BILLIONAIRE Island: Idyllic Mischief

by May, Savannah

  “I know. But you are the loving kind and so am I. You know I've always loved you. Since I was a little girl and you ducked me under the water when we were swimming.”

  “That was a long time ago. You've been at school in Cape Town for more than a decade since then.” Faustine was from a bizarre off-shoot of the family, hence her slanted dark eyes and coarse hair that made me awkward to admit we were related, because of course, she had to tell every single person she was a Beauregard.

  Her hand on my thigh burned through me and that girl came into my mind. I had wanted it to be her here in my room, the room I'd been moved into, evacuated from the master suite in my own house.

  “And I've been waiting for this moment all that time,” she breathed, eyelids lowering in a futile attempt to be sexy. Still. Her hand working up the inside of my muscle, grazing my already tight groin was too much. Her palm found her desire, tugged at the zip and slipped it out of my jeans. She bent over and wrapped her mouth around the shaft and I closed my eyes with a moan, imagining those coral lips of the girl in the john at the club.

  When I came out of the stall and found her bent daintily forward across the sink, lips pouted out to run the sponge of gloss all over I swear to god my cock roared with the demand to drag her back into the stall and pull that dress up and fuck her hard. Shit, I wouldn't even have had to pull it up, it barely covered her other lips and I could not get them out of my mind. Blame it on the booze, blame it on Pollyanna and that slip of black jersey clinging to that dangerous body and barely skimming over that pert round ass.

  I flipped Faustine over and yanked her shorts down, no way I was getting my mouth anywhere near her. She was fine with it, as the desperate ones always are, thinking if they can get your cock inside them you're sure to love them right after when in fact it's the total opposite. I rammed into her and she matched my thrusts, impaling herself back onto me, milking me hard. With thoughts of Polly, I came in less than a minute but I didn't care. I wanted it over and didn't bother to make excuses or reciprocate. I felt like a shit but she got what she wanted and I fell back on the bed, into sleep thinking only of tomorrow and nothing else.

  Indie

  Indie woke late the next morning- part jet lag, part excess fizz. The sun was flooding the room with soft light and she could hear the girls squealing as they splashed in the pool below the window. She stepped out onto the terrace and observed the island in the first full light of day, the sweet air warm and fragrant. Some great author had apparently written more than a century ago that when God finished creating Heaven, he made Mauritius, or some shit like that but wow, it was spot on.

  From the second floor she caught a flash of brightest turquoise- the smooth ocean was minutes back down the track and she couldn't wait to see it that afternoon, albeit with a heady mix of trepidation. Every nerve ending was firing with the thought of seeing sexy Damien, who she would only ever think of as Damn from now on, but she was also terrified. Aside from a body built for damage, there was something about him so intense and powerful, she knew she was out of control as much as she acted the nonchalant princess.

  “Finally, you're awake, you missed tennis this morning.” Sasha threw open the bedroom door and walked straight out to the terrace. A maid scurried behind her bearing a tray of fresh juice, pastries and bols of strong french cafe au lait. Just what was needed. “Ready for skiing this aft?” She pursed her lips together in a naughty smirk.

  “No. I'm not. I can't water-ski. I did it once on vacation in Aruba, face-planted and lost half my bikini.”

  “You'll be fine. I'll show you how. And are you going to fill me in on your meeting with Damien Lothaire Beauregard Le-Comte?”

  “Sheesh, what a mouthful. And there’s' nothing to fill in. He came, he didn't conquer. End of.”

  “Not yet but Damien is not a guy that doesn't conquer. I have to warn you to be careful, he's got a demonic reputation all over this island. He's seduced every available woman and half of those who aren't. There's no one left to him now apart from the French aristo girls who are kept locked up by their families. If he ever got his filthy hands on one of those there'd be a lynching.”

  “Okay, okay, I get it but there's absolutely nothing to warn me about. I took his number right away and anyways I'm not in the head space or any space for an affair right now.”

  “I'm sorry, Ind. I haven't asked you about it because I didn't want you upset the minute you arrived. I figure you'd talk about it when you were ready.”

