touched down at Los Angeles International Airport with a gentle bump and the screech of cold rubber on the warm runway. The California air seemed hot and dry after the moist smog of Washington D.C.. Lark was waiting to drive the men back to Zuma Beach, heading north from LAX before cutting over to the Pacific Coast Highway, where the waves pounding the shore were a welcome sight. Lark had the radio on and was softly singing along to some 60s rock station.
“Hippy chick?” Zach asked, amused that someone her age knew the lyrics to just about every old song the station played.
Lark nodded vigorously and flicked him a two-fingered peace sign. “Make love, not war, Boss.” She grinned.
Lark Pontana was good for the team, Zach thought. The brown-haired, brown-eyed woman was the personification of the girl next door. Her sweet, upbeat attitude and quirky personality took the dryness out of the job, even if her eccentricity did sometimes make them shake their heads in disbelief. Not to mention that she’d reorganized the office so efficiently that he never spent even a minute looking for anything anymore.
An hour later, they arrived at Zach’s two-story grey-and-white beach house, which was a short walk from the sands of the Pacific Ocean. The big selling point had been the detached two-story guesthouse, which he’d turned into the ZSI offices. His employees lived close by, Slice and Cable both in Malibu, Lark the farthest away in Topanga Canyon, which fit her hippy lifestyle.
A few years ago, Zach had left the Sunshine state and the Florida Keys for Zuma Beach, a sandy paradise north of Malibu. He’d been looking for change, and as it turned out, that had been a good decision. It hadn’t taken Zach long to convince the two men he had served with — his best friend, Slice, and a fellow ex-SEAL, Cable — to form ZSI. Both were men he trusted with his life, and they had never let him down, nor he them. After a high-profile case, the company had taken off and now had a growing roster of A-list clients.
When they walked into the office, Zach’s assessment of Lark’s personality was proven right once again. He and Cable headed straight to their desks, and Lark sat down at her laptop to finish the work she had interrupted to go to the airport. But Slice stopped
in his tracks as his eye was caught by something shiny and red on Lark’s desk.
“Um… is that a vibrator, Lark?” he asked.
She nodded without looking up from the email she was working on. “Sure is. Ever tried one?”
“Hell, no!” Slice near-shrieked, totally taken aback by her question and wondering if his masculinity was under a sneak attack.
“Me neither,” Lark said, continuing to type.
Zach was still in the process of emptying his briefcase when he heard their voices floating down the hall. He stuck his head into the corridor and saw Cable in the open doorway of his office. He motioned with a flick of his head for Zach to come listen.
“Then what is it doing on your desk, Lark?” Slice asked.
“Oh, I thought I’d give it a try.”
“Pardon me?” Slice wasn’t sure which unsettled him more, Lark’s incredibly honest answer or the totally casual tone in which she’d said it.
She finished her email and turned to look up at Slice. “Well, I’ve read all the reviews online, and this seems to be a good, reliable model. But the proof is in the pudding, right?”
“Proof is in the what?”
“Pudding.”
“I guess…” By that point, Slice was rapidly losing the thread of the conversation and was starting to wish he’d never asked.
Lark got up from her desk and walked across to the office printer to begin a large pile of copying. “I have this friend who works at Jane’s in Topanga. You know, the sex shop?”
“Sure, I know Jane’s,” Slice answered, and then added, “I mean, I bought some stuff there one time.”
“Oooh! Slice! How liberated! I like a man who’s not afraid to experiment with his own sexuality.” Lark turned from the stack of copies to give Slice an admiring smile.
“Huh? What?” Slice asked before fully processing what Lark had said. “Hey, no! Not for me. For a friend –– her birthday!”
Down the corridor, just out of sight, Cable and Zach listened, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, okay. Whatever. Anyhow, I was just going to try it out,” Lark said, dumping a stack of files into a filing cabinet. “Would you like to watch?”
“Pardon me?” Slice’s voice croaked. His mouth had suddenly gone very dry.
“The vibrator, I’m going to give it a try. I asked if you wanted to watch.” Lark stopped and looked at Slice. “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
Cable lifted an inquiring eyebrow at Zach, who shrugged and shook his head, as if to say, “Hell, Cable, I haven’t the faintest idea what’s going on, either.” The two men began to inch their way towards the reception area. They hadn’t gotten very far when they heard a low-pitched buzzing noise, the unmistakable sound of an active vibrator.
Above the noise, Lark continued to talk. “Ooo… yeah, that’s good… It works really well… such a strong vibe.”
Zach stopped dead in his tracks. Do I really want to see this? Do I really want to see Lark using a vibrator in the office? In my office? Lark was still out of view, but Zach could see Slice, who was now laughing and egging her on.
“Yeah, Lark, that’s good. You go for it, girl. Stick it in deep, maybe wiggle it about a little bit, huh?”
Zach had heard enough. He craned his neck to see into the reception area. Lark stood beside the palm tree by the window, holding the vibrator with the tip buried an inch or two in the soft, dark soil of Fish’s pot. Her first day on the job, she’d dragged the palm up the stairs and declared them to be an “item.” Zach had never understood what that meant and never asked.
She looked up and saw Zach peeking around the corner. “Oh, hi, Zach. Have you come to watch, too?”
“Lark,” Zach said, not really believing what he was seeing, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Aerating. I read online that using a vibrator is a great way of getting more oxygen into the soil. It seems to be working too. Fish loves it; I can feel he does.”
