RoxannesPirate Page 12

  “Are you always like that in the morning?” she asked. “So forceful?”

  He smiled. “Only when I get bitten.” He shook a finger at her playfully. “There should be a sign on me—no ass biting.”

  “I couldn’t help myself,” Roxanne responded. “It called out to me.”

  “Next time when it calls, ignore it. Now what would you like me to make you for breakfast? Eggs? Pancakes?”

  “I’m not much for breakfast. Toast and coffee would be fine.”

  “Toast it is.”

  Roxanne was enjoying her second cup of coffee when there was a discreet knock on the door to the kitchen.

  “Buenas dias, señor.” A short, round woman in a gray uniform stood in the doorway.

  “Buenas dias, Maria.”

  Roxanne’s elementary grasp of Spanish couldn’t keep up with the ensuing conversation.

  “Bring Maria the clothes you want washed,” Carlos said. “You can put on your bathing suit and give her the rest.”

  Maria smiled shyly at Roxanne. She held up the dress Roxanne had discarded on the lawn.

  “Maria says she’ll hand wash the dress and it will be ready to wear this evening.”

  “Thank you, Maria,” Roxanne said. “Gracias.”

  Maria followed Roxanne into Carlos’ bedroom. Roxanne was momentarily embarrassed at the condition of the bed and the pervasive smell of sex. She blushed when she thought of the collection of used condoms Maria would find in the trash. She gathered up her clothes and put them in the laundry basket Maria held out for her. “Gracias,” Roxanne said again. Briefly she wondered if Maria routinely performed this job for other women. Despite what Carlos had told her the night before, Roxanne found it hard to believe he had been as celibate as he claimed. She went into the guest bathroom and put on her bathing suit. Bruises were forming on various places from his teeth and hands.

  He was waiting for her in the hallway.

  “I could get used to starting a day like this,” Roxanne said. She leaned against the wall and sighed contentedly.

  “I take it you’re referring to our lovemaking.”

  “I meant getting my laundry done.”

  He shook his head, feigning disappointment.

  “You have some interesting artwork.” She gestured to a painting of what seemed to be a bull in a field of flowers, rendered in squiggly lines of black, gray and pink. She wondered if it was by Marit, his ex-girlfriend.

  “Very little of the contents of the house are mine. I rented it furnished. Fortunately the owner and I share similar tastes. One of these days I mean to settle down and make my own place. Until then…” He shrugged.

  “Did you settle down with Marit?”

  “I lived with her in her flat. I think in the back of my mind I knew it wouldn’t last. That what we had could not be permanent.”

  “Maybe that’s why you chose her to love.”

  “Maybe.” He smiled slightly. “For someone who hasn’t known me long, you’re very perceptive.”

  He followed Roxanne to the living room. A low coffee table was centered between a leather couch and two Mid-Century egg-shaped leather chairs. On the coffee table was a chess set made out of silver metal with chess pieces in odd shapes, one side in what seemed to be highly polished aluminum, the other in a metal with a duller pewter finish. Behind the chairs was a wall of shelves above a long credenza. Both the shelves and the credenza were made of a red-colored heavily grained wood. The shelves were filled with books.

  “Are the books yours?”

  “The books and the chess set.”

  Here at last was some clue to his personality. She scanned the titles of the books. “History, biography, technology. I don’t see any fiction, at least not in English.”

  “I don’t care much for fiction.”

  “Heresy!” Roxnane cried. “No mysteries? No Dickens? No Austen? No Tolkien? No King or Kingsolver?”

  He shook his head. “I know the names you mentioned. I read them when I was in high school and college. I just don’t care to spend my free time on novels. I find reality is strange enough.”

  Roxanne shuddered.

  “Is that a deal breaker?” He frowned as though he was truly concerned that she might reject him because of his literary preferences. “I do read poetry on occasion and I like some Latin American authors. I liked Love in the Time of Cholera.”

  Roxanne gave a dramatic sigh of relief. “Whew, I guess I won’t have to leave. What’s down the hall?”

  “My exercise room and study.”

  One room had been set up with a large-screen television, treadmill, bike, elliptical machine and free weights. There was a view out to the pool and the bay beyond.

  “Nice,” Roxanne said. “Do you use it much?”

  “Most days.”

  “And your study?”

  “Across the hall.”

  “Can I see it?”

  “No, it’s locked.”

  “You have the key, don’t you? Can’t you open it up and let me see it?”

  “I don’t let anyone in it.” His face was quiet, the smile had slipped away.

  “Doesn’t Maria clean it?”

  “No. I like my privacy.”

  “You’ve been through my things,” Roxanne said. She thought of the shelves he had gone through in her house, the closets and drawers he had opened and searched. “You know all about me.”