  “I know. I'm not sure if I ever wanna talk about it. It was the most awful end and I keep feeling it was my fault. That I killed my own baby.”

  “Don't even think that. You didn't do anything wrong. Miscarriages happen far more frequently than women realize and if anyone was to blame it was bastard Bradley not you.”

  “Perhaps I did something that pushed him over the edge into drinking to the point of rage. He wasn't always like that.”

  “Yes he was. I remember when I was I New York for fashion week and in the three times I met him that week he was pissed at every single one. He got mad with the bartender for not getting him a drink fast enough and tried to punch him out. The only thing Brad had going for him in my eyes was how much he adored you. You guys were at that party, thronged with models and he was talking to some other model hound who was already looking around for an upgrade. He tried to get Brad into rating the passing trade and your boyfriend told him; 'I'm happy with what I've got'. That made him okay in my book but I guess I was too easily sold.”

  “So, what are we wearing for our water-skiing date?” Indie said, suddenly keen to get her mind off the recent past.

  After feeding the girls lunch, or supervising the maid feeding them, Sasha changed into a swimsuit with a sarong tied low around her gazelle hips. Indie put on a Norma Kamali Hollywood Starlet bikini and sarong-less, embarrassed about her pasty white thighs, begged a borrow from her friend. Tolar was seated in the center of a long sofa on the terrace shouting at molasses-eyes Youssou, the manservant.

  “You do not throw the chemicals into the pool, you put them in the filter. Stop fucking grinning at me idiot. Now I have to pay to get the water changed.”

  Youssou stood on the grass below him, grinning wide and nodding madly.

  “Don't forget to tell my wife she's the fucking best at skiing and everything else, Indie. Otherwise she'll drop you like she has me,” Tolar screamed across the garden as Sasha dragged her quickly and they piled into the car. After the rough drive down the track and the few blocks toward Grande Bay, they pulled up on a private crescent road sporting the entrance to the Grand Imperial hotel. Its crystal entrance was guarded by a pair of Indian footmen in white turbans.

  “That's the best hotel on the island,” Sasha whispered as they headed for a pair of foreboding electric gates next to the hotel, set into a high, long, blank wall giving zero indication of what was hidden behind. The drive easily held the eight parked vehicles and a private security guard sat at the gate to buzz them in.

  They were permitted entry to the walled enclosure and a majordomo waited to greet them at the front door of the low, wide house buried behind a jungle of palm trees, once they made our way around the giant freeform black-tiled pool. The hall and reception rooms were colossal, dark and loaded with ancient furnishings more Loire Chateau than desert island beach house. But they were led through the passageways, into a sunroom half the length of the house and emerged onto a broad verandah peppered with deep cushioned loungers fronting directly on the diamond dust beach. Indie gasped at the expanse of blistering blue water dominating the one eighty degree vista, edged by a paler blue sky and a white hot sand beach.

  She'd somehow expected that only Damien would be there, waiting to take them out skiing but the verandah was crowded with people of various ages and all fully clothed. She felt exposed and flaunting in the Marilyn bikini with only a sarong around her waist, when Damien leapt up from his lounger to kiss both women on each cheek then introduced them around.<
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  Shit, they'd stumbled in on a family gathering. He introduced his brother Chrestien, and his brother's new wife. The various friends of theirs still hanging on after the recent wedding celebrations, plainly reluctant to leave the luxury hideaway. There was his cousin, then the guy he'd been arguing last night sitting sullen in jeans and tee shirt despite the heat of the day. Damien introduced him as Laurent and he gave a desultory wave of hand before turning back to his fashion magazine. The men sat holding beers and talking with loud jocularity at one end of the terrace, the women sat at the other, circling a beautiful older woman. The old lady sitting in the shade and resplendent at the head of the group, neither responded with a wave or even looked up to greet the new arrivals when introduced by Damn as his Lady mother. Madame Beauregard Le-Comte plainly had no time for her son's friends.

