The Misters Series (Mister #1-7)

by J. A. Huss

  He grabs a fire extinguisher off the wall and comes back to the door.

  “What are you going to do with that?”

  He bangs the tank on the doorknob, bending it and breaking the lock.

  “Oh,” I say.

  He messes with the handle for a few seconds and then pulls the door open. “Ho-lee shit.”

  “What?” I ask, leaning past him to see. “What’s in there?”

  West turns around and looks at me. “Guns.”

  Chapter Eighteen - Weston

  I realize she’s been wearing skimpy clothes all day, but goddamn. I can’t take my eyes off Tori in this towel. She looks the way she did when we took that trip. That honeymoon practice trip. That’s what I called it. I made reservations for that resort on Great Exuma Island and we spent a week just acting like we were the only two people in the world. Like honeymooners.

  I turned her into Naked Woman that week. Two of those days we rented a sailboat and just took our clothes off and acted primal as we cruised around all the different cays.

  It was probably the best two days in my life.

  There is a nice collection of guns. Four AK-47’s, two AR-15’s—I lean in to get a better look at the pistols and see a .45, a 9mm, and a little .380.

  “Why do you think this is here?” Tori asks as I notice a stash of tactical knives. I pick up one, unsheathe it from the nylon case, and find a serrated blade.

  “Hunting. Probably.”

  “What do you hunt on a deserted island?” Tori asks, annoyed with my answer.

  I want to say, People. But I don’t want to freak her out. So instead I say, “Sharks.”

  “Sharks?” she asks, as I put the knife back and pick up another one, which does not have a serrated edge to it. “Nobody hunts sharks with guns, West.”

  I shrug. “I’m sure there’s lots of people who hunt sharks with guns.”

  “OK, whatever. Is this weird?” she asks. “That we have ended up on an island with a closet full of guns?”

  Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it. “Nope,” I say, taking the two knives and closing the closet door back up. “I think whoever owns this place is…” I search for the lie I need. “Some kind of survivalist. This is probably like, a cache, you know? A place some paranoid freak might bring his family if the shit ever hit the fan. Probably some nerdy accountant by day and zombie apocalypse prepper by night.”

  “So it’s not weird that we’re here?” Tori isn’t buying it.

  “It was a mistake,” I say, walking back to the kitchen to get back to the food. “That pilot probably dropped us off at the wrong cay. In fact,” I say, looking out the window and pointing to the many scattered islands, “I bet Wallace Arlington is probably somewhere within a five-mile radius. I bet he’s on another island and we’re so close to him, we’d be able to smell his money if there wasn’t so much wind.”

  Victoria follows me into the kitchen and plants a hand on her hip.

  She’s not buying it, Weston. Say something. Quick. “We’re gonna laugh about this when we get back to Miami, don’t you think? We’ll probably still be laughing about this in ten years.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny. In fact, it’s all very unusual. We get dropped off at the wrong cay on the same day a huge storm is supposed to blow in? Our pilot had to know the storm was coming, right? That’s things pilots look into when they’re flying around in a tiny, unsafe place in the middle of hurricane season.”

  “It’s really… the end,” I say. “Of hurricane season.”

  Victoria ignores that. “And then we get here to find this little house with some kind of power grid and a closet filled with weapons. And you expect me to believe that this is just overzealous preparation by a pencil-pushing family man?” She has one of those, OK, buddy looks on her face. “Really?”

  I smile sheepishly. “Yes?”

  “And it’s not the end of hurricane season, we’re dead smack in the middle of it—about to go into the most active part, actually. I might not be some kind of weather expert, but we have beaches in Brooklyn, West.”

  “Don’t overreact, Victoria. We’re only gonna be here a day.”

  I know what I’m doing. And I know what effect the word ‘overreact’ does to her. But it’s all I’ve got left.

  “I’m not taking your bait,” she says. “And I know you well enough to see your mind working. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “What do you want me to say? Huh? I don’t know who owns this island. I don’t know why there’s a closet filled with guns. I don’t know why this house is here with a rain-catching cistern and solar panels on the roof. But it’s an island in the middle of one of the most beautiful places on Earth. The Exumas are nothing but a playground for the rich, Tori. Rich people get bored and do weird shit like this. But I do know that you often overreact. And I do know that I’m not the least bit interested in dealing with one of those overreactions while we’re stuck here. So you can wonder about all this all you want. I’m going to make dinner.”

  She walks away with a huff and I take my attention back to the lobsters. “I’m fucking hungry. I only got two, which means we only have food for one night. And if the storm gets bigger before it’s over, then tomorrow I’m going to have to go fishing again.”

  Victoria says nothing. Just picks up all our wet clothes and starts hanging them over the chairs pushed up to the breakfast bar. “At least your pants are dry.”

  “And you have your scrap of a skirt.”

  “A lot of good that does me. Unless I want to go topless.”

  I shoot her a grin and a wink.

  She doesn’t grin back.

  “Tori,” I say, filling the pot up with water again.

  “What?” she says, looking out the window at the purple clouds.

