Twenty minutes later, I visually double check and establish that the problem is only on level three after checking each floor just in case.
I reach for my phone to check the time, but realize that I’ve left it in the suite.
“Kelly, what time is it?” I say into the walkie-talkie as I head into the stairwell, going up; it had been faster to use the stairs to get to each floor rather than waiting for the elevator.
“Five to three.”
“I’m just going into my meeting with Deacon.”
“See you when I see you,” Kelly says and we end our conversation.
A few minutes later, I have my phone and I’m just doing my final checks when Deacon rounds the corner alone.
There’s a quickening of my breath and circling heat that creates a sensational heaviness within.
“You were right,” I say in a rush. “About the blind spot.”
He takes my paper drawing, our fingers briefly touching.
I watch him as he appraises it, nodding to himself as he reads my comments.
“Okay,” he says with a smile. “Why don’t you walk me through it?”
I guide Deacon through the area of concern, highlighting the problem with the location and the odd angles that have been created by the mix-up on the plan and therefore the installation. I also succinctly plot through the solution and assure him that I’ll get it fixed as soon as possible.
“I’m really sorry that I missed it.”
“Hey, you’ve been working flat out; we’ve caught it now, so don’t worry. Show me again,” he says. “The exact spot.”
I reach for my walkie-talkie, gesturing for him to walk to the first corner.
“Leila to Kelly, come in.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m with Deacon, can you confirm the moment you lose us.” We walk side by side to the suite; I motion for Deacon to step toward me as I press myself against the door.
We’re inches apart.
“Negative,” Kelly says. “I don’t see either of you.”
“Thanks, Kelly.” I end the conversation there and put the walkie-talkie into my back pocket, growing more unsteady from his proximity. The fine cotton of his shirt brushes my fingertips.
Deacon raises his hand, pressing it to the door just above my head, as if to box me in. His gaze roves my features, lips parting in a sexy smile that warms me along with the pounding force between my legs that’s been gathering pace since I saw him this morning. I’m fascinated by the shadows playing across his eyes.
“So,” he says in a rough whisper, “If I was to fuck you, right here, no one would see?”
A serious shiver flickers down my spine as my breath jumps.
“I guess not.”
With a slow teasing slide, Deacon unzips my denims. I drag in a breath as his hand disappears, cupping the cotton of my panties. I sigh in exultation as he slides a finger…there.
“You’re wet.” His lips are against my ear, sending his breath cascading down my neck. “I like that.”
He presses harder, dragging a moan out of my throat. I part my legs, needing the wider stance for stability. I tip my head back, resting against the door. There’s a hitch in my senses, a marching heat that makes me pant softly against the tingles that are bouncing over my lady nerves.
“That’s it…” His finger swipes harder, back and forth, over the soft, soaked material. He parts my lips with his tongue, probing, checking me out and leaving me quivering. I’m suddenly on the edge, getting there fast with reckless abandon. Deacon removes his hand,
“Fuck…” he says roughly. “I need you now.”
With quick hands, he unbuckles his belt, pulls down his zipper, shoving his trousers and boxers down his hips. Then he’s inside of me and what follows is a hard, fast, stunning hurricane of eroticism that has me biting my lip to stop from screaming.
We both come within seconds, my abs hurting from the power of his possession.
His forehead goes to mine, his breathing heavy as he slows his thrusts. I hold him, dazed by the sensations.
“Open the door,” he whispers, sliding out of me.
I do, with shaking hands.
“Upstairs. Now.”
In the loft-style master suite, Deacon hauls off his shirt, revealing sleek muscles under tan skin. He slides his belt off, throwing it to the side of the room before reaching for my denims, pushing them down my thighs. I get out of them and my sneakers as he takes the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head.
My bra and panties join his belt as the hunger builds; the fire in his eyes charges me as he strips fully.
Deacon plants a kiss hard on my lips as he winds a hand around my waist, dragging me to him, his hard cock sliding in between my legs but not in, just along the wetness.
We tumble to the bed; my nipples are hard, pointed, and he latches on to them, applying pressure that sends a new surge of wetness down my inner thighs. Kisses go to the nape of my neck as he settles over me, guiding his length inside of me.
I surrender to him fully in this room that is nothing more than a glass-fronted cube looking into the sky.
“Deacon…” I gasp, electrified by his spectacular force that has me keeping a death grip on the fine linens. Blood ignites within, sending me screaming headlong into a bone-shattering orgasm that arches me like a bow.
Deacon weaves his fingers into my hair after undoing the practical ponytail. He keeps me close, thrusting in, pulling out, delighting me with the delicious melody he’s creating, one that’s got him muttering curses and prayers in equal measure.
Then silence.
Nothing but skin on skin.
The slick snaps of moisture.
Deacon flies into an orgasm that brings him to my breast with force. My own release is a spectacular burning firecracker that roars from the heart of me.
He brings his lips to the shell of my ear. “There’s a party tonight in the nightclub for everyone,” he says breathlessly. “I’m going to make an appearance. You”—he kisses my temple—“meet me here, eight p.m.”
I watch him get dressed and then get a deep and decadent kiss from him before he jogs down the stairs and leaves the suite.
