His for the Summer: 50 Loving States, Florida Read online

  “I’m ready now,” she told him. She tried to sound confident, but her voice came out as little more than a small whisper. And she could only hope he could hear her over the music as she said, “You can keep going.”

  He did not keep going. Just stood there, half in, half out, like he was trying to figure out what to do with the woman beneath him. The one who’d morphed from a hot piece of summer tail into a total freak.

  Hot shame washed over Cera. She couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear this. And maybe she should have let things end there. An awkward withdrawal, most likely followed by a note that her services wouldn’t be required for the rest of the summer.

  But that orgasm he’d given her with his mouth…it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. A pleasure so sharp and fine, that for a few moments it had been all she could feel. Pleasure piled on top of pleasure. With no loneliness to be found.

  And now she was—she couldn’t think of a good word for it. Maybe curioso? Yes, she was curioso. More curious than she’d ever been about anything else in her entire life.

  Curioso about the way women and men came together. At least the women whose lives hadn’t been completely stunted at the age of fifteen. She remembered reading an article back when she’d still been a clueless high school girl, stating that fifteen was the average age for loss of virginity in this country. She remembered feeling like maybe she didn’t have the same operating system as other girls, because she hadn’t been remotely close to having sex at that point. Never wanting to go beyond kissing the boys she’d dated.

  Then one boy had shown up at her door on a hot summer day, looking for her brother. And for the first time ever, she’d felt it. Her body warming in the way of a woman, even though she was still a girl.

  But obviously that hadn’t happened. Instead, that summer had changed her life. Consigning her to three years of misery while her father was on trial, then twelve more years of barely scraping by as she raised the hidden daughter he’d left behind.

  So fifteen years past her virginity due date, she did something she never could have imagined herself doing fifteen years—hell, even fifteen minutes—ago.

  Before he could stop her, and before she could stop herself, she pushed back on his cock, completely impaling herself on its thick length.

  Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!

  She let out a pained cry, air pushing through her clenched teeth. Man, that had hurt! A sharp stinging pain, followed by the most uncomfortable sensation of being completely stuffed in a place that had only ever seen action from the palms of a few awkward boys and her own fingers.

  And her benefactor’s mouth.

  The thought of how his tongue had moved inside her warmed her body. Remembering what felt like a large nose pressed into the top of her clit, rubbing against her sensitive button with every lick, Cera felt herself clench below. And suddenly, she didn’t feel so uncomfortable anymore.

  In fact, that curioso feeling was back and she found herself once again pushing into him. Moving back and forth on his thick manhood, trying to reach a place she’d never gone before with another person.

  However, all he did was stand there. Probably watching her writhe in complete horror.

  Cera couldn’t bring herself to care. Fifteen years. Fifteen years she’d been at the mercy of a cruel fate. Working dead end jobs, always tired, always struggling to make ends meet. Never in control.

  But this…she wanted this. The need to come coursed through her, pushing her body into his. Turning her into the complete opposite of the cool statue she’d been trying to pull off before. She imagined what she must look like to him. The desperate virgin, riding his dick. So thirsty…

  Nonetheless, she couldn’t make herself stop. In fact, the shame only made her body hotter. And soon the ache became too much to bear.

  “Please,” she begged him. “I don’t want to be a virgin anymore. Please just… I’m so… I need you to take me. Please.”

  Not the most stellar argument for finishing the job he’d started. But it was all her lust-addled mind could come up with. And she brought her hand up to her own sex, hoping she could find the place her body was trying to take her before he recovered from his horror and pulled out.

  However after only a couple of sloppy circles in, a large hand clamped around her wrist. Her hand was pulled away from her aching core and pinned to the bed beneath her.

  “Please, don’t… ” she started. Fully prepared to beg him not to pull out.

  But then his back covered hers, and suddenly it was his hand at her core, rubbing her clit with such effortless command, she instantly went from fearing he’d pull out to knowing she wouldn’t last long. No more awkward back and forth. He began to take her masterfully, his cock thrusting into her now unguarded tunnel with precise strokes.

  And to her surprise, she didn’t come as fast as she’d feared. Her benefactor’s body seemed to be reading hers like so much braille. Every time she got too close, he’d back off. Slowing down and grabbing on to her hips, so she’d have to slow down, too. But just as soon as the desire was reduced to a mild simmer, he’d start going at her hard again with those long, deep strokes that made her bite her lip to keep from crying out.

  Because it was good. So good. Better than good. Maybe the best thing that had ever happened to her in her entire life.

  Her mind swirled. Desire warring with wonder. Tears warring with laughter. It was all so crazy, she couldn’t figure out how to feel.

  But the time for figuring out anything soon came to an end. Something slipped loose on their sexual train ride, and her benefactor seemed to come off the tracks. His smooth strokes became unguarded and rough.

  Then his hand was back at her core, two fingers squeezing around her clit demanding that she—

  She came apart with a scream. This was nothing like before. That was a few stars through a nice telescope. This was a rocket ship blasting off into outer space.

  Who was she? She forgot her name. Her purpose in life. Or why she’d ever done anything other than get sexed by this man.

