by Kira Blakely
“Didn’t you say you married someone from this island?”
Cheryl sticks out her hand, and I see the tan line of a wedding ring. “Twelve years,” she boasts, though I find it hard to believe she’s even a day over thirty. “And we had a lot of sex before we got married. I told you, babe. I met him here.”
That makes me feel a little better.
I purse my lips and then I launch into my next line of questioning. “And were you weird about sex? When you first lost it?”
“Oh, yeah,” Cheryl answers. “I didn’t know what I was doing.” She smiles over at me and squeezes my shoulder. “But there isn’t too much to learn, especially if you’re vanilla.”
I might not be vanilla. She doesn’t know. I’m here, aren’t I? Would I be here if I was “vanilla”?
“It comes naturally, because we’ve been doing it for years,” Cheryl says, still tugging me along the beach. “So, just relax and follow your instincts. I bet, if Stuart could hear you right now, he’d be shocked. I bet you two were so wild last night, it didn’t even resemble a vanilla virgin’s first time.”
I lost my virginity hog-tied with a Christmas bow.
“Definitely not,” I agree. My spirits lift, and I thank Cheryl for her kind words, for taking the time to listen to me.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Cheryl says. “My husband and I have been coming here to blow off steam for years, and girl, I’ve heard it all. I’ve seen it all.” She tosses me a wink and splashes back into the waves, like a mermaid, like the ocean is her true home. “Especially at those Christmas balls,” she calls over her shoulder, then dives beneath a wave and strokes through the shallows, leaving me wondering... how will the Christmas ball be?
Chapter Nine
Stuart
Leo doesn’t often involve himself in the events and festivities of Mystique Island, preferring to watch from the shadows, as every good host does: curating, regulating, and making considerations for improvement.
The only reason I know where he is and how to find him is that we’re friends... at least, I think that’s why. Maybe he’s friends with every billionaire on the island. He’s so mysterious, it’s hard to tell why any of us are here, how any of us got to be as lucky as we are when we’re on this patch of soil, floating in the middle of the deep blue sea.
In a way, Leo is a lot like the island itself: shrouded in mystery, and mostly concerned with the pleasure of his guests.
His office overlooks the central strip of beach, located in the top penthouse of the main beach house, where most of the events are held throughout the year. The thing is massive, and no valet will help anyone who is looking to find Leo di Reyes, so I have to remember the trek all the way to his office by myself.
It might sound like I’m bitching but it does require me to take two different elevators and to decipher some Italian signs. I find him behind the massive oak door which reads UFFICIO PRINCIPALE, in a leather high-back chair turned away from me. He’s either gazing out onto the beach or checking through a document.
I see his vague reflection in the window: dark hair, and his fingers form a steeple beneath his chin. Still, I don’t need to see him too clearly. We’ve known each other for years now.
“Do you have a moment for me, Leo?” I wonder, and he lifts one finger.
“That’s not enough snow,” he roughly answers someone else, and I realize he must be speaking through a Bluetooth earpiece. “We need at least a ton. It’s got to fill a beach house. Dannazoine, dai, figli di cagne!” He yells curses in Italian and his voice becomes loud and choppy with frustration. Then a studious, quiet: “Uh huh. Uh huh. I see. All right. I’m fine with that. When will it be here? Fantastic.”
As soon as the conversation is over, the reflection in the glass shifts but Leo doesn’t turn to speak to me directly. He keeps watching out the window. “Sorry I can’t really focus on you,” he tells me. “We’re scouring the island for a rogue third wheel right now.”
“A... rogue third wheel?”
“One of our guests—a first-timer, naturally—keeps inviting himself into sexual exploits when he’s not welcome,” Leo explains. “We’ll find him. But yes. Rogue third wheel. So, Stuart. To what do I owe the pleasure? Did your Wish List arrive, fulfilled?”
“Yes, sir, and then some,” I say. “It’s been like a dream. Wrapped in that ribbon? Inspired choice.”
