Getting Some
Getting Some
This book is dedicated to the girlfriends
I know I’d have a blast with in Vegas:
Diane Kurtz, Melinda McGowan, Brenda Mott,
Leslie Gray and Heidi Familia
Maybe there’s a trip in our future?
Revenge is sweet…but now what?
Samera
S
ometimes, life’s a bitch.
And when I say a bitch, I mean that literally. Like life is some crazy woman hovering over the universe, dealing with a bad case of PMS. She
could
let you be happy, but she’s got killer cramps at the moment, and if she’s got to suffer, you’re damn well going to suffer, too.
So instead of giving you easy choices—like a clear path that’s right, versus one that’s obviously wrong—life is gonna mess with you. Present you with
two
paths you can see yourself taking, but you
must
choose one of them. And no matter which one you choose, you’re going to feel bad.
Hell, I know what I’m talking about. I just chose Path B, which is the path my heart told me I was supposed to take. I should feel a sense of resolve right now, a sense of peace. I should have a smile on my fucking face because I’m taking fond memories with me from my vacation, but instead I feel like shit.
I just left a guy who likes me—no, adores me—probably completely heartbroken in Costa Rica.
“Miguel.” I say his name out loud, and his image pops into my mind. His beautiful, bronzed body and smoky eyes. That gorgeous smile of his, which is both sexy and sweet at the same time. My face flushes as I remember other things about him—like how eager he was to please me in the bedroom, to give me one mind-numbing orgasm after another.
Is it possible I’ve made a mistake?
I wonder as I stare out the small plane window, craning my neck for one final glimpse of the beautiful country where I spent the last two weeks of my life.
Have I made the wrong choice?
Choosing to leave Miguel and get on a plane heading back to the States was the hardest thing I ever had to do. One minute Miguel and I were moving full steam ahead to what I thought would be a serious commitment. The next, my fucking louse of an ex showed up claiming he still loved me—and I bought his lies, effectively changing my destiny with Miguel forever.
Reed, my ex, actually tracked me down in Costa Rica, like he was Brad Pitt showing up at the end of the movie to claim his girl. He complicated the shit out of my relationship with Miguel. But even though I got wise to his game—realizing that Reed hadn’t changed, he just didn’t want to lose me—I had to accept one very certain fact: clearly, I didn’t love Miguel the way a man deserves to be loved. If I did, Reed couldn’t have walked back into my life so easily. And I care too much for Miguel to let him settle for half of my heart.
Knowing that, however, doesn’t make my decision any less painful. I really like Miguel, and I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for him. But I’m just not ready to make the big Love Commitment with him—or anyone for that matter—so it was far better that I leave him now than that I stay and break his heart in a couple months.
I had to be fair to Miguel. If I didn’t ultimately want what he wanted, I had to let him go.
Still, I wonder if I’ll ever meet another man like Miguel. When I told him I had to leave him, he was so friggin’ understanding. I’m used to guys punching holes in walls and cussing a blue streak when I break up with them. But Miguel—despite being sad—simply told me that I had to do what my heart told me I should.
Right now my heart is aching. I’m not sure what that means.
Moaning softly, I bury my face in my hands. Suddenly I wish I were back in my hotel room at the gorgeous oceanfront Marriott resort, Miguel’s body on top of mine, his cock deep within me, and my legs wrapped around his waist. I want him whispering words of passion to me in Spanish as he did for much of my two weeks in his country, making me scream his name as I come.
That’s what I should be doing. Instead, I’m sitting in coach class on a Delta Airlines flight, staring out the window like a lovesick fool, with the worst case of melancholy gripping my heart.
I glance to my left. The guy beside me, probably early sixties, wriggles his eyebrows when he sees me look his way. I roll my eyes and look past him, behind me. And that’s when I notice a dark-haired man who reminds me of Miguel. He’s with an attractive blonde, and the two appear to be totally in to each other. I watch them for a moment as the man whispers something into the woman’s ear. Her face flames and she laughs, and that’s all it takes for my brain to open the door holding back all my memories of Miguel and the time we shared.
Once again, I turn to the window, but I don’t see the view. In the theater of my mind, I’m seeing me and my Spanish lover. The first time he stripped off my clothes, then ate my pussy until I screamed. How incredible his cock felt when he entered me as I was coming.
It had been the first time, and yet we had connected on a level I can’t say I’ve experienced before.
My mind fast-forwards past the first time to the most memorable—at the Tabacon Resort. Miguel took me to the most beautiful place in the world, the most romantic. I picture us in the resort’s stunning hot springs, secretly screwing as people strolled by on the paths, our bodies submerged in warm, bubbling water.
As long as I live, that sexual memory will remain forever etched in my mind. Hands down, it was my most romantic experience. From the magnificent beauty of the natural hot springs and lush foliage at the base of the Arenal volcano to a hot man whispering Spanish words of love in my ear, I know that experience can never be duplicated.
My nipples start to ache as I think about the moment Miguel covered my breasts with his hands—then his mouth—once I slipped my bikini top off. The guy knows how to suck a nipple, with this sort of gentle reverence that turned me on more than I thought it could.
I steal another glance at the couple a few rows behind me. Now they’re kissing, so much in love that they don’t mind showing it to the world.
What would Miguel do if he were here with me on this plane?
I would be the first one to make a move, I’m sure. Not that he wouldn’t want to, but I’m more brazen when it comes to sex. I would tease Miguel with my fingertips, stroking his inner thigh from his knee on upward, not stopping until I reached the bulge of his cock.
I imagine Miguel’s reaction—the look of pleasant shock spreading over his face. “Princessa, what are you doing?”
I glance around, make sure that there are no flight attendants nearby. “What do you think I’m doing?” I ask as I begin to undo the snap on Miguel’s jeans.
