A Taste of Utopia (23 page)

IN ABOUT FIFTEEN
minutes, we reach the place where his boat is anchored. The boat is a hybrid of motorboat and fishing boat. A fading script on the side reads “Guadalupe.”

“Permission, señor,” Fabricio says, taking my bag.

I help a wary Lottie inside the boat and climb in after her.

Fabricio swiftly leaps in and hands me the bag. He yanks a life jacket from under a seat and hands it to Lottie. “For security, señora.” He enunciates his every word carefully. I have a feeling he wants to impress Lottie.

The motor coughs before roaring to life.

“Pronto? Ready?” he asks in both languages.

I give him a thumbs-up.

Fabricio turns the motor on. He jerks the lever down and the boat rumbles and rattles before jolting forward and cutting through the black water.

I drape my arm over Lottie’s shoulder. Though every muscle in her body is tense, she slowly melds her body against mine.

A thousand ways to tell my story run through my mind. I can’t settle on any of them. Some are mediocre, making me come across as the man whore that I am. Others make me the victim. And I am far from being the victim. I own every decision I’ve made.

Lottie’s breath becomes even. I glance at her face. Her lids are closed. I wonder if she’s fallen asleep.

After what feels like hours, Fabricio looks over his shoulder and shouts, “The island.” His hand motions in the general direction of a light flickering on the distant horizon.

“Hey,” I say, patting Lottie’s shoulder. “We’re here, baby.”

“Already?” she murmurs, rubbing her eyes in the familiar way she does every morning.

“Did you sleep?”

“I snoozed, I guess.”

Fabricio slows the boat. With skilled maneuvers, he places it parallel to a small pier.

“Aqui estamos, señor.” He shakes his head and repeats. “Here we are, Mr. Seth.”

I release the lifejacket off Lottie and grab our skimpy bag. We leap off the boat.

As we cross the pier and follow through a narrow stone steps leading to the single post with the light I saw from the distance, Fabricio gives us information about the house.

He pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the door. Once inside, he flicks on the lights. The interior is rustic. The ceiling is tall and round like a tepee. Whoever decorated intended to bring the ocean inside. The furniture is made of driftwood painted in a washed-out gray hue. The wood walls are bright blue. Seashells, sea glass, and driftwood sculptures are strewn throughout the space. A large beige sofa is placed in front of wide glass doors leading outside. An infinity pool, at odds with the rustic decoration of the house, sits between the house and the ocean.

“Ocean view in every room,” Fabricio explains.

“The fridge has bottled water, beer, and soda. But mañana, I bring food.”

“Thank you so much for your help, Fabricio.” I pull my wallet from my pocket.

Fabricio emphatically raises his hand. “No. Mr. Roberto pay good money. You no pay me.”

I open my mouth to protest but close it. In all honesty, I’m anxious for him to go. Now, that me telling the truth is eminent, I want to get it done and over with.

“Gracias, señor,” Fabricio says.

“No, thank you. You’ve been great.”

“I see you mañana.”

He exits the house, leaving nothing but silence behind him. Lottie strolls to the door leading to the pool and swings it open. A crisp ocean breeze shifts inside the room and rattles the chimes hanging by the door. Lottie stares out at the sea.

The boat roars to life, filling the quiet night. When it fades in the distance, I step closer to Lottie. My eyes follow her gaze.

A round moon casts a silvery light that glimmers on the black water.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask.

“Beer,” Lottie mutters.

I walk to the kitchen and pull two beers from a blue fridge. When I return, Lottie is standing outside before the pool. Her hair, cascading over her shoulders, shimmers in the moonlight.

She looks so unattainable. Almost like an entity meant to be watched from a distance. My fingers itch and ache with the need of touching her. I glare at my hands. Hands so full of sin and secrets. I’m certain I’m unworthy of her.

“Here.” I hand her an opened beer and take a pull on my own. God, I hate beer. It tastes like piss.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Lottie asks with an edge to her voice.