I get up; jelly legged and aiming for the minibar. I grab a bottle of water, downing it in gulps.
I pull my clothes on, then find my walkie-talkie.
“Leila to Kelly.”
“Hey girl… Have you been running?”
I take a second to breathe as I sink back on the ruffled five-hundred-thread-count sheets.
“So, just to confirm, that blind spot really is there…”
Silence, then, “Yes, it’s there. Wait… I see Deacon… He’s heading to the elevator now.”
My body trembles at the thought of him, the naughty moment we’ve just shared, the promise of tonight.
“What’s he looking so happy about?” Kelly says. “The man’s grinning from ear to ear.”
I press the talk button, feeling the heat of the sun on my face as it comes through the windows. “Hey, I can’t make the party tonight,” I say, fighting a smile and enjoying the delicious ache between my thighs. “You’re going to have to go by yourself.”
LOVE, LOUD AS A BOMB
Steve Isaak
It wasn’t just the seaquake or the impending tsunami that drove Carl Sims to head to higher ground.
It was Anya.
Immediately after the tsunami warnings, blasted from radios and televisions, Anya had called him on his cell phone and said, “See? I told you that it would happen. I’m at the Inn, room two-twenty-four.”
“I was already packed and on my way,” he said. He made a right turn off the main island highway. “Just in case your dreams were right.”
“They weren’t wrong before,” she said. “Now do you believe I’m psychic?”
But that was small, could’ve-gone-either-way stuff, Carl thought. He didn’t say that, though.
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ll be there in a few minute
s.”
“Okay.” He heard the smile, the edge to her voice, reflecting his own urgency: they were going to fuck. Finally.
He turned off his hands-free speakerphone and increased his speed, blasting past lush, animal-silent jungle lands toward the Mountain Inn, atop the central mountain that loomed over Main Island.
I’m lucky to date a girl who has freaky future dreams, where nobody gets hurt, he chuckled. In ten minutes, this highway is going to be packed.
The geophysicist at the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center in Hawaii, thousands of miles away, had dispatched a bulletin to the Main Island authorities, who, without delay, had alerted its five hundred citizens and tourists. According to the authorities, the tsunami was going to breach Main Island and its archipelagic neighbors in thirty minutes.
Traffic was already forming behind him. Two green camouflage military trucks with troops in back and a military jeep passed him.
Almost there.
His crotch tingled in anticipation as he imagined what would likely transpire when he arrived at their hotel room: Anya’s sexy, slender-girl body and relatively large breasts unveiled to him for the first time, because she’d wanted their first day-long fuck to coincide with the spectacular fruition of one of her disaster-based visions.
Further imaginings of her taking him into her lovely little mouth instantly brought him to half hardness.
Slow down, brother, he reminded himself, shifting in his seat. You’re not there, yet.
Up ahead, the mountain’s shadow blocked out the faint gray of clouded sunlight. His brown button-down shirt still stuck to him, but a cool breeze had replaced the humid heat.
The curvy asphalt road rose toward the box-like hotel, where Anya, pepper hot and raring to go, awaited him.
They’d met at the Beach Bar, where a mutual friend, a writer like Carl, had introduced them. Anya worked there as a waitress. She’d barely paid attention to him, mistaking his friendly smile for yet another customer come-on, until he’d put on one of her favorite songs, “Sea of Love.”
Their eyes had met—his light gray, hers dark—across the bar when they both realized they were singing it under their breaths, a sparking moment.
The rest, as they say, was history.
The wind became stronger as his jeep approached the mountain’s crest. Just beyond this last rise lay the Inn, as locals called it.
Not everyone would be going to the Inn. Two lesser mountains flanked it, mountains that should prove high enough to avoid the tsunami’s flooding. He glanced toward the mountain on his right, where military personnel were setting up the disaster relief camp, a large, round-dome hall with bathrooms, beds, food, medical supplies and other necessities.
He parked in the half-empty parking lot in front of the six-story hotel. Grabbing his duffel bag off the front passenger seat, he got out of his jeep and locked it. Cooling winds hit him, briefly freezing his sweaty body.
I’ll be hot inside her, he chuckled, walking fast toward the hotel. He glanced up at its second story, hoping to see Anya, though he doubted he would.
He didn’t.
He passed through the open, sliding doors of the Inn. Carl smiled at the clerk behind the registration desk—Ian, who, like Carl, was a stateside transplant who loved his mojitos—before continuing toward the elevators. Ian was on the phone, frowning.
The large, tropical-themed lobby was half full of people, most of them calm. A few looked concerned, particularly the sun-reddened tourists. Many of the people here, including Carl, Anya and Ian, had experienced tsunamis before: they were property-disastrous, but, with proper warnings, insurance and effective evacuation, not life-threatening.
He pressed the UP button for the elevator. A moment later, the light above lit and dinged. Stepping back, he let five or so passengers exit before getting on it himself. He had the elevator to himself.
He tapped the second-floor button, and the elevator rose for a few seconds, stopped, settled and dinged. The double doors slid open and he exited.