A combination of a chuckle and sigh bubbles up in his throat. He places his hand on mine, as though to stop me, but I know better.
He wants this, too.
“That old couple across the aisle is asleep,” I tell him. “The people in front of us can’t see us, nor can the people behind.” I maneuver Miguel’s cock out of his pants, but make sure it’s covered with the small blue blanket supplied by the airline. Then I whisper in his ear, “Tell me you don’t want to feel my lips on your cock right now.”
“Princessa, you are crazy.”
“Yeah, and you love it.”
I unsnap my seat belt, quickly look around to make sure no one is heading our way, then reposition my body so that it looks like I’m resting my head on my lover’s lap. And then I flick the tip of my tongue over Miguel’s hard penis.
He shudders, but doesn’t stop me. The way he pushes up his hips tells me he doesn’t want me to stop. His cock is as erect as a flagstaff in my hand.
“My, my, you really want this,” I whisper as I lift my head to his. “Your semen is already coming out of your cock.”
Miguel moans softly and strokes my hair.
“All I have to do is lie like this, hold the blanket like this…” I readjust my body so that my face is in his lap again. “And everyone who walks by will think I’m taking a rest on your lap. Meanwhile, I’ll be giving you the best head you’ve ever had at 20,000 feet in the air.”
Miguel murmurs something in Spanish, and now tangles his fingers in my hair. That’s his subtle way of telling me he is giving me total control, that I can do to his body whatever I please.
So I do. I can’t bob my head up and down his cock without arousing suspicion, but there are other ways to give great head. I run my tongue around the top of his shaft over and over again, before taking the tip into my mouth and sucking on it. I brush my lips against his hard length, then flick my tongue over the same area of flesh, before gently tugging on his skin with my teeth.
Miguel breathes heavily, as though he’s fighting a moan, and the more he does, the more I want to forget discreet and go at his cock with total abandon. I get a little bolder, taking his penis deep in my mouth to the back of my throat and holding it there. I tighten my lips around him and suck steadily, as though trying to draw out his sperm into my hungry mouth.
After a moment, Miguel’s hand stills on my head. “I cannot take any more of this,” he whispers.
I raise my head. Kiss him softly on the lips. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck?”
“You are serious?”
Now I run my fingers through Miguel’s dark hair. “You know I don’t joke when it comes to sex.”
We neck openly now, and I am so turned on I want to lie back, spread my legs, and let Miguel fuck me.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
The words penetrate my brain, jarring me out of my fantasy. I open my eyes to see the man sitting in my row staring at me with concern.
“You okay?” he asks. “You kind of sound like you’re moaning.”
My cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Something I ate, I guess,” I lie. Then I turn back to the window and stare outside.
I can’t believe how caught up in my fantasy I got. But then again, I can.
Maybe I’m being too friggin’ dramatic about the whole situation with Miguel. I mean, it couldn’t work with him. End of story. Period. Forget that the attraction between us was totally hot. Sex isn’t everything—and I can’t believe I’m even thinking this—but it isn’t.
Maybe Miguel has already found himself a new woman. Perhaps another tourist, whose heart will beat a little faster when he flashes that gorgeous smile of his…
The very thought makes my throat constrict.
You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.
Best-case scenario, when I get my life together, say in five years, I’ll call Miguel and he’ll still be single, still have the hots for me. We’ll get together like no time has passed at all, start tearing at each others’ clothes before our lips even touch…
Why are you doing this to yourself?
Anger flares inside me, and I yank down the window’s blind. I can no longer stand staring out at the idyllic view, because it’s messing with my brain.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? When did I become such a sentimental fool? Now is not the time to think about Miguel and what might have been. I have to concentrate on myself. Start thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life. Trust me, that’s a huge hurdle I have to overcome. Until now, I’ve worked as a stripper. I didn’t go to college, and I passed high school with less-than-flying colors. It’s time I start to think about my future, because I don’t want to be taking my clothes off for a living when I’m fifty years old.
Quite frankly, I should be thanking Reed for being such an asshole. He’s the manager at the club where I worked, and I dated him for months—until I found out that he was screwing another dancer behind my back. But if he hadn’t fucked someone else, I’d still be in Atlanta now, still working at his club, still thinking I couldn’t strive for anything more than that. So he did me a favor by setting me free, and making me concentrate for once on
me
.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ashamed of being a stripper. But I’m fully aware that a girl can’t make a lifetime career in that field of entertainment.
I try to avoid the gaze of the guy next to me as I glance around for a flight attendant. The Fasten Seatbelt sign is still lit, and no one has announced that we’ve reached our cruising altitude. But, fuck, I want a drink already. That and a cigarette. Liquor will have to suffice until we touch down in Atlanta and I can find a smoking lounge at the airport.
I don’t want to feel this way, so conflicted. But worse than feeling conflicted over leaving Miguel, I don’t want to admit that if I hadn’t gotten my hopes up about Reed when he showed up posing like a Knight in Shining Armor, I’d probably have thrown caution to the wind and stayed with my Latin lover in Costa Rica.
Yeah, I need a drink. Scotch preferably, but I’ll take anything.
Anything that helps numb me from thinking about the fact that I probably left the best thing to ever come into my life back in Jaco, Costa Rica.
Hours later I’m standing outside of baggage claim at the Atlanta Hartsfield airport, waiting for my hot-pink suitcase when I hear, “Hey, sis.”
I turn around to see my sister, Annelise, her smile so bright it just might blind me. She’s wearing her hair down as opposed to in a ponytail, and her long blond locks are tossed over one shoulder. It’s clear to me just by looking at her that not only is she getting laid, she’s getting laid good.
She certainly deserves to be happy after the crap her husband put her through, but the reality that she’s getting some has me missing Miguel even more.
