Derailed II (4 page)

“You won’t run away from me again, will you, Saarah?”

I shook my head, stifling a cry.

“Good.” The spanking stopped and he gently rubbed my raw, burning buttock.

“I’m not done with you.” He grinned wickedly.

I shuddered, wondering what could be next.

In one swift move, he scooped me up and laid me down on the sand. The cool grains felt soothing against my burning ass.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, looming above me.

My legs steepled, I did what he asked.

He loosened the drawstring of his linen pants, letting them fall to the sand, and then tore off his shirt. His splendid cock, hard and erect, was aimed at me like a deadly weapon. Before I could blink an eye, he threw his torso upon mine and plunged his steely spear deep inside me. I moaned. Oh my warrior!

“Oh you’re so hot and wet,” he purred, grinding his member against my vaginal walls.

I squeezed my inner muscles around his weapon, intensifying my pleasure and his. My hips rocked with his in perfect harmony, meeting him head on each time he lunged forward. My fingers dug deeper and deeper into the sand. Each time, he hit my sensitive spot, I moaned with pleasure. He picked up his pace and ground harder, striking the hot spot again and again. My body quivered and I began to whimper. Was this love or torture?

His breathing was ragged, and wisps of his hair had fallen forward onto his gorgeous face. “Do you want more, baby?” he asked breathlessly as I brushed them back.

I managed a weak nod.
Don’t stop, now.

He accelerated his rhythm, thrusting into me faster and faster. Harder and harder. My whimpers morphed into sobs. My climax was building and so was his. The two of us were a symphonic metal band of helpless shrieks, moans, and groans.

Just when I thought he couldn’t go any deeper and I could take any more, he cupped his hands under my sore butt and lifted me up toward him. Jabbing his spear one more time against my hot spot, he cried out, “Now, baby!” Inside, my body exploded with his, his orgasm riding my sea of rolling waves. The waves inside me mirrored those of the ocean. Coming at me one after another, rolling over his member as if it were a hard piece of driftwood washed up on shore. I wailed happily, helplessly as I heard him hoarsely shout out my name.

Drowning in our sea of juices, he could not move. Nor could I. The damp sand beneath me was a welcomed contrast to the heat of his sweaty body blanketing mine. Our breathing was haggard, and I could feel our juices spilling out of me.

I don’t know how long we stayed in that position when he rolled off me. He repositioned his glorious body so that he was perpendicular to me, his head cradled in my warm breasts and his long, muscular legs stretched across the sand. He swiveled his head so that his eyes, two glistening stars, gazed at my face. I ruffled my fingers through his silky hair.

His fingers danced along my neck, intermittently twirling around that strangely erotic spot below my chin. He let out a breathy sigh. “That was fucking incredible, Saarah.”

“Yeah.” I was basking in the aftermath of our mind-blowing orgasms. The rolling waves of the ocean synchronized with the waves cresting through me.

“Do you think you’ve been punished enough for one night?”

I jerked a little. Was he thinking of fucking me again? After all, he was still erect. I just wasn’t sure if I could handle it.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to fuck you again although you are quite insatiable.”

I laughed. “Hey, I should be punishing you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You left me all alone at the party and flirted with that blonde.”

He gave my ponytail a sharp, painful yank. “Saarah, Saarah, Saarah. That jealous streak of yours rivals mine. That woman is my head of sales. And she happens to be happily married with two kids. Oh, and by the way, she’s gay.”

I gulped. Before I could say a word, he got to his feet and lifted me up with him. He pulled me into him and smashed his lips against mine. The kiss was fierce and maddening. I melted at the feel of his tongue chasing mine. Desire for another helping of his cock was rising inside me.

I pulled away. “I’m going to punish you anyway.” I ran my fingers down his taut chest, over the tight muscles of his abdomen, and down toward his glorious member.

He caught my wrist, stopping my movements before I could reach my final destination. His gaze met my shell-shocked eyes. The expression on his face was far from desirous. His eyes, half-moons, conveyed something between aloofness and anxiety.

“Saarah, get dressed. I need to—”

“Be there for your son.” I finished the sentence for him. As much as I understood where he was coming from, I felt bereft. This was my real punishment for getting too close to him.

With a weighty heart, I brushed the sand off my body and quickly donned my jeans and tee.

“Let me walk you back to the guesthouse,” said Ari, sliding his linen pants over his semi-erect member.

“Don’t bother. I’m a big girl.” Without looking back, I sprinted across the sand. I was nothing more than a guest in his life. Someone who had to respect his rules and his space. Someone who had no right to tomorrow. I had to remember that. Tears pricked my eyes. As I neared the guesthouse, I noticed the silhouette of someone perched on the upper oceanfront terrace of the main house. The moonlight illuminated her face. It was Gwen. A shudder rippled through me. She had been spying on us.

2

W
HEN I ARRIVED FOR BREAKFAST in the main house the next morning, Ari, his son, and his sister were already seated around the kitchen island, eating pancakes. Gwen looked up from her
New York Times
and eyed me coldly. Ari was reading his
Wall Street Journal,
and Ben was playing a game on his iPad.

I helped myself to some coffee and joined them at the island.

“How did you sleep?” asked Ari, putting down his paper.

Gwen shot me a smirk, clearly pleased that I had not slept with her brother.

“The best I ever have,” I replied, shooting a smirk back at the manipulative Ice Queen to let her know I could read her mind.

I took a sip of my steaming coffee and yawned. To be honest, I slept terribly. The down-coated bed was as delicious as I’d imagined. But while the ocean sang a lullaby with its ebb and flow, I tossed and turned. I was tormented by Ari’s ambivalence. He wanted me; he didn’t. I began to question what this sexy billionaire saw in me. I was still after all a no one. A plain small-town girl with a messed up life. And though he called me his “beautiful princess,” my beauty probably paled next to the women he was used to fucking. He said it himself--don’t count on a permanent relationship. There was no way this could work out. I was not, however, going to let his cunning sister Gwen in on my feelings of self-doubt and dread.

