by Kira Blakely
Well, not just watching.
He's also got a huge boner he's trying to polish off right now.
I scowl down at him, even though it's probably my fault for loudly fingering her on top of a giant rock on a trail. I don't mean to but as I'm glaring at this guy, trying to decide how best to oust him from our area, Rose starts coming down from her powerful orgasm and straightening her back. Her eyes open. And there Mr. Happy is, wanking away.
Rose doesn't have as controlled or contemplative of an approach as I do.
She flings her hands up to her mouth and screams bloody murder.
To his credit, Mr. Happy seems genuinely confused and kind of offended. He shakes his head at us and scowls. "What?" he asks, and stops squeezing down on his member. "Why are you out-fucking-side if you're not exhibitionists?"
"He has a point, baby," I gently inform Rose, collecting her from the rock and helping her down. Her eyes bulge at the interloper.
"What a man and a woman do in the privacy of their own—rock—is no one's business!" Rose insists and marches back into the villa.
I watch her go, deflating, then turn back to Mr. Happy. "Sorry about that. We weren't thinking. She's new."
"Yeah, well, maybe she doesn't belong here," he suggests, going down the trail toward the beach. "You know what this place is. Either invite big girls, or don't come."
"You have no idea what you're talking about," I tell him. "She's an adult, and we're all adults here, so take a little rejection worth a grain of salt, will you? You startled her. That kind of thing happens all the time and you know it."
Mr. Happy keeps marching. I guess I would be upset if I were him, too. He probably thought he was going to get the chance to stick it inside her but fuck that. Not on my watch.
I linger for a few minutes, take in this moment. I don’t want Rose to feel uncomfortable. I want her to understand she’s safe here with me. That she can relax.
I head back into the villa and find Rose stepping out of the shower, hair twisted up in a towel and a bathrobe on.
"You don't need to cover up for me," I tell her, tugging playfully at the robe. "It's just us in here."
"I think I need a little space," Rose tells me, placing out an open palm to me, like she's going to block an advance.
I furrow my brow and remove my hand from her bathrobe. "You've got it. Are you okay, though?"
"I was just... startled." She shakes her head and gives up an intense little shudder, too. "So weird. But I guess it's my fault for coming to a sex party."
"You didn't—" My scowl deepens. "You didn't come to a sex party. You've never been to a sex party. Those are here, yes, but you came on my Wish List. You came directly to me and only for me. We were the ones who lost track of ourselves and started getting off right on a hiking trail, Rose. We were asking for it. Something like that could have happened back in America."
"I guess." Rose looks at me and shakes her head. "But I got ahead of myself when I came here. I know that now."
I take a deep breath and reconsider arguing with the girl. I don't want to make her more upset and scare her away from Mystique.
"All right," I say, "I see what you're saying, and I respect that. I need to visit a friend of mine... He's actually the owner of the island. I want to ask him for some advice. I'll be right back. And you'll stay right here, won't you?"
Rose twists her mouth from side to side. "Are you going to stop and masturbate at anyone? I've heard that's the thing to do around here."
"No," I assure her, "and you've got to relax, Rose. Being here doesn't mean you have to be anything. Just be yourself. Relax." I sweep my palms toward her, like I'm soothing her energy myself, and I almost remind her that we only have one more night and one more day here before it's all over. But I don't. I don't know if that would comfort her or not. What do you do when your guest is freaked out? "I'll be right back."
"Okay," she says, and I go. I need to talk to somebody, and I think I know just the guy. He knows more about this island than anyone else.
Chapter Eight
Rose
I stare out the window of the villa like I'm not allowed to go outside anymore. I know the beach is out there, and all that dirty sex... They've probably got sand in all kinds of holes. I give my head a tiny shake and pace. At first, I don't even realize it but then it dawns on me: I'm waiting for Stuart to return from visiting with his friend. I'm afraid to go outside without him.
I do my mask and a gauzy cardigan, something which might tell passerby that I'm off-limits, and head out onto the beach. I'm not going to be scared of people having sex. I'm not going to be literally trapped in my own comfort zone and house.
