His for the Summer: 50 Loving States, Florida (5 page)

Hank’s answer was to pour a generous glass of red wine from the bottle he’d decanted when they first arrived, and slide it across the white countertop in her general direction.

“Here ya go, Cera. Why don’t you go drink this on the balcony while I get dinner ready.”

He all but shooed her from the kitchen, dismissing her and her many questions to the surprisingly spacious balcony.

So here she was. Sitting on a deck chair next to an infinity pool that looked like it was flowing off the side of the building. She was even more confused now than when she got there. She’d expected her mysterious benefactor to be here when she arrived, or at least, you know…show up.

But despite her state of general bewilderment, she had to admit dinner was delicious. And it was a lot more sophisticated than the simple pasta Hank claimed to be making. More like a linguine work of art bursting with squash, olives, and cherry tomatoes.

“You ate good, kid,” Hank said when she brought her thoroughly cleaned plate back to the kitchen. She watched him rinse it off and start the dishwater with an efficient flick of his wrist.

Again, she had to wonder exactly what Hank’s job was. He seemed like some kind of personal assistant who also cooked, drove, and looked like he could mess somebody up bad if it came down to hand-to-hand combat. But at the moment, he felt more like her babysitter.

At least until he said, “Well, I’m outta here. See ya tomorrow, kiddo.”

That was when Cera found herself in the strange position of not wanting the babysitter to leave.

“But wait,” she said. “Isn’t there more to go over? Like what I should do? How I should act when…”

Hank cut her off with two raised hands. “None of my business, kiddo. But I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?”

Cera helplessly watched him leave, feeling like he was abandoning her even though he’d been nothing but kind to her all day.

She looked at the large TV hanging on one of the few divider walls. This and a simple white couch were all that made up what she supposed could be called the entertainment section of the fishbowl. But it would do.

TV had become her best friend ever since Dana had gone off to boarding school five years ago. Maybe she could find something to binge-watch now that all the regular shows had ended.

But first she should unpack, she reminded herself.

She made her way across the white marble floor to the large interior square at the center of the apartment. There were two doors on the white east-facing inner wall. Only one of which was unlocked, as she’d found out earlier while doing her own bit of reconnaissance when Hank had gone out to pick up dinner supplies. Dead curious about what was behind the locked door on the left, she opened the door on the right and entered what Hank had referred to as her room.

The room was just like the rest of the apartment. Large and luxurious, but sparsely furnished. One California king covered in a simple but elegant quilted duvet. One nightstand on the right side of the bed. One standing mirror. One inner door, which she already knew led to a heavily marbled, but sparely appointed, bathroom. And one ridiculously large walk-in closet. Which was where she’d seen Hank deposit her suitcase earlier.

She walked over to the closet with a sigh. It seriously felt like walking into a separate room. One with three off-white, floor-to-ceiling island storage walls with small wardrobes on their fronts, and empty bars for hanging clothes on either side of the divides. The closet even had its own crystal chandelier. But in keeping with the theme of the apartment, there were no clothes whatsoever aside from the ones inside her suitcase.

Cera went to the drawers lining the left wall, prepared to just start tossing her clothes in. But when she opened the first drawer, she found it already full of clothes. Lingerie to be exact. Bras, panties, teddies. All made of such pretty silks and laces, she couldn’t see any woman actually wearing them underneath clothes.

But if her father hadn’t turned out to be a total con artist, these were the kind of things she probably would have ended up wearing, she thought. Not just wearing, but taking for granted.

Cera shivered and closed the drawer. She understood those items might be what her mysterious benefactor wanted her to wear, but she’d definitely need to work her way up to that. Meanwhile, her cotton panties and sturdy JC Penney bras were good enough for her.

Then she turned and saw the rest of the closet. Apparently she’d been wrong about all the storage walls being empty. This side had racks of women’s clothing. All sorts of summer dresses and one section filled entirely with shoes.

Whoa
, she thought, blinking up at all of it. And why did she get the feeling everything was in her size?