Ari, dressed in jeans and a white tee, rose. I could not take my eyes off his tanned, gorgeous body. The sight of this godly man that had ravaged me on the beach last night made my stomach flutter and insides ache. I didn’t know how much more I could take it.

“Listen, I have to go back to the City this morning for an emergency business meeting. You are free to stay here—my mother will be arriving later—and Gwen can take you home with Ben later. Or you can go back with me.”

While I relished spending more time with Ari’s warm, lovely mother and his delightful son, the thought of spending two hours in a car with his calculating sister was unbearable. “I’ll go back with you,” I said, aware of Gwen’s eyes on me.

“Fine. Please pack your bag. We’ll be leaving right after breakfast.” The coldness of his voice sent a shiver down my spine. Was this the beginning of  the end?

We drove back to the city in Ari’s Bentley in silence, except for the Beethoven CD that played.
Appassionata
. He was brooding, but I didn’t dare ask him what was on his mind. My own mind was troubled too. How could this man be so hot and so cold? Plus, I was worried about my mother; I was worried about Lauren, and I was worried about Jo-Jo, whom I hadn’t seen for twenty-four hours. At least, I had left the cat with his usual big bowl of water.

We made excellent time back into the city, missing the late afternoon rush of commuters heading back there after the long weekend. Ari dropped me off in front of my brownstone. He helped me with my bag and walked me to the front door.

We shared an awkward stretch of silence, until he said, “I hope you enjoyed yourself, Sarah.” The way he said my name was cold and rushed.

“Thanks. It was a great weekend.” A nervous, electrical current coursed through my body.
Was he going to kiss me? Invite himself up to my apartment?

He stared at me coolly. “I’ve got to go.” Without touching me, he galloped back to his car and took off. I longed for him to turn his head. Or even wave. He didn’t.

My heart sunk with disappointment as the Bentley rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. Maybe it was over. His fear of commitment had gotten the better of him. Or I just wasn’t his supermodel type.

I jammed the key into the front door, but damn it, I couldn’t get it to open. Just my luck. I buzzed Mrs. Blumberg’s apartment, but there was no answer. And then, Mr. Costanzo’s, the pizza man. No answer. Great. I was locked outside.

As I lowered myself to the stoop and moped, Mrs. Blumberg came bursting out the front door with her shopping cart. There wasn’t a day that she didn’t shop for groceries. I suppose it gave her something to do.

She gave me the stink eye. “Young lady, didn’t your mother ever tell you that you could get infections down there from sitting on a dirty stoop?”

My “down there” throbbed. Once again, I felt robbed. Emotionally.

Shaking her head in dismay, the elderly woman held the door open for me with her cart. I thanked her for feeding Jo-Jo and and trudged up the stairs, with my messenger bag slung over my shoulder and Ari’s pink overnight case in my hand. Fortunately, I had no problem opening the door to my apartment.

Jo-Jo, with a loud hungry meow, greeted me and rubbed his head against my ankles. I threw my bags on the floor and hurried to the kitchen to feed him.

I checked my messages. None. Opened my refrigerator. Nothing. I decided I might as well use the rest of the day to try to find a second job to help pay for my mother’s treatments. Later, I would call her.

Still wearing one of Ari’s sundresses—and pantyless—I combed the streets looking for part-time work. Most of the local restaurants were closed because of the holiday—including Mr. Costanzo’s pizza joint—and the few that were open had no employment opportunities. Exhausted and depressed, I lumbered back to my apartment in the late afternoon.

The first thing I did was call my mother. She sounded upbeat, a little stronger than usual. I tried to sound cheery, telling her that I had a nice weekend at the beach. While I wanted to pour out my heart to the person who was my best friend in life and confidant, I refrained because I did not want to pull down her spirits. Of course, I did not tell her about the insurance problem and, in fact, had no idea how I was going to break that news to her. I told that I was looking forward to seeing her again on Friday. By the end of the conversation, my mother sounded tired. We exchanged “I love you’s,” and I hung up the phone.

I fed Jo-Jo again and then boiled some water to make a cup of ramen noodles. A loud rap at the door diverted my attention, and I turned off the stove. It must be Mrs. Blumberg. The busy body probably wanted to hear all about my weekend.

I slumped toward the door and peered through the peephole. My heart dropped to my stomach. It was him! How on earth did he get into the building? Mrs. Blumberg? Actually, I wouldn’t put it past him if he had secretly made a set of my keys.

Tidying my ponytail, I unbolted the door and let him in. Still clad in his jeans and tee, his gorgeousness wore a wicked grin on his face and was carrying a small shopping bag. Now what had he bought me? A sandwich would be good. I was starving. For a meal.
And
for him.

“I’m sorry, my pretty princess, about some of my behavior this weekend.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I said though my inner thought balloon was bursting to say, “Yes, you do, you jerk.”

“I’ve bought you something to make up for it. A toy...I think you’ll like.”

So, that was what was in the bag. I wasn’t, however, familiar with name of the toy shop on the bag. The Pleasure Trove. He pulled out a colorful cellophane-wrapped package.

Sparky. The Vibrating Magic Wand.
“Okay, so you want me to wave this and make magic?” Laughing, I followed him to the couch.

He smirked. “It’s for your pussy.”

A cat toy for Jo-Jo?

“A vibrator.” In one swift move, he scooped me up in his bronzed, brawny arms, set me down on the couch, and lifted up my dress, exposing my crotch. Smiling, he caressed my patch. He was obviously pleased that I wasn’t wearing panties.