  “Don’t worry. We’re fine.”

  She nods, but doesn’t look at me. And I know her well enough to understand what that means. She doesn’t believe me.

  I’d give her more reassurance if I really thought we were fine.

  But I don’t.

  We’re fucked.

  Chapter Nineteen - Victoria

  The power goes out again just as we’re finishing our dinner. Lobster is not the same without butter. We don’t even have salt and pepper. So it’s nourishment, but nothing else.

  “Shit,” West says.

  I don’t even bother commenting. Something is wrong and he knows something is wrong. He’s lying. He’s keeping things from me. He’s either not interested in having me freak out about it, or he’s actually worried about the situation we find ourselves in.

  I’m not sure which of those options is better.

  If he’s trying to prevent a freakout, well, then I’m pissed off that he thinks I’m so excitable that he needs to manage me. And if he’s worried…

  That’s even worse. Weston isn’t a worrier. He’s a go-with-the-flow kind of person. It’s one of the reasons we clash so much.

  I’m not good at flowing.

  “I’m not going out to try to fix the power,” West says.

  I say nothing.

  “It’s late. We should just try to sleep. I’ll get to it tomorrow when it’s light.”

  I don’t know how we’re supposed to sleep with the wind. It sounds like the roof might blow off any moment. And there’s nowhere to sleep, anyway. Except the couch.

  “I’ll take the floor,” West says, grabbing our plates and making his way to the sink in the darkness.

  There’s a little bit of light. I’m not even sure where it’s coming from, since outside there’s no moon and no stars. But it’s not pitch black.

  “Victoria?” West says, making his way back to where I’m sitting. He puts his hand on my bare shoulder—I’m still wearing nothing but this towel—and gives it a squeeze. “Come on, let’s sleep.”

  He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch, then makes me sit. He sits next to me. “You’re too quiet,” he says.

  “I’m thinking.”
>
  “About what?”

  “All the ways this situation can go bad.”

  “We’re fine.”

  “You’re lying. Something is going on here and we’re not fine. We need to get off this island.”

  “We’ll worry about it tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do now. Let’s just sleep.”

  “I’m cold. We have no blankets.”

  “We have towels.” He gets up and finds his way across the room to the closet with the towels. A few minutes later he comes back and starts draping them over me. Once I’m covered, he lays one on the floor.

  “Stop it,” I say. “You’re not sleeping on that filthy floor. Just sit next me. Keep me warm.”

  I can almost feel his smile, even though he says nothing. When he sits his body is warm, but not warm enough. I curl into him, seeking more.

  He puts his arm around me and sighs. “We are gonna be fine, Tori. I promise. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  “I know.” And I do. It’s one of the things I both love, and hate, about him. His protectiveness borders on possessiveness.

  “So…” he says. “What have you been up to the past few years? Your company was going so well the last time we spoke. I’m surprised you’re in such bad shape.”

  “I got distracted. My father’s…” But I stop. I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t talk about it.

  “I’m sorry about him. You know I always loved him.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Normally I’d lie about this. If West and I had met up in some random coffee shop in the city and he asked me this, I’d say, Too many to count. Or something else equally ridiculous. Just to piss him off. But I’m too distracted to lie, so I just say, “No.”

  We have a few minutes of awkward silence after that. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask, when the awkwardness starts to border on uncomfortable.

  “Nope. I wouldn’t have touched you earlier if I did.”

  I roll my eyes in the dark. Weston Conrad and all his high and mighty morals.

  “It felt good though,” West says, leaning into my ear. “Wanna do it again?”

  His question has an immediate effect on me. I get a warm feeling between my legs. A tingle of possibilities. And every part of skin that is touching him comes alive.

  “Tori?” he whispers, repositioning himself so he can lean into me more. “Tori?” he says again, placing one hand on my cheek and turning my face towards his. “Answer me.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Want me to talk you into it?”

  I huff out a small laugh. That’s what he always asked when he knew I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Huh?” he asks again, his hand twisting the little corner of the towel that’s holding it closed against my breasts. It falls away and his hand is there, squeezing and kneading.

  I know how this game is played. I don’t have to say anything to make him keep going. He will persist in his quest to get himself inside me unless I say no.

  But I don’t feel like saying no right now. So I say, “Yes.”

  This one word coming from my own mouth has the same effect as his first question. Heat and a spark of desire.

  “I’ll make you come first this time,” he says, kissing my neck.

  I take a deep breath and reach for his cock. I push the towel he’s still wearing up, and grab him in my fist. He’s rock hard already. I have never made a play for his dick and found him anything else but rock hard for me.

  “I know what you need, Victoria. You know I have those secrets.”

  “Shut up,” I whisper. I don’t want to hear anything about secrets right now. I just want the whole world to go away. I just want the darkness and the emptiness to become the same. I moan as West bites my earlobe. I just want him to make me forget everything for a few minutes.

  I just want to be free of all this worry and stress.

  “I already said yes,” I say, my voice hoarse with desire. “So just stop talking and make me feel good.”