The beach isn't some orgy, for the most part. If you look for it, you can find it. But it isn't like a mosh pit of naked people or anything, and I'm almost disheartened by how comfortable I feel as I cross the beach. Maybe it was all in my head. Was it me? Was all my anxiety and my reaction to that masturbating man just me?
Up ahead, playing in the surf, I see a naked woman with no mask on. I think I might recognize her. The thick auburn hair looks thinner and darker because it's soaked but I recognize the smile and the natural confidence, not to mention those killer curves.
It's Cheryl, the same woman who delivered my invitation and all but convinced me to come here. I consider warning her about the dangers of skinny-dipping in the ocean, which is filled with bacteria, but bite my tongue as I approach. No one wants to hang out with that person.
"Cheryl!" I call, waving to her.
She comes frolicking from the waves like a wild horse, completely unaware of how her tits bounce. They're even bigger than they looked when she was dressed.
"Hey," she returns, smiling in welcome at me. "It's... Rose, right?"
"That's me," I confirm. "I didn't know you were going to be here."
"Are you kidding?" Cheryl gives an amused guffaw. "It's Christmas! I couldn't miss it. I love it here."
"Really?"
Cheryl tilts her head at me and examines me with new interest, perhaps realizing something. "You don't?"
"It's just so sexual."
Cheryl throws back her head and laughs so loudly at me, I look over my shoulder to see if anyone is staring or even laughing with her. Luckily for me, they're all too busy having sex to notice the two girls talking at the shoreline, even if one of them is naked with huge tits.
"Do you wanna take a walk?" Cheryl asks, already beginning her stroll on the wet sand. I admire her beauty as she moves. No tan lines on this one. She must be footloose and fancy free. I can only imagine how it might feel to sunbathe nude.
"Is 'taking a walk' sexy code for anything?"
"Oh, my god, you're too much." Cheryl stops, shakes her head, and waves me forward. "Come on, girl."
We walk for a few more yards.
"You're not having fun here, I guess?" Cheryl asks brightly.
"Yeah," I answer, trying to match her tone. "Well, no," I amend. I think about it some more. "I don't know. It's strange."
"First years always say that," Cheryl agrees. "It is strange, compared to whatever city you're from. Whatever real life you have. This is a vacation, babe. You're not supposed to do what you would normally do, or else you'd probably be at work right now."
"It's so kinky, and I don't know how I feel about it, you know?”
"All you've done is have sex with one man who you adore, right? And he requested you. Just you. So you know he wants you, too."
"Yeah, but... we didn't do it the right way."
Cheryl stops dead in her tracks and twists to face me, folding her arms over her chest. "All right, let's have it," she says. "What's the right way?"
"He should have... you know."
"Bought you a milkshake and given you his school pin?"
"No!" Heat throngs up into my cheeks. "But something. We should've dated first, at least."
"Would you have waited to have sex until marriage, then? If he'd taken you to dinner and a movie every w
eekend for, I don't know, two years?"
I imagine how it feels to touch Stuart's body, how it feels when his tongue invades my mouth. I think about how fast his fingers find my button, how my knees go weak. How even being in the same room with him would drench my panties and drive me to masturbate.
"There's no way we would have waited," I say, and a huge burden evaporates from my chest. It's not me. It's not the island. It's just... us. We're uncontrollable. He’s my personal weakness.
"There you go, then," Cheryl says. "Stop beating yourself up. There's nothing wrong with you."
I take a deep breath and glance in the direction of Stuart's villa. I should calm down. I even drove him off with my anxiety attack.
"I wish I knew what was going to happen next... I feel so stupid." I laugh breathlessly and turn back to face Cheryl. “I just didn't want to give up my virginity to someone who was not my husband. Or at least my fiancé."
"Well, that is on you," Cheryl tells me. I guess all her advice isn't designed to necessarily make me feel better. "But I can say that, as far as loyalty and trust go, girl, marriage is overrated, just like dating. Invest in people. They're the ones who aren't overrated. But that little certificate is a piece of paper. People walk all over it."
"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.