  They sat perched uncomfortably on the edge of a lounger and Dam made sporting conversation with Sasha. Indie looked from under downcast eyes at the regal gathering. If it hadn't been for the tropical surroundings, the hibiscus and bougainvillea dripping from abundant foliage, they could have been mistaken for a party in the drawing room at Pemberley. (Indie was a sucker for those books about thwarted romance and Pride and Prejudice was her absolute fave.) What a motley crew of a family- Chrestien was the eldest son, taller and broader that his younger brother as well as having a mop of golden blonde hair. He was completely the opposite of Damien and his mother who were both dark tan with midnight black hair. And then the cousin who was darker still with hair that, if she wasn't mistaken, had been ironed.

  Indie stole a glance at Laurent, sitting alone, apart from the brother's friends with a definite pout on his soft lips that didn't match his razor jaw. He was plainly angry still about whatever he and Damn had disagreed about last night. He must have caught her thought because he raised thick lashes to sneak a peek at her and they locked eyes. Indie smiled a let's be friends smile that he barely returned before flipping the page and returning to his mag. Or not then. What the fuck does he have to be upset with me about? I had nothing to do with his fight with his friend. The family behaved as though the new arrivals were utterly invisible, the brother spoke only to his male friends, while his wife, Anouk and Damn's cousin, Faustine was it?, only came to life when the grand Mama spoke. Jumping to do whatever she'd instructed, her every utterance like a command from the heavens above. It was hot, she said, so Anouk leapt to turn the ceiling fan control higher, followed by Faustine who brought her a cool drink.

  Damn was pointedly focusing all his attention on Sash, making it very clear to Indie who he was interested in and that it was her friend he'd been after last night. They were leaned in, head to head, while Indie sat to the side. Sash laughed just a little too obviously for Indie's taste and was careful to avoid looking at her. Shit, are you bitching your best friend, who brought you down here and is taking care of your tropical vacation, over a guy you don't even like?

  Big deal if it was Sasha he was into to and only hung out with Indie once he discovered she was Sasha's little friend. It was Sasha he'd invited to ski, hadn't even asked if Indie knew how. What had he said?- “And bring your friend!” Yeah, she was there to play chaperone for all the illicit cuckolding going down in paradise. She lifted her head and caught the Mamma's full glare, eyes boring into her as though she'd pocketed the silver spoons. Sheeeet.

  “Allez, come let's get the boat.” Damn leapt up as though the gathering had suddenly bored him and stood, hands on hips, waiting for them to muster. It was a huge relief to get through that hour, finish up the obligatory refreshment the maid brought out and get out of there for the serenity of the wide blue sea. There was nothing relaxing in that corner of paradise. Before they left, Grand Mamma had an instruction for her darling boy. Of course Indie didn't understand the fast French, especially as it was uttered in an odd accent she hadn't been exposed to in Hudson High. She petted Damn and appeared to give instruction for his well-being, like put on sunscreen, or the beach version of button up your coat and get a scarf, judging by the way he rolled his eyes.

  He accepted Mamma's coddling but was annoyed and took it out on Laurent when he refused to come skiing. It was obvious their tiff was about Laurent's unsuitable clothing for taking to the water, but Damn howled him down louder and louder, so that all the wedding friends stared and Laurent removed his leather shoes and socks and trailed the three down the beach.

  “Wait here,” Damn ordered as he strode into the water and dove like a dolphin to swim strongly out to a sleek white and navy speedboat. He made an Olympic quality handstand dive and a minute later emerged from the water with the anchor which he tossed into the boat and hauled himself up after. Every muscle ripping in unison up his arms, across his broad torso, down into his stretched thighs. Sheesh, the man was a demi-god. Indie was mesmerized and her pussy gave a twinkle of agreement as she felt her cheeks bloom hot.

  She looked up and saw Laurent staring at her intently. What the fuck was his problem? Sasha waded right out to the boat and pulled herself up on her arms, then swung with athletic grace into the white leather seat. When Damn brought the low speeder as close to the sand as possible, Indie stepped through the water and still hospital-stay weak had to accept a hand up from him to climb in. Laurent dragged his tight designer jeans as far up his calves as possible and climbed in, furious that they were edged wet.