“Grazie,” Leo replies. “But, if I may be so bold, why are you here, talking to me, instead of at your villa, balls deep in her?”
I smirk. He’s a wise man. “Well... she seems kind of freaked out, and I’m not sure how to help her.”
“I’ve always found that a nice candlelit bubble bath and some baby oil could go a long way,” Leo recommends. “And if that fails, there’s always ball gags.”
He gets me to laugh, I’ll give him that, but the answer isn’t going to help me out at all.
“Look,” I explain. “She was a virgin, and kind of vanilla. I think she might have even been saving herself for her husband, and now, she’s getting gun-shy about all of this. Overwhelmed.”
“You might be surprised by how many women are amazed to find themselves here after a few hours go by,” Leo agrees. “Most of them, probably, are shocked... and they begin to open up into new women, if they can. Or they go home, if they can’t.”
“I don’t want her to go home,” I immediately say. “I... I want to see her again. Before this, we were just acquaintances but I can’t go back now. I can’t go back to barely knowing her. I can’t go back to never seeing her.”
“Then give her whatever she wants,” Leo says. “That’s the True North of a woman’s heart.”
Damn... Can I give Rose what she wants? I’m not sure. I’m not sure what she wants.
“When in doubt,” Leo advises, “I choose jewelry, my man. There’s a nice boutique on the first floor. Try some pretty earrings. Diamonds never fail. Hell, that’s why I sprinkle some on all the invitations. Get out of here. You’re golden.” He swirls a finger in the air to indicate that I turn around. When I do, there’s a valet standing, waiting for me with a perky smile. “One of the staff members will be able to help you with the cases.”
“Yes, sir,” the valet chirps.
I’m a little baffled by Leo’s smoothness but I’ll buy it and I turn to the valet, allowing him to lead me through this labyrinth of a beach house. In spite of how much I trust Leo’s intuition, I have a sneaking suspicion that earrings aren’t what a girl like Rose Parsons wants.
Chapter Ten
Rose
It’s almost dark outside by the time Stuart returns, and I fold down the copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover that I found up in the master bathroom—for “light” reading material, I guess. I’m sprawled in our bed, wearing a simple, white silk negligee. I hope this crazy island doesn’t mind if I take this thing home with me. I think it’s genuine silk.
Most of the lights in the villa are off, and we don’t have a television in here but I’ve lit some candles and already taken my bath for the evening. I’m ready to fold up and turn in. I could brave that beach during daylight hours, but you couldn’t pay me to go there at night. I bet it’s filled with the shadows of humping lovers. No, thanks. I’ll just be here if Stuart wants to go out into what I can only imagine as a sweating, heaving mass.
“Hey,” I say, a natural smile blooming on my lips.
It doesn’t even occur to me to suspect that he might have done something with someone else. I trust him. And it helps a little bit that Wish Lists are binding. It probably helps convince women who are on the fence—like I was. “Where have you been? I was getting worried.”
“No need to worry, love,” he replies. “I needed to get some help from an old friend. Did you know there’s a shopping center here?”
My mouth slants to one side. He doesn’t have any bags, which is weird for someone who spent at least a few hours shopping. “I’m almost totally broke every year by the time Christmas rolls around, so… It
doesn’t matter for me. But I can walk with you tomorrow if you want to go see what they have.”
His eyes warm with sympathy. “I’m sorry I was gone for so much of Christmas Eve. Why don’t we go relax by the tree? I’ll start a fire.”
I smirk but I also crawl over to the side of the bed. He absorbs even this simple gesture with an appreciative gaze, and that warms my heart. I know that he desires me.
“Isn’t it a little warm for a fire?” I wonder.
“It’s…” A little blush touches on Stuart’s cheeks and excites me. “It’s one of those optical illusion fireplaces. But I can still start it.”
“By pushing the button?” I tease him as I pass, nudging against him.
He snatches after me but I’m already out of the room and moving toward the den.
“That’s right,” he says. “By pushing the button.”