Just then, her phone went off, buzzing against her left butt cheek. She pulled it out of her back pocket and found a message from the now familiar six-digit number.

“Go back into the bedroom. You’ll find a blindfold in the nightstand drawer.”

Whoa
, she thought again. This time because apparently he knew she was in the closet. Cera carefully made her way back to the bedroom, reminding herself that she had signed up for this. That everything would most likely be all right. And even if it wasn’t, she’d emailed herself a small account of what had happened. So if she disappeared and someone eventually noticed—as she hoped they would…eventually—they’d know where to start looking for clues.

Funny, she thought with a weak sort of chuckle when she got back into the bedroom. Just a few minutes ago she’d thought this spare white room boring. Not anymore. Now the “simple” white nightstand sat like an ominous thing beside the bed.

She opened the drawer and found a bright red blindfold. Perhaps the only piece of color in the room.

Cera pulled it out and fingered its silky eye cover and black elastic band.

Then she nearly jumped a foot when her phone buzzed again in her back pocket.

This time the text said, “
Remove your clothes and get on the bed. Then put on the blindfold and don’t take it off until you hear the timer.”

That was when she decided to search the room, looking around to figure out how he knew when to text her. She found her answer high on the ceiling in the room’s far right corner. It was white with a black orb and forced her to make a correction to her earlier thought: there were two spots of color in the room now. The blindfold, and the pinpoint of red light on the camera looking down at her.

“You’re going to watch me undress?”
she typed.

Dot…dot…dot, then: “
Yes.”

Cera swallowed. Her throat had never been so dry. What if he didn’t like what he saw? She wasn’t exactly a poster for sexy Miami. She had a few too many curves to bounce around South Beach in a bikini. She wasn’t even sure a string bikini could handle her E cups. What if he—

She cut herself off, taking a moment to remember exactly what the situation was. Some kinky rich guy had bought her for the summer. She’d only accepted his offer out of total desperation. This wasn’t a real date. Or remotely romantic. It was just something she needed to get through. To survive.

Cera removed her clothes as efficiently and quickly as she could and climbed onto the bed, scooting to the center. No more stalling. It was time to put on the blindfold as instructed.

So she did.

Darkness. In weird contrast to the white room, everything went black, making her feel like she’d entered a cave. One with a dragon waiting inside.

But she could do this. She could do this.

She forced herself to stay still as a statue and wait.

And then she heard the door click.

7

Her mysterious benefactor had a heavy gait.

She could hear his shoes connecting with the marble floor, echoing and slow. She wondered if that meant he was fat. Not that she cared about his weight. She just wanted some kind of mental picture. Something—
anything
to go by.

The footsteps stopped. At the edge of the bed, she imagined. And for a few long moments, he just looked at her. She knew this, because she could feel his eyes on her, as sure as she was watching him watch her.

She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. And the silence stretched between them until there came the sound of a thunk. Followed soon by another thunk. His shoes, she realized. He’d just removed them.

Then the soft whisper of clothes being unbuttoned and taken off soon followed.

Through it all, she stayed on the bed. Naked as the day she was born. Mentally whispering to herself:
statue…statue…statue.

He hadn’t paid for a scared, inexperienced girl with a desert in her mouth, she reminded herself.

He’d paid for—well, she had no idea what he expected. But whatever it was, she would give it to him.
Act the part
, she told herself firmly.

He moved away from the bed. His footsteps became less heavy as he made his way across the room.
To the bathroom?
she wondered.

But no, the closet door slid open. Then a few moments later, it closed.

He was putting his clothes away maybe, and she felt bad about leaving hers scattered on the ground beside the bed.

Then there came another small thunk. Something landing—or being set beside the bed. She had no idea what.

But she stayed where she was. In her blindfold cave. Her brain still commanding:
statue…statue…statue.

But then came one of the most unmistakable sounds in the world. Even to someone as inexperienced as her.