Zach didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He simply stood and watched as Lark worked the buzzing vibrator around the stem of her beloved plant. From down the hall, he could hear the half-hysterical sound of Cable’s booming laughter.
Chapter Four
Avalon Rossi was in a foul mood; her Italian temper was about to get the best of her. She had been on her way to meet her boyfriend, Zach, at his beach house when she got pulled over for driving too fast. The dumb-ass cop hadn’t recognized her, didn’t even know she was an assistant district attorney. When Avalon had succinctly pointed out this fact, the cop merely shrugged and handed her the ticket anyway.
“No one is above the law, ma’am. Have a nice day.” He’d touched a finger to the brim of his hat. She had been furious, her brown eyes sparking with anger that did not diminish when she saw that the cop was trailing her, making sure she kept below the speed limit. When she finally turned off the highway in Zuma, the cop waved and sped past her with a huge grin on his face. Avalon was livid and thought about filing a report. She wanted to wipe that stupid cheesy smile off the bastard’s fat face. But she knew it would lead nowhere; besides, no one was above the law, she reminded herself, and that included her. She gave the idea up as a waste of time. Petty revenge had a way of coming back and slapping you when you least expected it.
Just to make matters worse, when she got out of her car at the beach house, she snapped a heel and stumbled backwards onto her ass. She sat for a moment in the middle of the driveway, took a deep breath, and then gave a loud yell of pain and furious indignation. Those were her favorite shoes! When she thought she had all the pent-up frustration out of her system, Avalon got back up, primly dusted off the backside of her skirt, and hobbled into the beach house, still mumbling a string of extremely unladylike expletives under her breath.
Zach was waiting with a glass of wine and a soothing hug, but Avalon broke off too soon and stomped barefoot around his living room while Zach waited patiently for her to calm down. He sat quietly on the couch and looked out the huge bay window at the ocean, less than fifty yards away. But his gaze was not on the deep blue mass of water; Zach’s eyes were following Avalon’s reflection in the glass. Eventually, he thought it was safe to speak to her.
“How was the session today?” he asked.
“Please, Zach, I’d rather not go there right now,” Avalon said, talking to the back of his head.
“Okay. Just tell me if you think it’s working out with that doctor. Dr. Phillips, is it?”
“Phillips, yes. It’s okay, Zach. It’s no big deal; I just have a few issues we’re working through.”
Zach stood and walked around to the back of the couch. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at her quizzically. “I’m not bothered about you seeing a therapist, Avalon. If you think you need that, then I’m fine with it. But I have my doubts about whether you’re seeing the right guy.”
Avalon stopped pacing and stared at Zach. “What the hell makes you say that?” she shouted, her anger boiling over again.
Zach could see the fire in her eyes, and he immediately regretted bringing the subject up. He sighed, but saw no other way out but to press on. “Because every time you come back from one of your sessions, you’re as raw and touchy as an alligator with a sore tooth.” He paused and looked at her, waiting for her to react. He could see that she was biting back her response and fighting to maintain control. He was becoming increasingly concerned; he’d never seen Avalon behave like this before, and maybe now was not the right time to discuss it. “Okay. Let’s drop it,” he said, holding out his hand in an appeasing gesture.
“Bullshit we’ll drop it. If you have something to say, then just say it.”
He sighed and tried a smile, but Avalon did not respond favorably.
“Oh, fucking great,” she cursed. “First the dickhead cop and now my dickhead boyfriend. All I really needed was another shit-faced smile.”
“What did you just say?” Zach asked. His tone had gone cold.
“Nothin
g,” Avalon replied. She looked down at the floor. “I’d better leave.” She picked up her jacket from the back of a chair and turned to go.
“Wait.”
The force of his voice made Avalon stop and turn around. “We’re done here, Zach. I’m leaving,” she said, but she sounded unsure.
“Put down the jacket, Avalon. Come here.” He pointed to a space directly in front of him.
Avalon knew she had gone too far, but she wasn’t in the mood to apologize. All she wanted to do was walk away, but there was something about the look in Zach’s eyes that sent a shiver up her spine. She hesitated, uncertain what to do next.
“I said, come here!” Louder this time, and it was clear he wasn’t asking. Zach was giving an order.
Avalon shrugged, feigning exasperation, but that glint in his eye looked kind of dangerous, and slowly, reluctantly, she walked over to where he was standing by the couch. “Look,” she started, “I’m sorry I said—” She didn’t get any further.
Zach grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. Before she had time to react, Avalon found herself bent over the back of the couch with Zach pressing her down with the flat of his strong hand between her shoulder blades.
“Zach!” she exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Do you want this or not?” Zach asked calmly from behind her.
Avalon fought back. She tried to twist around, her arms flailing wildly, then suddenly settled. “Yes,” she whimpered, “but not very hard.”
His hand landed with a quick swat on her bottom.
“Ouch! That hurts!”
“It’s supposed to. Now, lift your skirt.”
She lay over the back of the couch like a life-sized puppet, trembling, wanting this and not wanting it, more in love with her boyfriend than ever because he knew what she needed and was willing to give it to her. One night, after too many glasses of wine, she’d shared her dark desires; she never would’ve been able to tell him sober. He’d had her make a list of her likes and dislikes, and the next weekend, he’d worked meticulously through her sexual kinks, fulfilling each one. She had already been in love, but that weekend cemented her feelings.
Mission Paradise Page 2