“Two oh five, two oh seven…” He walked down the green-carpeted, gold-brown hall to the room Anya had rented for them and knocked on the door. “It’s open,” he heard Anya say faintly. He opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing he saw was Anya in a sash-tied silky robe that showed off her long native-tan legs. Her nipples, large and dark, poked through the thin material covering them. She stood near the sliding glass door that led to their step-out balcony, facing him. Around her, faint sunlight filtered into the golden-brown room with the king-sized bed.
“You made it,” she said lightly.
He wasn’t fooled by her voice. He could see the impatience, the wantonness in her dark eyes.
After setting his duffel bag in the open closet, he went to her.
They embraced and kissed passionately. She unbuttoned and unzipped his cargo shorts, pressing herself against his erection.
“My shoes,” he said, breaking away from her.
“Fall back on the bed,” she said, and smiled.
He did as she said. The bed bounced him slightly when he hit it.
Stripping off her flimsy robe, she dropped it on the floor. She got on the bed, placed her wet, neatly trimmed pussy above his face, and lowered her mouth to his florid erection, her right hand working his shaft.
She sighed and groaned as he began tonguing her spread, dark sex. Gripping her thighs, he pulled her lower to him so he could lick her better, push his tongue deeper into her glistening, flushed tanginess.
His grip on her became tighter. So did his balls.
“I’m about to come,” he gasped.
She laughed, took his jism in her mouth, on her lower face. He continued licking her, though his tongue action had lost some of its focus.
Slapping his hands off the back of her thighs, she said, “I’ll reposition myself.” She laughed again. “You almost gave me ‘pirate eye.’”
She sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her face with tissues while he untied and took off his shoes and the rest of his clothes.
“S’okay. In a few minutes, I’m going to come in your mouth,” she continued. “And when I come, it’ll be when the first wave hits Main Island.”
She pulled him to her as they stepped out onto their balcony to watch the scene below. Their mutual heat and stickiness caused his dick to stir.
She brushed her fingers along it and kissed him.
The main highways, which branched out onto the three mountains, were jam-packed with cars. From where they were, Carl and Anya could see an end to their line.
Beyond the roads, beyond the landmass, the sea had risen, but not to its full tsunami height. It looked close, though.
“They’re going to make it,” she reassured him. “There was enough advance warning. And there would’ve been more, if the authorities had believed me when I first warned them about this.”
“One of them—Alan—did,” he reminded her, running his hands over her thighs in a tickling fashion. She shuddered pleasurably.
“He was voted down,” she replied. “No biggie. Do me.”
She reentered the room, lay on the bed and spread her legs.
He knelt down and resumed tonguing her tangy, dewy and slightly bitter sex, where his dick had rubbed against her. Her dark-edged, flushed-red lips were exposed to his focused, erotic ministrations, her hands in his short sweaty hair. His hands and fingers sought out and pinched her hard nipples, causing her to close her thighs around his tang-slicked face.
She came the first time, groaning and shuddering, ten minutes later.
Lowering her legs onto the bed, he laid the side of his face against her thigh.
“I know you didn’t come,” she said. “I also know you’re fully erect. Now fuck me like I’ve wanted you to all these weeks.”
Sweaty and chuckling, he got up and slid inside her clenching wetness as she spread her legs farther apart.
Four minutes later, she sighed, quaked and came before he did, whisper
ing, “Boom,” in his ear, just as the first wave hit the island with a dull thunderous sound.
NIGHT SCHOOL
Valerie Alexander
Working the night shift at a small-town hotel is the ideal job for introverts. At city hotels, there are valets, bellhops and room service attendants in the lobby at any hour of the night. But at the Midwestern off-highway chain hotel where I worked as the night auditor, the silence was broken only by the sound of distant ice machines and the hum of the computer printing out the guest folios.
And the comings and goings of the escorts, of course.
I was three hours into my shift when the glass doors opened and the youngest of the usual male escorts came in. “Hey, Nina,” Dalton said. As always, his smile at seeing me behind the desk seemed genuine. Not that it meant anything. He didn’t see me that way. Most men didn’t.
I waved casually, as if I hadn’t been hoping that he would have a date in the hotel tonight. “Hi.”
He sauntered to the elevator, pressed the button and leaned against the wall at the perfect angle to show off his long, snake-hipped body. It had to be a gift, knowing how to showcase himself like that. As usual, he was dressed in black with his dark-blond hair artfully rumpled. Dalton tended to show up for most of his dates looking like a knockoff James Dean, though I’d seen him wear everything from polo shirts to basketball jerseys to suits before. I assumed those were client requests.
The elevator pinged and the doors opened. He flashed me a heart-melting smile and got on. As soon as the doors closed, I checked my reflection. My red ponytail was in a state of collapse and the shadows of insomnia circled my eyes. Oh, well. He didn’t notice my looks anyhow.
I’d never seen myself falling for a male escort. I’d never seen myself falling for a pretty boy at all, let alone a twenty-year-old who seduced men and women for a living. I’d been scoffing at handsome men for as long as they’d been ignoring me. All cats are gray in the dark, I would say to my friends. And I wanted to believe that. But here I was, swooning over a professionally devastating smile. It was mortifying.
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