“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, Rene, 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.
From that room, I go through a connecting door into another that matches the sunken tub bathroom, decorated for a Hollywood siren from the 1930s.
Catching my breath, I leave that room, closing the doors behind me with a sense of awe.
I figure out how to head back to the living room, where I find Jonathon.
“There are six bedrooms. All of this is really just for us?” At the bondage club I visited with Jonathon—where nothing happened except some voyeurism—I met a friend of Jonathon’s. A man named Devlin Crane, Jonathon’s age, a billionaire who took over the helm of his family’s industrial empire two years ago. Crane told me he and Jonathon regularly had threesomes with whatever lucky girl either man was dating.
“Are you expecting other guests?” I ask slowly.
Jonathon sits back, pulling the cork from our chilled champagne. “These villas are intended for several couples, but I like privacy. I rent the entire place.” He fills a beautiful crystal glass, opens one of the huge doors, and holds up the champagne. “For you, but you have to strip naked first.”
Then he casually walks outside.
“I can’t go outside naked.”
He leans back in. “You can. We’re secluded here. Private.”
Remembering how I had an orgasm on the airplane, I blush. I tried to be quiet, but I suspect the crew must have guessed what was going on. I’ve already been shocking in front of his father’s staff.
Sweet, warm breezes blow in through the open door. I fill a second glass with champagne—this one is for Jonathon. With lightning speed, I peel off my clothes. I do it in the Hollywood siren room. This room has a huge oval bed surrounded by sheer gold fabric curtains. They are tied to bedposts with silk bows. The bed columns support an elaborate oval canopy. One wall is entirely covered by mirrors; the other is closets with doors formed of white slats. I open the first set of doors. The closet is made to follow the curve of the walls. The space is enormous, but empty except for a shelf, a rod, and tons of hangers. I open the rest of the doors. The last set is locked. In the next to last, a white silk robe hangs and I pluck it from the hanger.
I slip the robe on and leave it open. This way I am naked, but able to cover myself if I need to. My body looks more enticing when I’m giving glimpses of it.
If Jonathon is angry because I’ve disobeyed his order, I’ll have to deal with it.
I swallow hard. My week of fantasy sex might come to a crashing halt on the first day.
; I pad out onto the terrace in my bare feet. The terrace is formed of concrete, covered with beige and amber tile. The tiles are toasty warm under my feet even though the sun has set now and the sky is the blue-violet of twilight. A huge pool meanders through the terrace, shaped like a natural lagoon. Dark turquoise tiles make the water look heavenly and inviting.
“A waterfall?” I gasp with delight. At the end of the pool, slabs of rock are stacked to make a shaded grotto and water tumbles down the slabs, falling in a curtain off the last one.
Mere feet beyond that, at the end of the terrace, is the smooth sand beach and rolling waves. The water is darker now that it’s evening, but the waves are topped with silver-white crests.
“This pool is ours?”
Jonathon turns. He was gazing at the ocean, holding my champagne. “Just for us, Mia. We also have several hundred feet of private beach. God, you look gorgeous in that robe.” He holds out his hand. “How are you feeling, fantasy girl? You’ve been through a hell of a lot. Breaking up with the man you love, surviving your first term at Yardley, not to mention...” His voice dies away.
He must be thinking of the worst part of my first term. The stalker. Jonathon came to my rescue then. So did Ryan, when I finally admitted to him that I had a guy sending me creepy emails and notes, who then almost assaulted me. Ryan wanted to quit school to stay close to me. In the end, he taught me how to take care of myself.
Ryan is part of the past now, I remind myself.
Jonathon was there the night the guy grabbed me and was going to rape and kill me. He slammed the guy to the ground with a judo throw and punched him out, which sent the bastard running away. Jonathon was the one who soothed me afterward, who let me rage, freak out, cry.
He hands me the champagne. “I want to give you one week of pure bliss.”
“Thank you.” I know I haven’t thanked him enough.
“I don’t want to push you too hard. When you said you wanted to try everything—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I thought I did, but I don’t know if I can separate the fun from the emotional baggage.”
“You know, you are incredibly beautiful.” He strokes my hair, which has turned into a mass of waves, and while I like to think my hair is strawberry blonde, it can sometimes look closer to orange. My eyes are too wide-set and are dark blue with invisible lashes. My nose is small, covered with freckles, my mouth large. With Ryan, I got out of the habit of wearing makeup. He claimed he liked me more without it. But for Jonathon I did mascara, shadow, and blush this morning. In the bathroom, I discovered it looked faded and worn out from travel and I wiped most of it off.
He’s seeing me almost au natural and telling me I look beautiful. I’m stunned.
“I promise we will take it slowly. I wouldn’t have pursued you if I didn’t believe this was right for you.”
I’ve never known anyone I found it so easy to talk to. Anyone I could be so honest with.
When I think about bondage from a hot, sexy point of view, like a fantasy, I get turned on. When I think of it from a love, respect point of view, I just don’t know. When I think about the past, I start drowning.
I’ve got to learn to move forward.
Suddenly I realize I want him to be right. I want to believe my psyche is based on more than just the pain I’ve known.
I hold up the glass I poured for him. “Okay, tie me up. I really want to fuck now.”
His dark brow lifts. “You don’t give the orders here.”
At first I sputter, then his wide, gorgeous mouth twitches in a smile. I decide to tease right back. “It’s not an order. It’s an invitation to have fun. It’s up to you if you want to take it.”