  “Yes,” Carlos said. “I do.”

  “It seems unreasonable for you not to let me even see your study.” She felt the unfairness in their positions.

  “Maybe,” Carlos said. “But that’s the way it is.”

  Roxanne moved to the door into his study. It was a plain flat door like the other doors in the house. She didn‘t see a lock on the door or on the knob. She put her hand on the knob. It turned, but the door did not open.

  “Maybe you should try banging your head on it,” Carlos said. He sounded amused.

  “Is that the secret to opening it?”

  “No, this is.” He pointed to a small black rectangle on the wall. “It’s keyed to my fingerprints.”

  “Ingenious. But you live alone. Why the need for so much secrecy? What are you hiding? Your twenty ex-wives? The entrance to the bat cave?”

  He smiled but made no move to let her in.

  “You really aren’t going to let me in?” She did not hide her annoyance.

  “I’m really not going to let you in, but I will take you to the beach and rub sunscreen all over your luscious body.”

  “I need something to wear over my bathing suit.”

  “I’ll give you one of my shirts. You’ll look incredibly sexy.”

  “I want the one you have on, so it smells like you.”

  He unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to Roxanne.

  “You really aren’t going to let me in?”

  He took her hand and pulled her away.

  * * * * *

  Carlos drove over a long causeway to an island and then to a park at the end of the island. They parked and took a path to the beach, walking past families, past an old lighthouse to the far end of the beach. The day seemed warm to Roxanne, but Carlos kept his pants on, only going so far as rolling up the cuffs. He spread out a blanket for them to sit on. They had picked up cheese and bread and fruit and olives on the way and two bottles of cold white wine in an insulated bag.

  The water was rough. Carlos refused to go in.

  “Only winter-crazed Northerners swim in the ocean in February. Locals have more sense. We wait until April or May.”

  “Weakling!” Roxanne scoffed.

  She jumped into the water and sputtered at how chilly it was, but she refused to come out. Carlos laughed at her. A wave smacked against her and knocked her to her knees. She had to struggle to find her footing against the ocean’s pull. She crawled out of the water on her knees, gasping for breath. Carlos had run down to the water’s edge.

  “Come out now before you drown!” he said.

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sp; “I’m fine,” Roxanne said. She would not let him command her here. She got on her feet and went back in the water.

  Carlos made a noise of disbelief. “You’re crazy!”

  Roxanne dove under the next few waves. By then, she had to admit she was chilled to the bone. She came out of the water, shivering. Carlos handed her a large towel. “Was that fun?” he asked.

  “I thought you were a sailor,” she said, through chattering teeth. “You should be used to rough water.”

  “I never set out to drown myself.”

  “I don’t either.”

  He sat on the blanket. She sat next to him, wrapped in her towel.

  “When I was young, I was scared of waves,” she told him. “One summer I got tired of my brothers making fun of me and forced myself to go in. I got knocked over a few times, but I got back on my feet. I respect the waves. I don’t take foolish chances. Not in the ocean or in life.” She glanced at Carlos. “Except with you.”

  He looked at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

  She dug her toes into the soft sand. “It’s funny, but I just remembered something. At the end of that summer, the summer I dared the waves, my father took us all to England. He decided we should take a ferry across the English Channel. A storm blew up and the boat got tossed from side to side. My mother went below. I don’t know where my brothers went, but my father and I stayed out on the deck. The waves were crashing around us. I was scared, but I was also exhilarated. Funny, I’d forgotten that.” She pulled her towel closer.

  “I told you before you had the heart of a sailor,” he said. “That must be why I like you so much.”

  She smiled at him.

  “You still look cold,” he said. “Come to me and I’ll warm you up.”

  She sat between his legs and leaned back against his chest. He massaged her shoulders and arms through the towel then slipped his hand under the towel and inside her bikini bottom.

  “Hey,” she said. “You’re getting fresh.”

  “I want to make sure you don’t get hypothermia. This is guaranteed to warm you.”

  She closed her eyes and let his fingers work their magic, and in a shorter time than she thought possible, she was liquid heat. She moaned softly.

  “How do you do that?” she asked, gasping a little.

  “If I told you my secret, you would tell your other lovers and then you wouldn’t need me.”

  He put one of his fingers to her lips. “Do you like the way you taste?”

  She licked his finger. “I’d rather taste you. Don’t you want a turn?”

  “On a public beach?” he snorted. “We could be arrested for indecent behavior. I’ll wait for my pleasure until later.”

  “You really are unfair. You should let me please you.”

  “Roxanne, trust me. It takes little to please me physically. What gives me the greatest erotic thrill is knowing how to touch you, torment you, finding out what kind of pain you like.”