“Two days.”

She is silent for another beat. I clench and unclench my hand, trying to decide how to begin my piteous tale of being a man whore.

“You said you have something to tell me.”

“Yes, I—”

She turns abruptly. Her hand flies to my lips interrupting me.

Her brows furrow. “Whatever you have to tell me . . . will it . . . ?” She licks her lips. “Will it be the end of us?”

I run my hand over my face and hair and then clasp it behind my neck. After inhaling a big breath of air I say, “It might.” Most definitely, it will. She’ll never accept who I am.

“Whatever it is that you’re omitting, does it place anyone in danger?” she asks and the agony in her eyes makes my heart raw.

“No,” I say earnestly. At least this is an honest answer.

Her mouth opens forming an “O” then closes. Finally, she says, “Can I have this night, before you tell me, then?” Her eyes glint with emotions I can’t identify.

Lottie

“WHAT?” SETH ASKS
taking a step back.

“I know it’s stupid to ask for this. Especially considering that you might tell me you’re married already, and we just committed bigamy.” My teeth sink into my bottom lip before I continue. “Truth is, I’m not ready to let go of this. I know it’s irrational. We fell in lust, not love. But, Seth, I like the way you touch me. I like the way your gaze lingers on my lips. I like the way it feels to have you inside me. I like the way you flirt with me first thing in the morning when I have bad hair and bad breath.” I sigh before continuing. “I like the way your bright, clear eyes darken with desire when you dive inside me. I’m not ready to let go of it. Not yet. Give me tonight. Please.”

He places his half-empty beer bottle on the table and pulls me to him. My body succumbs to the warmth of his.

“God Lottie, if I had my way, I would never tell you any of it. I would lie my entire life. I would not taint what we have.”

He kisses the crown of my head and tightens his hold of me.

I pull back and look up at him. “Can we pretend we are on our much-planned and anticipated honeymoon?”

“Anything you want, baby.”

I press my cheek to his chest. “No one ever called me baby before. I think I like it,” I confess. “I like it when you call me Cherry Lips, too.” In the few days we’ve been together, Seth has made me look at myself through his eyes. And I swear I like what I see. It’s wanton, sultry, alluring.

I want to give him something back. “What’s your one fantasy that you never did with a girlfriend?”

“Oh, Lottie, I can’t remember the last time I had a girlfriend.”

“But you have had flings, right?”

“Yes. We can say that.”

“So, the one thing you didn’t do to them that could be just for us?” I feel so stupid and naïve suggesting this. Seth has the art of making love mastered. Surely there isn’t anything that I can offer him that would be unique. I lean my head back against his chest. My shoulders sink as I let a breath out.

He pulls back. His fingers find my chin and raise my head to face him. “Actually, there is something I’ve always wanted to do with someone who belonged to me.”

My blood simmers in my veins with the possessive way he says I am his.

“But before I say anything, please promise to say if it’s beyond your comfort zone.”

I nod.

“Say it,” he demands.

“I promise.”

He raises a brow.

“I promise to say no if it’s something I’m not comfortable with,” I say with a smirk of half apprehension and half anticipation.

“Are you familiar with BDSM?”

I gasp, and I’m sure my eyes are bigger than saucers. “I uh, sure. I’ve read
Fifty Shades of Grey.
”

His lips curve into a half a smile. “So, are you open to some kinky sex?” His brow rises in expectation.

“Yes. Sure. Absolutely. I would love some kinky sex.” I give myself a mental slap.
Way to sound sexy and wanton, moron.

“Hey, you promised.” He tilts his head.

“I’m not sure how I feel about pain and spanking,” I say regretfully.

His smile broadens showing his pearly teeth. “No pain, not spanking. I’m not a dominant. I do, however, have lots of things I would like to do with your body . . . your pussy.” His voice drops an octave, and his eyes darken.

