Capri's Fate (4 page)

My pillows floated in the air, fluffed and settled up against the headboard. "Hold your questions. Settle back, read your paper. When you're ready, we'll begin."

The defiant, liberated woman in me surfaced. "What if I don't want to?"

A heated tickle scurried up my inner right thigh. Miniature fireworks danced across my nipples and the softest of warm tropic breezes skimmed the surface of my cheek. All at the same time.

"A small sample of what you'll be giving up. I can leave, and you can spend the rest of your life sexually unfulfilled or…"

The tickle, fireworks and breeze all happened again. I, involuntarily, shuddered. "You may not want to." He breathed his words into my ear. "But your body does."

Fingers rippled across my erect nipples. "Now, enjoy your quiet morning."

I w
as in the middle of the Sudoku when the answers appeared in the spaces and the pencil floated out of my hand. "Hey! I was working on that."
Oh, I see what I did wrong, the six should've gone—

"Roll onto your stomach."

"Don't boss me around. I'm the Vice President of a global…ooh!"

Tiny explosions popped behind my navel.

"Roll onto your stomach."

I tossed the newspaper onto the floor and looked around the room. "You know, this is just ridiculous."

"What is?"

"I'm talking to the air and it's responding. I can't see you or touch you. And yet you've suddenly decided you're in control of my sex life." I crossed my ankles and arms. "I'll have you know, I have a perfectly satisfying sex life."

The newspaper flew into the air. The curtains billowed out and fluttered like a hurricane blew through. The closet doors opened and shut. Either my Fate was angry or laughing his ass off. I suspect the latter.

It had been a good six months since I last had sex. Guess good wasn't the correct adjective there, now was it?

"Work with me. Close your eyes and try to shut your mind off."

I chewed on my lip.
So, you give up a day's work. You can pull overtime on the weekend. Get caught up. You do deserve a break.

The scent of sandalwood and jasmine mixed together drifted past my nose. My senses swam in the aroma. It took me to warm South Pacific beaches, saturated in sunshine and fragranced with fresh ocean breezes.

"Don't think. Experience."

I settled onto the bed and closed my eyes. As I did, I heard the whoosh of ocean waves and felt the heat of the sun on my skin. I picked my head up, opened my eyes and looked around.

Toto, I'm so not in Kansas anymore. What the hell happened to my bedroom?

C
hapter Three

I was lying on a padded massage table in one of those tiny open-air huts, with only a little towel covering my behind. Okay—it was a bit bigger than a
little towel
covering my behind.

A breeze rustled the palm fronds on the roof and made the coconut chimes click a soothing sound. The
café-au-lait shaded sand glowed in the sunshine before it slipped into the surf.

Nestling my face on the headrest, I shuddered as four pairs of hands massaged my arms and legs. The strong fingers dug into my flesh ridding all the tension out of my limbs. Another set of hands worked my shoulders and upper back, which relaxed muscles that haven't felt like that in a decade. I was liquid.

I heard the soft request to roll over three times, but my muscles had gone on strike. With much exertion, I turned onto my back. The fragrance of the massage oils, earthy, yet flowery, delighted my nostrils. A sixth pair of hands rubbed my temples and worked down to my chest. The sounds of the waves hypnotized me. My breathing matched the rise and ebb of each wave.

With one final
, long, fingertip stroke, the sensation of hands on my flesh ended. I rested for a few moments, reveling in the peace, which enveloped my body. Skipping a day's work might not be so bad after all.

The warmth of the massage table changed to cool silk. I opened my eyes and looked around. The table and hut had disappeared and I was now on the end of a long dock surrounded by colorful pillows. Some of which
, were positioned under me. A surge of light shimmered over my body.

My bustier had wrapped itself around me, forcing my nipples to burst from the peek-a-boo holes. The bottle of warming lubricant landed beside me, top popped off. And amazed that I wasn't the least bit shocked, alarmed or confused
, I watched as my glass dildo floated above me.

"Play with your nipples. Show me what you do to make them firm."

"Excuse me?" My eyebrows rose up to my hairline. "You want me to play with myself? In front of you?"

"Yes."

One simple, yet mortifying, word.

"I'm not a porn star."

"Just touch yourself. I will not judge you."

I rippled my fingers across my nipple, which traitorously responded. So did my lower parts. They tingled. The bustier was much tighter than I would have hooked it. My breasts were forced into a way-out-there position. My body liked the restraint. I tickled myself again. My nipple grew firm. Playing with both, I squeezed and pulled until they stood erect and pinky-proud.

"They're beautiful. Continue," the voice urged.

To the flesh on my breast, my fingers were like ice cubes. My areolas contracted. My nipples stiffened. My next touch changed to sandpaper—rough and scratchy. Tingles shivered through my body. Hot, cold, rough, soft—each new sensation was a surprise.

Sweat trickled down my neck. Pressure built deep inside. My hand turned palm up, and the vibrating nipple clamp fell into it.

It took me a moment to figure out what to do. No, Thall didn't send the instructions along, and I hadn't had a chance to read them yet. My bad.

Unclasping it, I encased my nipple then hit the tiny switch. A squeal escaped me as a tiny electric pulse shot through my aroused dusky tip. The other clamp floated in front of me. I secured it onto my left nipple and held my breath.

Snap. Snap.

A surge of lust rushed through my body then centered in my crotch.

Snap.

Snap. Snap.

The electric pulses were titillating—pun intended—and random, and I found myself waiting for the next. They didn't fire together. Nor did they go off in even patterns. I lay back wallowing in the
random sensations they delighted in me. I wanted this to last for hours. A small thought nudge me.
How long do tiny cell batteries last?