  As she came down, she felt him swell bigger, his cock giving a sudden jerk inside her. And that was when she finally got to hear his voice for the first time. A rough, low grunt right before he released into the condom.

  After that the only audible sound over the music was of them both breathing, ragged and ugly.

  That should have been the end of it. It was over. He’d gotten what he wanted, and she had been taken to heights she wouldn’t have dared to expect.

  But still, she couldn’t keep herself from wanting one more thing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to the man still inside her. “I know I’m supposed to be working for you. I know I shouldn’t ask you to, like, do anything for me. But could you…could you kiss me? I’d really like to be kissed right now.”

  Okay, this time there wasn’t even a slight hesitation. He pulled out so quickly, it was as if he’d been vacuumed out of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said with a cringe. “I shouldn’t have—”

  The next thing she knew, her back was hitting the bed. And then a heavy body settled on top of hers, its strong waist pushing her legs apart as a pair of lips crashed down on her mouth. Her mysterious benefactor’s tongue plunged into her gasp, claiming her even more thoroughly than he’d claimed her body.

  She loved it. Loved getting kissed like this. Even if it was by a complete stranger. Who she couldn’t see.

  She didn’t have to see him to know him, she soon realized. This guy wasn’t desperate for a woman’s touch, as she’d previously suspected. Judging from the way his lips not only ravaged hers, but easily found all the hotspots on her ears, neck, and even right beneath her jaw line, he knew what to do when it came to women.

  If anything, she was the awkward one. His kisses once again sent her mind reeling into a total tailspin. And again, she couldn’t hang on to any of her cool.

  “Yes,” she found herself mindlessly gasping. “Kiss me. Just like that. Yes! Thank you.”

  Her hands ran over him as he kissed her, fascinated by all they encountered. What felt like a full head of soft, slightly long hair, telling her he probably wasn’t black. Muscles rippling down his back, explaining why he felt so heavy on top of her. It was like touching a bronze sculpture with perfectly defined abs and a hard, compact torso. His body was so dense with muscle, she had to take a couple of decades off her estimate of his age. Yes, this guy was rich, but judging from his body, he wasn’t nearly as old as most of the people who could afford high-rise apartments that overlooked South Beach.

  He had muscle everywhere her hands touched. On his back. In his tight arms, which were hilled with biceps and triceps. Her hands moved between their bodies and found two hard marble slabs where his pecs should be. No surprise there, considering the rest of his body, but when her hands moved down his chest one of them came upon something unexpected.

  A long, thin scar on his otherwise perfectly smooth chest—

  The hand that had found the scar was suddenly captured in her benefactor’s crushing grip.

  “Sorry!” She quickly realized she’d done something wrong by touching him there.

  But the realization came too late. He lifted up and cool air hit the top of her body where his used to be. She sat up on the bed, his abrupt withdrawal making her feel empty. Like she’d lost something.

  “Sorry,” she said again, her voice on the edge of beseeching. “I didn’t mean to touch you there or make you uncomfortable.”

  No answer. Just a few rustling sounds, followed by the curt end of the sexy Latin music. She wanted to take off the blindfold. Wanted to look at him so bad. Try to make him understand how sorry she was for doing something that had obviously upset him.

  But she remembered his instruction about not taking the blindfold off. And her curiosity wasn’t worth the price of breaking the deal.

  So she had to sit there. Helpless as a ragdoll as she listened to him move across the room, probably back to the closet. A few moments later, there came the clicks of the bedroom door opening and closing.

  Then complete silence. Even deeper than before because she was straining to hear what was going on outside the room. Was he still there? In the hallway, maybe? She got her answer from the unmistakable sound of a door banging open and closed—the one next door. The one that had been locked.

  He’d obviously retired to the guest bedroom in a huff. But why? Because she’d touched his scar? Found something on him that wasn’t perfect? Or maybe the scar was just one of many? She remembered the way his whiskered jaw had scraped her thighs as he kissed her down there. Could it be covering up some worse deformity on his face? That would certainly explain the blindfold and the hasty exit.

  The sound of crickets interrupted her thoughts, and it took her a few seconds to realize this was the timer. The one that meant she was free to take off the blindfold.

  She tore it off, only to end up blinking against a surprising amount of light. The lights had been turned down to half-mast before she’d gotten into the bed, but now they were turned all the way up, along with three different lamps.

  Like her benefactor had wanted as much light as possible. Like he’d…

  Her heart stopped when she noticed the standing mirror. It was no longer against the far wall, as it had been before, but now it leaned up against the wall right across from the bed…like he’d wanted to watch while he took her.

  She looked around the room some more, only to cringe at what she found on the bed itself. Spots of blood on the previously pristine surface of the quilted white coverlet. And her phone, blaring the sound of crickets.

  He’d used her phone to set the timer, she realized as she picked it up. What the…?

  But another thought was blaring too hard in her head to ignore. She touched the screen to turn off the crickets—then immediately opened a new text message box.

  10

  “Are you okay?”