  “The way I used to?” he asks.

  I could get lost forever in the memories of how Weston Conrad used to make me feel. It’s like a slow fall into madness when I let those thoughts invade reality. So I don’t go there now. I shake my head and keep silent. And he’s moved on, anyway. His mouth is on my breast, his hands between my legs. He doesn’t want an answer, he just wanted to make me think about how good it was.

  And it was good. Great, most of the time. But the moments when it wasn’t were unbearable. The lies between us are still there. We are still keeping secrets and I can’t think of a single reason that I would give mine up now. They almost don’t matter anymore. It’s practically over for me.

  I can’t imagine that Weston Conrad, after getting away with keeping his, after all he went through, would ever hand over the things he’s got locked inside him either.

  Those secrets have served him well.

  He’s winning this game.

  He is the winner.

  Chapter Twenty - Weston

  Victoria Arias does not play games during sex. She does not want me to slap her ass and call her bad. She will never roleplay, or let me tie her up, or crawl across the floor on her hands and knees for the privilege of sucking my cock. She won’t watch porn with me, have sex outside in the mud, or let me stick my dick in her mouth after I fuck her in the ass.

  She is not looking for some dark side of herself. She has no inner submissive locked up in her head. She doesn’t want to be jolted into the present with a slap to her tits, or her pussy, or her face.

  No.

  When Victoria Arias has sex, it’s because she wants to be loved.

  That’s it. That is all she’s after.

  Love.

  It’s not as boring as it sounds.

  At least, to me, it’s not.

  Because this was my first clue that Tori was my future wife. She’s… normal. She likes normal. She wants normal. So it really pissed me off that she couldn’t see our grand future together back when we started talking about it.

  “West,” she moans now. “Don’t stop.”

  I kiss her stomach as I make my way down her body, pushing all that other stuff out of the way for now. It’s only fair that I give her my full attention after I lied about what those guns probably mean. There’s going to be enough time tomorrow to worry about all the problems we have.

  So tonight, we’re just going to forget.

  When I get to her belly button I reach under her knees and push her legs up and open. My tongue is there and she is wet. She was always ready for me when I came to her and she’s still ready now.

  I suck her clit for a moment. Let her enjoy the sensations. She likes to go slow and I don’t have anything against slow. The only time I get to slow down is when I’m making love to Victoria. But I live life hard and fast. So naturally, that’s my default setting in the bedroom as well.

  Oddly, that’s something I didn’t mind giving up for her most of the time.

  Tori’s hands are in my hair, twisting it and fisting it as she starts to breathe hard. Her arms in this position squeeze her breasts together and I look up from my place between her legs to catch the view before I miss it. They are just an outline in the dark, and that should be a tease. But it’s not. The outline is all I need because holy God, she is so beautiful.

  “Your pussy tastes as beautiful as you look, Miss Arias.”

  I can’t see her smile in the darkness, but I can feel it. And the little breath of air that escapes her lips lets me know she’s got a laugh inside her.

  Her hands fist my hair a little tighter. Her back arches just the slightest bit more. Her breathing kicks up a level. Sex with Tori isn’t boring because, while she does like to be worshipped, she also likes to hear my dirty mouth as I do it. It turns her on so bad, she gets animalistic and wild. Just like she is in real life.

  Everything about Tori and me is real.

  Exce
pt all the things that aren’t.

  Push it down, Corporate. Time for that later.

  “Licking you between your legs, Miss Arias… well, there’s enough sweetness in your pussy to give me a toothache.”

  She giggles this time. But her thighs also come together and squeeze against my shoulders.

  I push my tongue inside her, sucking on her desire, and then withdraw and crawl my way up her body. Her lips are already there, meeting mine so she can kiss me.

  She likes to taste my mouth after I lick her.

  We kiss for a few moments, one of her hands letting go of my hair so she can reach down between my legs and wrap her palm around my thick cock. Our tongues are seeking, and pushing, and twisting as she pumps me—slowly at first, then with a regular rhythm.

  “What comes next?” I ask. She might not like the kink, but she has always loved the talking. Sex with Tori has always been about the foreplay. We’ve had whole conversations during sex. We’ve had fights during sex. We’ve made plans during sex, and plotted vacations, and told each other just exactly what would happen on said getaways. We’ve even had philosophical discussions during sex.

  And it has always turned me on that I can make her come while discussing politics, or an art exhibition we saw the night before, or our grocery list.

  “Next…” Tori says, tracing a fingernail down the curve of my bicep. “You probably want me to suck your cock.”

  I smile and let out a small laugh. “I would not turn it down,” I say, pushing a finger between her legs so I can continue to play.

  “I bet the only reason you’re sorry there’s no lights is because you won’t be able to see my lips as they wrap around your tip. You won’t be able to see my tongue as I lick you like candy.”

  “We’re going to do this again tomorrow morning, so I’m not the least bit worried about it.”

  “You’re a cocky bastard,” Tory says. “Thinking I’ll just be here for you whenever you want me.”