We move together down to the den and he “fires up” the fireplace, which dances warmly in tones of blue and orange. I think it might be a hologram but I don’t care. It’s beautiful.
Stuart’s strong arms snake around me, and he draws me back against his warm chest. I melt into him and exhale, getting so loose and comfortable now.
“What did you do today?” he wonders. “While I was gone?”
I purse my lips and lift my chin. I don’t want to look like a little baby girl to him. “I went out for a little while, and I made a friend. A woman named Cheryl. She’s been coming here for twelve years, and she met her husband here.” I exhale and let my head fall back on his shoulder, deciding to tell him the truth. He can probably already guess. “That made me feel a little better, at least.”
“Making a friend?”
“Knowing that someone here actually met their husband.” I swing my eyes up to Stuart. I’m really enjoying all of this—the tree, the lights, the fire—but it’s just an illusion. “It seems like the kind of a place that only exists for a few weekends out of the year, the kind of place where nothing matters, and no one is an actual person.”
“That’s not why I invited you here,” Stuart says. “You know that.”
“Do I?” I shrug. “Okay.” I force a smile, even though I might be a fool who gave up her virginity to a sexy man who might as well have been a stranger.
“I have something that I want to show you.”
Stuart shifts away from me, and I twist toward him, furrowing my brow as he roots in his linen pants for something. The pockets are deep, and I didn’t notice the bulge before but he pulls out a black velvet ring box. What the heck?
“What are you doing?” I demand to know.
This can’t be what it looks like… but Stuart descends to one knee and my fingers fly to my lips. The black velvet ring box pops open and there’s a fat diamond ring sparkling inside. It’s surreal.
“Rose Parsons, will you marry me?” he asks, and I burst out laughing in his face. I can’t help it—I’m so shocked! What could he possibly be thinking?
I know I’ve been weird about losing my virginity before marriage… but that doesn’t mean we need to rush and get married, either.
“Very nice,” Stuart says, flatly. “Laugh it up.”
“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” I say, covering my mouth so that he won’t be able to see how I can’t stop smiling. I just can’t believe him. “You took me by surprise. That’s all.”
“I know that you want to predicate sex on an important relationship,” Stuart explains to me. “Inviting you here may have been a mistake on my part. Maybe it gave you the wrong kind of idea for my intentions. I don’t just want you in the bedroom, Rose. I want you everywhere. I want you with me. For as long as you’ll stay.”
I smile softly, and my hands slip from my lips. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know a lot more than you think.”
He goes on to tell me my entire history, as if we stayed up all night talking. He knows about my biological parents. He knows about my adoptive parents. He even knows about my grades and my extracurricular activities.
“You’re kind, hard-working, and a woman of true principle,” Stuart tells me, eyes shining hard on me. “It’s not just because you’re beautiful, although I have also never seen a more beautiful woman. It’s also you. I just want you.”
“How did you know all that stuff about me?” I have to know.
“My security team pulls a bio on everyone,” he explains. “But yours was special. You’re special.”
Tentatively, I pull the ring from its black velvet box and examine that chunky thing. It’s mind-boggling, and I want to slip it on but I don’t want to give him the wrong idea. There’s no way I can just marry him like that. I’m still in college. He’s a freaking billionaire. And maybe he does know me—but I don’t really know him. Not yet.
“Look, Stuart…” I let the ring travel up my finger and hold my hand at a distance, admiring how the stone twinkles. I do feel—precious. Claimed. But I can’t settle for that. I have to claim him, as well, and I just can’t. Not yet. “I need to know that what is happening here isn’t just a weekend fling with a girl you know. But I don’t need to get married. Not right now, anyway. It would be nice to feel like I almost waited, since you’d be my fiancé, but it’s still too soon.”
“Then keep the ring and I’ll make you a promise,” Stuart says, lacing his fingers through mine and tugging me back against his chest. “If you’ll have me, I will marry you someday.”