A pulse beats in my clit. His stare alone has me dampening my panties, but when he talks dirty to me, God I could die of arousal.

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine, and his warm breath tickles my cheek. “Stay here. I’ll be back for you.”

I nod, and my eyes trail after him until he disappears inside the house.

“What am I doing?” I sit on one of the lounges, facing the water. I drink the beer with three long pulls and end Seth’s half-full beer as well. I might need some liquid courage to go through with this. What was I thinking? We barely know each other. I have zero sexual experience. Zilch. Nada. Nothing. This is surely a mistake. I can never be sexually on par with Seth. The man is a beast. He’s probably a sex god pretending to be a mere human. I’m sure that must be it.

I’ll call this outrageous thing off. Before I turn our last night into a fiasco.

I spring from the lounge and turn to head to the house.

That’s when I see him. I open my mouth to say something but shut it. A moonlit Seth stands like a carved Greek sculpture in the splendor of his nakedness. His striking erection points at me.

I swallow the words before they tumble out of my mouth.

He prances my way. Slowly and predatory.

Every muscle in my body coils. The earlier throb in my clit is back with a vengeance.

He is holding a piece of cloth. Is he going to tie me up? A shiver runs up my spine. I run my tongue over my lips. Helplessly my eyes zoom in on his dick. God, he is beautiful.

“Before we do this we need a safe word.”

“What?” I shake my head, forcing my brain’s synapses to connect so I can produce coherent speech.

“A safe word. You must be familiar with the concept.”

“Yeah.” I mull over for a moment. “Uh, Dona.”

“Dona?” he inquires.

“Yes. Dona,” I confirm.

“Okay.” His places his index finger on my left temple and with a feathery touch, he traces my face. “You’re breathtaking,” he says with a husky voice. He inches his face to mine.

My droopy lids close. He pecks a kiss over one eye, then over the other. “Turn.”

I obey.

“I’m going to blindfold you.” He places the soft fabric over my eyes. His mouth is close to my ear. “It heightens the senses.”

Confirming his word, as soon as I’m deprived of sight, my body switches focus to other senses.

Quietly, I listen to my surroundings for clues to what’s happening. The stillness and quietness are unnerving.

He gathers my hair and puts it in a ponytail at the nape of my neck. “We need your hair out of the way for what I have in mind.”

Obediently, I stay still. In the romances I read, the heroine always wants to please the hero. This is my novel, my story. Real life, with a real person, but just like in the romances, I’m eager to please Seth.

My back is pressed against his chest, and I roll my head with abandonment.

“Be still. I’m going to undress you,” he says, running the pads of his fingers along the inside of my arm. “I need to see your naked body bathed in the moonlight.”

I feel his absence. My body trembles. Where is he?

He hooks the hem of my tank top, his fingers caressing my tummy. He is now in front of me. He drags it up, his nails graze on my skin, leaving a tingling sensation. He pulls the tank top over my head.

“So exquisitely beautiful,” he says, cupping the underside of my breasts. His hands slide down my rib cage, over my waist, and grip my shorts. He pulls them down and says, “Step out of it, baby.”

For a while, he’s silent. Then, the ground disappears from under my feet. My hands and legs flail in a very unflattering way.

“Let’s go inside. I need to have my way with you.”

AS HE CARRIES ME,
I lay my cheek on his sturdy chest. His heart pounds heavily beneath my ear.

With me in his arms, somehow he opens and closes doors. He deposits me in what I believe is the center of a bed.

“Sit on your heels,” he directs and assists me in finding the position.

I must look pathetic. The deprivation of sight makes me excruciatingly clumsy. Ordeals like this are a bit sexier in the novels I’ve read.

I remain still, waiting for the next instructions. A fresh breeze brings the sound of the ocean inside. The air is scented with a mixture of salt and candle wax.

“Give me your hand,” Seth orders. His voice is deeper than usual.