  Chapter Six

  Sasha came out on the mono-ski first time, finding her balance by pushing her hips far forward and leaning her body back low, all while laughing happily. She bounced smoothly across the wake and took the tow bar in one hand to give them a wave.

  “Your turn,” she told Indie, scissoring back out of the water after her twenty minute ride.

  “Oh, I'm no good at that,” Indie blundered. “I told you, I've only tried it once.” And spent the whole lesson getting dragged out of the water when the boat started up and instantly face-planting back in.

  “Nonsense, how else are you going to learn. Take the opportunity while Damien can give you some pointers.”

  Indie looked at the guy in dark black glasses who appeared to have forgotten she was alive. I mean really, Laurent and I are a couple of spares only along to make up a faux foursome. Why even bother?

  “Yeah, okay,” Damien said reluctantly. “Can you drive the boat?” he asked Sash.

  “I reckon I can remember how.”

  Even more reluctantly, Indie untied the sarong knotted on her hips and tossed it on the leather bench. She looked up and caught Dam's eyes blazing over her body, lingering on the newly exposed hips, her ass as she bent over. Pig. Still, the tug between her thighs had other ideas. “Be careful with her,” he said to Sash who looked like a James Bond Girl at the helm of his boat.

  “You be careful with her,” Sash laughed. And he dove headfirst into the soft warm water while Indie climbed down the steps.

  Could she be any more ungainly, she thought, paddling one leg furiously so as not to drown while she maneuvered the other into the ski's foot stirrup. Jee-suss. Crouched with knees splayed up, crotch to heel, heart thounding in her chest, Damn shouted to Sasha to take it easy. The pull came on the boat, Indie pushed her thighs to build resistance to the water and two seconds later splatted face down.

  Three more attempts of exactly the same and every ounce of her flesh was set on quitting. Sasha seemed to think it was funny and Damn was getting more and more irritated, telling her over and over, “Push your hips out. Harder. Push harder.” Shut the fuck up. At least Laurent wasn't taking his pleasure in watching her pain. He sat rigid in the back of the boat, doodling in a notebook.

  “Push, push, push,” Dam ordered as the boat pull came on the rope and swore under his breath when Indie wiped yet again.

  “You aren't pushing hard enough,” he shouted at her across the water surface between their chins.

  “Stop saying that,” Indie screamed, furious at the tears pricking at her eyelids. “I'm jet-lagged, I'm hungover and mostly I’m a freaking rooki
e. Sorry I'm not an expert competitor but I'm doing the best I can so cut me some friggin' slack.”

  Damn's face, three quarters above water, pulled back and played a movie scene of emotions before he smiled and fished his way across to her. She turned from him to yank the unwieldy length of wood back to her foot in a rage and a shiver sizzled through her as he put his hand lightly in the small of her back to steady her.

  “Hey, you can totally do this. Can I show you?” he said as she swiveled into the unglamorous position of a woman about to drop a kid . “Your legs are too wide apart.” Sheesh. “Bring your knees together more.” He put his hand on the sensitive flesh above her knee and it quivered beneath his palm. He was just too close and she was trapped in the stupid ski, sitting in the palm of his hand, literally, all her weight resting on it where it still held her, burning into her back right above the bikini bottom.

  “Okay.” Just breathe.

  “Now when you feel the tug, clamp your inner thighs and push your pelvis forward, hard, ram it harder than you think you're able and come out.” From her knee, he'd slithered his hand the length of her thigh in very serious explanation, as though it was the most vital thing in the world to him that she stand up under his instruction. It grazed her flesh all the way to rest on her hipbone as he instructed her to push harder. Her legs were so weak there was no way Indie could have stood on solid ground let alone on water.

  “Ready, champ?” The hand on her back moved to her shoulder, his fingertips grazing her neck. It was ridiculous how much she was shivering in the syrupy water. Focus, girl. Sasha started the engine again and as the rope pulled taut, Indie felt her body work as one integral unit of smooth resistance. Behind her Damien urged her to push hard and she thrust her hips, clenched her inner thighs downwards and glided to a backwards arc moving forward in the surf.

  Exhilaration flushed her veins and she felt indestructible mastering the uncontrollable force of the ocean.