Chapter Eleven
Stuart
Rose Parsons looks different to me with that gleaming ring on her finger. The change is immediate and almost transformative. Rose Goldman. The name sings to me, like destiny, and I grasp her jeweled hand in mine, threading our fingers together.
“We don’t have to make any decisions now,” I say. “But I do want you, Rose.” I lose myself in those big, innocent fawn eyes, and then my gaze flashes naturally down to her shapely pink lips. “More than a weekend,” I go on. I roll the golden band back and forth on her finger, mesmerized by it. “More than words can say.”
I scoop her up into my lap and she giggles and shrieks, startled by the sudden motion. Her white silk negligee falls open at the crux of her thighs and she straddles me, the sleek material falling to either side.
“I want you, too,” she whispers. “More than words.”
I’m inside her in an instant, folding flat back onto the floor. Her body undulates in the two-toned firelight, that filmy negligee leaving only the perfect amount to the imagination, and she rides me slowly. I grasp her hips and guide her, relishing the obvious fact that I’m the first man she’s ridden like this.
“Good girl,” I tell her, hiking up the hem of her negligee to expose her ass. I need someplace I can get a solid grip.
The speed of our progress is mind-boggling… I’ve only been inside her for a matter of seconds, maybe minutes now, but I already feel close. Her walls milk me, almost vibrate around my shaft. Dear God, she is perfect. She bounces back and forth on my dick and her top comes loose, nipples bouncing out for me to tweak and roll.
My abdomen crawls with the heat and weight of an oncoming orgasm and perhaps Rose senses it, because she plants her hands on either side of my head and starts working harder toward my end.
“I want to marry you,” I growl, burying myself inside her to the hilt. Her muscles shudder around me and tighten; I know we’re both close. She’s going to have to take this full load.
Her hair rolls around on her neck like she’s having some kind of spiritual vision. I squeeze her tits and run my hands down her shapely torso, gathering at her ass and helping her get a deep stroke going. Her breath comes in deep, low rasps and her eyes are closed. “Fuck, yeah,” she groans. “I could do this forever, Stuart.”
She says my name with a little twist of pleasure-pain and thunder rolls in my abdomen. Shit, that was it. That was enough. I’m going off like a spring inside her, and the room around us unravels. Everything goes dark and my seed rages into her. Fuck, yeah, she better be my wi
fe… because she’s about to be the mother of my children.
Chapter Twelve
Rose
The massive beach house—a beach mansion, really—glimmers through the window at me. I can’t believe I’m here, and now I’m going to this… wild orgy of the elites. Fake snow flurries around the roof, and the valets wear elf ears. Large, decorative boxes of Christmas presents scatter at the base of the estate. And guests pour along the beach toward the venue.
I smooth out my translucent white shift. I wear a bra and panties with it but they’re the only things keeping my privates from being totally visible. This dress is a joke, as sheer as panty hose.
“You look amazing,” Stuart purrs against my ear. One of his hands scoops around to my midsection while the other braces my hip, fitting me neatly against his groin. Ooh la la. Someone’s already packing heat.
“Thank you, sir.”
“But I think I love that rock on your finger most of all.”
I smile bashfully up at Stuart, who is naturally stunning in his pure black suit and silver filigreed mask. The pure blackness and the hints of silver in his hair only make the combination more stunning. I’d believe that he stepped out of a high fashion ad if I didn’t know any better. Maybe Gucci makes Halloween costumes. You never know.
“Are you ready to do this?” he asks, and I feel the weight of my white porcelain mask slip over my face. It only fits over my eyes and the bridge of my nose, and the delicate glass is embellished with hints of baby blue spirals and sprigs. In that moment, catching my own reflection in the window pane, I lose my breath.
I do look amazing. A strange rush passes through my body.
I’ve never been the type of girl to show herself off. In spite of my tight figure, with the long trunk and the high breasts and trim, muscular legs, I like to wear layers. I was just born this way. That doesn’t mean I want to parade around in gowns that are practically made of tissue.
Except here I am.