I enjoy pushing him, teasing him, being feisty, but deep in my heart I worry. I don’t know if I even want to submit, and is that what he is ultimately going to demand? Jonathon is used to having everything and anything he wants.
I can see how we push each other’s buttons. Lara freaked out over Jonathon’s playroom filled with BDSM goodies when she first saw it in September—I teased him about it. When he explained it’s not because he’s screwed up, it’s just the way he likes sex, I think I understood. When he took me to visit one of his clubs, Tied, he explained the rule of BDSM communities: safe, sane, consensual. I’ve seen what happens there, met people, and many had no wounds or pain in their pasts.
And I know my psyche and Jonathon’s are based on more than just the pain we’ve known.
I loved to bug him, annoy him, challenge him. And he liked it. It tempted him to pursue me and to be my friend when I refused to be anything more.
I loved to bug him, annoy him, challenge him. And he liked it. It tempted him to pursue me and to be my friend when I refused to be anything more.
He made it so easy for me to talk about my past, about sexuality, pain and recovery and growing stronger.
But after this week is over, is he going to want to move on? For months, I’ve been a challenge, which intrigues him, but I’m not stunningly beautiful, or imbued with a great pedigree, or famous in my own right. I’m just starting to make my stamp on the world. I want to finish college, start a career, and eventually build my own architectural design firm.
My heart still hurts from breaking up with Ryan. I’ve gone for rebound kink, and I wonder how big a mistake it might be if my heart gets involved.
***
Jonathon finishes his champagne in one quick swallow and sets down his glass.
He comes up to me and unthreads the belt from my robe. Slowly he wraps the ends of it around his hands. The pure white of the silk makes his tanned forearms look darker. He’s pushed up the sleeves of his casual shirt so I can see the hardness of his muscles and a small tattoo near his wrist.
He has beautiful arms. I reach out and let my fingers, damp from champagne condensation, run along his skin.
“You will touch me when I give permission.”
I lift my brow. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. You’ll enjoy the scene if you explore it fully. If you trust me.”
“All right.” I meet his gaze.
“There’s something I want you to understand,” he says softly. “You’re afraid and I know why. There’s like a huge dam in my head, and it keeps stuff held back, where I won’t remember it. I have to keep the dam intact. If I loosen my control on it, I’m afraid my head would explode.”
The feeling is so familiar I’m speechless. He’s explained exactly what I feel. “That’s what I have to do,” I say. “Keep the dam intact. Little thoughts come and they chip at it. I have to be vigilant, in case it breaks. Sometimes it seems more like Pandora’s Box than a dam, because it’s as if there is a flock of demons inside waiting to get out.”
He steps closer to me and winds the belt around my right wrist. I let him. “We’re very much the same,” he says.
Jonathon can jet to Azure when he wants and rent a twelve-person villa for a week without blinking an eye. I have to finish school as fast as possible so I can start earning money to support myself and help my mom.
“We aren’t alike,” I say, stating the obvious, “But we’ve known similar pain. That’s why I can talk to you. I know you understand.” I glance up at his eyes. They reflect the dark purple of the twilight sky, turning them from green to an impossible-to-read black. “And the way you like to play sexually never touches your dam?”
“No. This kind of play is fulfilling. Enjoyable. Studies have shown it eases stress. I sense it will work for you, Mia.”
“Recommended by four out of five doctors,” I tease. Then I bite my lip. “What if this type of play causes my dam to burst?”
“It won’t because I’m not here to abuse you.”
The simple honesty of that stuns me.
The belt slides around my left wrist and he draws my hands together. Focus on Jonathon. This is about sex with him. About two adults engaging in mutually beneficial play.
But I say, “Maybe I shouldn’t have my hands tied. I want to to
uch you. Remember your ass on the plane? I could give you a lot of pleasure with untied hands.” I guess I’m nervous.
“You look too hot like this.” He picks up his glass, flicks open my robe and lets his champagne flute brush my nipples. The combination of warmth, chill, and moisture makes them pucker and stand up at once. I lower my bound hands, allowing him complete access to my naked breasts and my large, puffy nipples.
“Would you suck them?” I whisper. My breasts are aching, my pussy pulsing. Memories of the plane flight hit me like a movie montage, like erotic scenes from porn movie that is actually sexy.
“You can make requests, gorgeous. Not commands.”
“I can do as I want. But you don’t have to indulge me, I guess, if you really don’t want to suck my tits...”
He catches his breath. I do like being bold with him. He lowers to my right breast and lets a soft champagne-scented breath breeze across my nipple. The tingles race down to my toes.
“You’re so wet. I’ve barely touched you, and I can smell how aroused you are.”
The snug pressure of the silk around my wrists is making me wet. Being with Jonathon is making my legs shake with desire. I look around and I’m surrounded by heaven, but I tear my gaze from the stars beginning to wink in the sky, away from the moonlight-tinted roll of the waves. All I want to look at is Jonathon.
If I wanted to be a submissive, he would definitely be the guy I’d want tying me up. At twenty-four, his success glows from him. He exudes confidence. Power.
His hair is thick and black, brushing the collar of his white shirt, with bangs in the front that he sweeps to the side now and again. Deep blue from the sky reflects on his dark, shiny tresses, along with gold from the lights that illuminate the pool.
Kaleidoscope eyes. Jonathon’s eyes make me think of that line in the Beatles song. Bright green, his eyes constantly change. Sometimes they are almost turquoise, sometimes a vivid light green, sometimes they are like emeralds, or even dark as ivy.
Seduction in the Sun: Adult Romance Box Set (9 Sizzling Tales with BBW, Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Alpha Males) Page 10