Chapter 6

Nicholas

I stand on the wraparound porch of my villa and hold the glass of orange juice to my lips. I haven’t taken a sip since I lifted it from the tray in my living room. Thoughts from yesterday, my girl’s body beneath me, have taken me to another fucking plane of existence.

I’ve never come so hard as I did with her. I filled that pussy with all I had and I’ll do it again.

And her smell… it’s something special, a scent that unlocked a hidden desire. The floral scent, so light and fragrant, is familiar to me. I can’t place where I’ve smelled it before.

I finally take a sip of the orange juice and savor the tang on the sides of my tongue.

She’s tastier. I’ve named her my vixen, but the curiosity has already seeped through my veins. I want to know who she is.

My cell phone rings inside the villa, and I squeeze my eyes closed. “Fuck,” I mutter.

Mystique Island has a strict no cell phones policy for this exact reason. It breaks the fucking magic of the moment. I can’t disconnect from work for too long, though, and sneaking in a few calls here and there can’t hurt.

I walk back into the living room, the floors of polished wood creak beneath my steps, and I lift the phone from the mantel where I left it. Jake’s number flashes on the screen.

I put down the glass of OJ, then answer. “Son,” I say. “You should be at work.”

“I am at work,” he replies, and I pre-empt the annoying whine. “Dad, it’s bullshit. This guy is a total dictator. I’m not going to handle working for him.”

“Then you’ll be out of Columbia by the end of the week,” I say.

“Can’t I just work for you?” he asks.

“No,” I reply. I’ve always hoped that my son would take over the reins at the Plug, but he’s fucking hapless currently. A couple weeks of grinding it out at a local store will put some steel in his spine.

“Seriously?” he hisses, then hangs up.

Little prick. He’s on the fast road to a wakeup call that will be very unpleasant for him, and will be none of my doing. I place the phone on the mantel again, but this time, I hold in the button on its side and turn it off.

I’ll stick to the Island’s rules from now on.

There’s a mixer on the beach – I can make out the thrum of noise from my oceanfront villa – and I snatch up my mask and put it on. Hopefully, my girl will be down there, waiting for me, and if not, I’ll fucking find her.

I need to fill her again, to feel her walls close around me, taste her mouth and that soft skin at her neck. She’ll be my drug while I’m on Mystique.

I check my reflection in the mirror and nod. Forty-two years old and I’m still working out, not a hint of gray in my hair, with a dick thick enough to please hundreds of women. Except, I don’t want hundreds of women. I learned my damn lesson years ago, when I fell for Jake’s mother and ultimately lost her.

I want no one.

Except that’s not technically true anymore. I want my girl, my vixen, and I want her now.

I head out the front door, clomp down the three wood steps that lead onto a dirt path between two hedges. I like it this way – closed off and private. I requested it from Blake, my buddy who owns the island. The idea seemed pretty fucking far out at first, but now? I won’t look back.

I reach the sand, kick off my shoes, then hit the sand. My feet sink into the silken whiteness and I relish that sensation – this is what a vacation is supposed to be. Relaxation, and a gorgeous woman begging for it.

Mine. She’s mine for the weekend.

I walk down to the party, the same spot where the picnic baskets had been the night before, and past a couple fucking on the sand. He’s got her leg pinned back and her pussy on display, pounding her with every inch he has. Her tits bounce beneath the two fabric triangles of her bikini.

She’s hot, but she’s not my girl.

I walk on and take a seat on one of the beach chairs, shaded by a colorful umbrella, near a volleyball net. Scantily glad women jog around and giggle, their bodies tight or curvy. Different shapes for different tastes. Vixen isn’t among them.

I rub my palms together and settle back, close my eyes. Giggles, a soft moan from behind me, and the thump of the ball hitting the sand. The sun beats down on my skin, and I tug off my t-shirt, careful not to unseat the mask.

Where is she? She should be here.

I sit up again and look around.

And there she is, walking across the sand toward me, wearing nothing but a tiny gold bikini. It sits against her tan skin and teases me. It’s almost invisible because of the hue.

She approaches, casts sideways glances at the others on the beach, but everyone’s lost in their own private joy.

Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and strands of hair escape it and flutter across her mask. She catches them and tucks them behind her ear.

“Vixen,” I say, and pat my crotch. “Take a seat.”

She licks her lips, hesitates, then sidles over. She straddles me and sinks onto my lap.

I tuck her legs up onto the chair, her tits jouncing from the motion. One of her nipples escapes and she lets out a muted cry and tugs the tiny triangle of glittering fabric over it.

“Shy?” I ask.

“I’m – I guess,” she says. “I’m not used to all of this.” She nods to the women playing volleyball, and the couple two beach chairs over. The woman there has her mouth wrapped around her partner’s cock. She winks at me as she sucks him off.

Vixen stiffens and lays across my chest, claiming me.

I grin at her. “It works both ways,” I say. “You’re mine for the weekend, and I’m yours.”

Her shoulders relax a little and she shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t matter. We’ll never see each other after this, so it’s okay.”

I grasp her chin and lift it, make sure she’s connecting with me for real. “Hey,” I say, “it matters. It fucking matters.”

“It does?” Her pussy rests against my dick, already stiffening for her again.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Nobody touches you but me. Got it?”

“Got it,” she whispers.