The tearing of a foil packet.

A condom.

And despite her resolution to stay still, she began to tremble. Could only hope he didn’t see it, too—

Her thoughts cut off with a gasp when a hand wrapped around her ankle, yanking her entire body out of its position. He then arranged her flat on her back. Legs slightly spread. Arms at her side.

A few moments later, there came the thin tapping sound of a button being pushed. Slow sensual music flowed into the room, soon followed by a low male voice singing in gritty Spanish.

Cera had only the most basic grip of classroom Spanish. But she didn’t have to speak it fluently to recognize this as a dirty song, filled with lyrics that wouldn’t be considered suitable outside of a bedroom…or a brothel.

Her breath caught as she waited for him to fall on top of her. To do all the things the man in the song was crooning about.

But instead, two large hands found the top of her thighs and ran all the way down to her knees. Then back up. There was something on his palms, she soon realized. Some kind of oil.

Yes, it was oil, and he was rubbing it into her stiff legs, making her feel…well, not so stiff. He worked her body, his hands rubbing the oil into her legs and torso with slow, easy circles. Like he had nothing better to do than give her a slow, full body massage.

Okay…she tried to stay alert, but eventually she couldn’t help it. Her mind relaxed, and she began to melt into the bed. No, she definitely no longer felt like a statue. In fact she couldn’t ever remember feeling more human, as those two hands continued to rub her down, nice and slow.

After what felt like an hour later, his hands made their way to her breasts, rolling the nipples as he massaged more oil into her soft globes.

Oh, gosh…she felt herself tighten below, desire pooling at her core like a hot spring. She guessed this was why so many erotic massage parlors could be found all over Miami. If this was what it felt like to get a sensual massage, it was a wonder there weren’t more.

He gave her nipples a sudden squeeze, pinching them hard between his finger and thumb. She gasped, the upper half of her body lifting up, only to have him back off. His hands disappeared, then returned. With more oil, she soon discovered. Oil that he rubbed with a very deliberate slowness into each breast, thumbs circling the nipples in a way that made them feel like live spark plugs. And though his hands were on her breasts, she could feel something dripping between her legs. Something that definitely wasn’t massage oil.

She didn’t know what she wanted until one of his hands found her below. The ball of it rubbing against her now very sensitive nub, while slipping three fingers inside her tunnel. Her very wet tunnel.

She didn’t have much experience, but her body seemed to know what to do. One leg came up and fell over to the side on instinct. To give him more room as he kneaded her sex. His thick fingers working inside her with hard, masterful thrusts.

Her relaxed breathing soon became short gasps, her sex swelling around his fingers as he worked her. Someone was moaning now. Not him. Her, she realized as she pushed her core into his hand, hoping he’d give her something she’d only ever given herself before.

But just as she felt herself start to rise over the edge, he stopped.

“Why...?” she started to ask. Why had he stopped?

But before she could get the question out fully, the bed depressed, and the next thing she knew was a mouth sealing over her sex.

She felt a whiskered jaw scraping against the sides of her soft thighs, as his tongue delved in and out of her sex. Filling her up, driving her crazy, making her cry out with a pleasure much, much better than anything she’d ever been able to produce with just her fingers.

She was going to come she realized in a daze. She was going to come under this man’s mouth. This stranger she’d never seen. Who she’d only officially met less than half an hour ago. While blindfolded and naked on top of his bed.

It was so wrong. But her body didn’t care. She could already feel herself losing her grip on reality. Leaving the statue she tried to emulate far behind, as she slipped over the edge.

8

She’s even more beautiful now than she was back then.

That was the first thought that went through Gus’s head when he walked into the room to claim his prize. He realized the security camera app on his smartphone hadn’t done her justice. The woman he’d found on the bed, waiting for him to take her, had been a vision to behold. Chin raised, shoulders squared. With her blindfold and her long legs and arms carefully arranged, so he couldn’t see her breasts or sex, she’d looked like a mahogany take on the Justice statue.