The arousal gel poured itself over my upper thighs as strong fingertips raked the insides, forcing my legs apart.

Arousing was so the wrong term for the lubricant. Fire would be a more apt description. I've been cooler after a tough hour of hot yoga class.

Sweat rolled in streams from me, yet all I did was rest on silk pillows having my nipples erotically zapped. I pulled my knees up and let them fall. I was fully exposed, and horny as hell. I wanted to be fucked. Needed to be fucked.

The bottle of warming gel flipped pouring liquid heat down my crotch. My glass penis hung, head down, aimed between my legs.

"Do you want it?"

I groaned.

"Do you want it inside you—mercilessly driving you to a screaming orgasm?”

Do the Fates understand the term – duh!

A hand separated my vulva and began long glides up the insides of my labia. I sighed and sunk to the edge of bliss.

Snap.

Snap. Snap.

Damn! Forgot about the nipple clamps.

The long fondles turned to tiny flicks tickling my labia and inner thighs.

I squirmed and wiggled. Fire danced over my body. "Touch me!"

"Where?" His voice brushed past me ear.

"My clit."

Every sensation stopped. I think my heart did too. I didn't breathe.

Time-stopping, scorching strokes on the smallest part of my body. My fingers dug into the pillows as I experienced the most mind-fucking sensation ever and released an intense scream of joy.

"
Ohhhh!"

"Again?" His voice was soft and tinted with humor.

"Yes!" It was more of a snarl than a polite response.

I waited. The nipple clamp zapped me. I squealed. His petting dragged across my clitoris with molasses speed. My heart raced, my breaths were shallow pants as I arched my hips up and spread my legs as wide as I could. "Touch me again. Please."

Total bitch in heat, and I didn't give a damn.
The words didn't come out of my throat. They came from somewhere deep inside me.

I understand why it's called a pussy. The stroke dragged along my bud like starting at the head of a cat and ending at the tip of the tail. My whole body quivered. The heat between my legs was blistering. Wetness dripped out of me. I didn't want to come. I fought the urge. I just wanted his caress.

The glass dildo pressed itself into me. I was ready. Definitely none of that not-quite-ready fumbling. I was wide open. I could have taken truck!
Ooh, did I say that out loud?

My body writhed in bliss. Purrs rumbled out of my throat.

The luxurious pace of the slow fuck didn't vary. Dildo glided in, rubbed across my g-spot then slid out. Explosive fire tapped my clit.

Moans of ecstasy.

Dildo began its inward trek.

Time stood still.

I arched my back and screamed.

C
hapter Four

Cool, fragrant cloths erased the sweat from my body and lowered my temperature to something less than volcanic. All was quiet. No scream of a gull. No splash of waves. Even the flower-scented breeze was gone. Warm blankets covered me. I snuggled against their familiar softness.

Wait. What?

It took a while, but I convinced my eyelid muscles to do their job and open. That wasn't an azure blue South Pacific sky above me. It was
the grayish white ceiling I knew well.
Wonder how I got back to my own bedroom?

I wiggled my fingers. Seemed like a silly thing to do, but I wasn't sure my muscles would ever obey me again. Since my body just experienced sexual sensations and an orgasmic release beyond what I had ever fantasized about, everything after was going to be mundane, dull and very ordinary. Oh, so like my normal life.

After twitching my fingers and toes and stretching my arms and legs, I convinced myself to get out of bed. I could easily put in a couple of hours on my laptop and get caught up on emails.

Needing a cup of coffee to slap awake my drowsy brain cells, I hopped off the bed and padded toward the bedroom door. As I reached for the doorknob, I paused and turned my head. My most formal
—meaning stupidly expensive designed by a top New York fashionista—evening gown was resting on the chair in the corner. I purchased it the previous year to wear to the Governor's Ball and haven't worn it since.

As I lifted it off the chair, to hang it back in my closet, a folded paper fluttered down. I caught it, unfolded it and read—Thall requests the honor of your presence at dinner. R.S.V.P.

I tossed the paper onto my dresser. "Sorry, can't do dinner. I have work to do. I didn't work my ass off in college then fight my way up the corporate ladder to lose my job because of a voice." I grabbed the doorknob, twisted and pulled. The door didn't budge. "Stupid door." I tried again. "Did you lock me in my room?"

There was no reply. I kicked the door. Remember I said I needed coffee to wake up sleeping brain cells? Well, the cells that were asleep were obviously the ones that would have said kicking the door was a dumb thing to do.

Hobbling back to my bed, I sat on the edge and checked for broken toes. The paper floated across the room and landed beside me. I picked it up and waved it randomly about in the air. "So this really isn't a cute invite, but more of a decree. You know,
By Royal Command.
"

"Is that a yes?" His voice swirled around me like a gust of a hot summer breeze.

"Guess it has to be if I want coffee."

The paper poofed into oblivion and a steaming cup of java settled onto my night table. "Skim milk?"

"Yes."

"Hint of cinnamon?"

"Yes."

"Okay, you win." I picked up the mug and sipped brewed Columbian heaven.

After dressing, putting on my makeup and weaving my hair in a quick French braid, I walked through my kitchen and into my dining room. Except…it wasn't my dining room.

I paused. As far as I could tell, in the past twenty-four hours, I had spoken with an invisible voice that says it is one of the Fates, purchased a bunch of sex toys, which I would never, ever do.
What would mother say!
And had somehow flown to a tropical isle where I had the most luxurious massage in a hut on a beach, and then had the most incredible sexual experience ever in the whole length of recorded human existence. And still, here I was a bit surprised to find my dining room had been replaced with a sultan's tent.