  The message buzzed onto the screen of his secret phone before Gus was

  finished taking off his clothes for the second time that night. Quickly followed by: “I’m really sorry.”

  Feeling like he’d just fallen over the edge of some abyss and only narrowly made it out, he typed back:

  “I touch you. You don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me like that again.”

  Dot-dot-dot. It was clear she was trying to process what he’d just written. Gus watched the screen, feeling like a complete psycho. Meaning what he’d written and wanting to take it back at the same time.

  “Okay, I won’t. I didn’t mean to upset you. Are you okay?”

  Are you okay? He’d been the one who’d made her put on a blindfold. Who’d given her a totally fucked up story to go along with her first time. Who’d run out of the room like a chico loco when she’d found his scar.

  Fuck, how many ways did this woman have to prove she was too good for him before he left her alone?

  No, he wasn’t okay.

  “I’m fine,” he typed.

  “Should I leave? I understand if you want me to leave.”

  “No.”

  It was all he could do not to type those two letters in all caps. Then he typed with a lot more calm than he felt:

  “I won’t be around for a while. I’ve got some business to take care of.”

  This was the plan, he reminded himself. Had been the plan from the start. To begin this on the first day of the month, knowing he’d have to go back to New Orleans on the second. A fail-safe measure for his own obsessive stupidity. He’d hoped that after getting a taste of her, he’d come back to his senses. Maybe even call the deal off before returning to Miami. Heaven knew she wouldn’t be the first girl he’d sent marching orders while out of town. With the more aggressive ones, sometimes that was the only way to get them out of your space without an in-person confrontation.

  But it hadn’t worked out that way. The fact that he was standing in his guest bedroom, willing himself not to go back into her room to claim her sweet body all over again proved that.

  “I want you here when I get back,” he typed, letting her know leaving wasn’t an option.

  Another long session of gray dots before her next message appeared.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to ask, is your business something bad? I can’t do this if it’s something bad.”

  Of course she couldn’t. Not after what her father had done.

  “No,” he answered. “What I do is completely legitimate…and time-consuming.”

  “Good. Sorry, I just had to ask.”

  “You apologize a lot. Too much.”

  “You might be right. I’m resisting the urge to type I’m sorry for saying sorry too much now.”

  Gus found himself chuckling at the screen.

  Then another message appeared: “I would really like to know your name now. But you’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?”

  “No,” he typed back, a little sad about it.

  No, he definitely wouldn’t be sending her any bouncing orders while he was in New Orleans. She was already getting way inside his head.

  “Fine,” she typed back. “I’ll just call you Benny, then. Short for mysterious benefactor.”

  The message was followed by a bunch of emoticons, including a smiling face, a thumbs up, and a sun.

  But no hearts.

  Fuck, he was in trouble, he thought, as he typed one last message to her: “Deposit the August check. See you soon.”

  11

  See you soon.

  That was what he’d typed. Cera wasn’t sure exactly what “soon” meant in Benny’s universe. But it obviously didn’t mean the same thing as it did in hers.

  Over two weeks after their first encounter, she found herself asking the six-digit number: “I didn’t just imagine you, right?”

  Almost immediately a message came back.

  “Why are you asking me this?”

  She shouldn’t have been surprised he answered so quickly. Over the past sixteen days, every time she’d texted him on a whim, his answer had come back, swift as if he’d been waiting by his six-digit texting device to give out answers to such scintillating questions as: “How’s your day going?” and “Is there anywhere to get a decent Cuban sandwich around here?” and “Where do you keep the extra toilet paper? I don’t want to bother Hank…”

  Now she found herself out on the balcony, the only space in the entire apartment that didn’t make her feel like a kept bird, typing, “I’m a little afraid I misunderstood the assignment. Like maybe you just hired me to housesit?”

  A few dots, then…

  “You miss me.”

  Not a question, but a sentence with a dot. Like he already knew it as a statement of fact.

  “I miss having company,” she typed back, feeling peevish. It was a particularly sweltering day, and even the South Beach breeze wasn’t doing much to lift the oppressive squeeze of the humidity.

  “Where’s Hank?”

  “Making lunch. That’s all he ever wants to do. Shop and cook.”

  “He has other talents, too. Believe me, baby.”

  “I knew it! His boyfriend, Leo, told me he’s a trained chef, but I’m thinking before that he was a Marine, right?”

  “Special Forces.”

  “Wow…okay, why does a legitimate businessman need a housekeeper with a Special Forces background?”

  Dot-dot-dot, then: “You don’t like shopping?”

  She sighed at the obvious evasion, but answered nonetheless. “I don’t really see the point in it. You’ve already given me so many nice clothes. And it’s hard for me to spend money. I’m always like, the money I’m spending on this dress could buy three books for my sister next year. Or maybe I could use it to hire a detective to figure out who you are. My internet searches of rich guys named Benny with South Beach apartments hasn’t turned up anything.”

  Dot-dot-dot.

  “You know Benny isn’t my real name.”

  “I do know that, and that’s why I need you to tell me I’m not going crazy up in here, eating all these five-star meals Hank’s been making me, alone.”

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