  She started at this and pulled away from him. “I’m not into pain!”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Rox, your pirate fantasy? I’m not talking about abuse. I mean pain companioned with pleasure. It’s intoxicating to me, an incredible rush to explore your body with you. Like learning to control a boat, how hard to pull on the lines, how much slack to give the sails.”

  She felt exposed to him, as though he’d peeled back her skin and seen something she’d kept hidden even from herself. Certainly Paul had never seen it. It unnerved her to have him come so deep inside her.

  “What about you, Carlos. Are you going to give me the secret to controlling you? What kind of pain do you like?”

  “You should have learned from this morning that I don’t like to suffer. Biting isn’t the way to please me.”

  “What is?”

  He pushed her down to the blanket, his hands held hers above her head. He kissed her hard on her mouth. “I like to own,” he whispered. “I like to possess.”

  He rolled off her.

  She was breathless and hungry for him and angry with herself for letting him get to her so easily. She sat up.

  “Ever since we met, I’ve wanted you.” Her throat tightened with this admission. “Even when it made no sense at all, even when you humiliated me. But I refuse to surrender to you utterly.”

  “I know,” he said. “Let’s have our lunch.”

  Roxanne pulled him to her. She kissed him gently, tenderly.

  He held her away. His dark eyes studied her face—there was a longing in his expression that went deeper than lust.

  It’s begun, she thought. Not just for me but for him too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  They had lunch on the beach and finished one bottle of wine and half of the second.

  “No more,” Roxanne said. “I’m drunk.”

  They packed the bags and folded the blanket and loaded the trunk of Carlos’ car. Carlos insisted Roxanne come with him on one of the marked paths into the bush. He led her through a grove of trees to a shady spot near the water.

  “Isn’t this a lovely view?” he asked, his arms around her waist.

  “Yes,” she said. The water on this side was much calmer. There were a few boats in the distance. Carlos put his hand under Roxanne’s right leg and lifted it, placing her foot on a pile of rocks. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Keep your eyes on the view.”

  His left hand cupped her breast. His right hand ran up her upraised thigh and inside her bikini bottom. He touched her labia with light, feathery touches. She felt a spasm of need.

  “Someone might see us,” she whispered.

  “We’re alone. All alone.”

  She reached behind and found the swollen ridge of his cock. She pressed it through his pants.

  “No.” He brushed her hand away. “That comes later.”

  She wanted to argue, but both his hands were between her legs now and she gave in to him. One finger pressed on her opening, another rubbed her clit, another tugged her labia.

  “How does this feel?” he asked. She felt pressure on the top and bottom of her passage as though he were pressing multiple fingers in different directions.

  She gave a soft cry of pleasure.

  “Softer?” His fingers slowed to a barely there touch that made her groan, afraid he would stop all together. “Harder?” His fingers picked up the pace and rubbed her clit hard and thrust inside her. “Tell me!” His fingers stopped all movement.

  “Don’t stop!” She pressed her hands against his to make him continue.

  “Then tell me how to do it.”

  “Hard.”

  “Touch your breasts,” he ordered.

  His fingers renewed their play on and inside her body. She squeezed her breasts.

  “Pinch your nipples.”

  She complied.

  “Harder,” he said.

  She gasped with the sensation.

  He bent her over at the waist so he could drive his fingers deeper inside her. They curled in her, pressed on the walls of her passage and she was over the edge, crying his name as she climaxed.

  He pressed his right hand against her crotch to soothe her. He put his left arm across her chest and pressed her against his body. “You’ve got it bad for me, Roxanne,” he whispered in her ear.

  She turned and pressed her body against his and took his face in her hands to kiss him. She wanted to tease him, to take control of him as he so easily took control of her. He stepped away from her and took her hand.

  “No fair,” she said. “You can’t always get your way.”

  He laughed and led her to the path. She stumbled slightly, tipsy from the wine and her orgasm. They came to the edge of the parking lot. She had an idea.

  “I have a proposition for you,” she said to him.

  “Yes?”

  “We each get fifteen minutes to take what we can from the other. Fifteen minutes to do whatever we want.”

  “How do we decide who goes first?�
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  “We race. To your car. The first to touch it wins. Go!”

  She raced past him and laughed as she touched the car first.

  “You cheated!” he said indignantly. He had not moved from his spot at the end of the path. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

  “Still, I won.” She was defiant. “I get to go first.”

  Roxanne hummed to herself in the car as Carlos drove back to his house. Now and then Carlos would glance at her. He seemed to be trying to take her measure, to read her mind and see what she planned.

  Maria greeted them at the door. Roxanne understood that Carlos was telling Maria he would see her on Monday morning and she could leave now.

  Roxanne gathered her supplies—condoms and the lubricating gel from the bedroom, the cloth belt from her robe, her hairbrush from the bathroom—and brought them to the living room.

  “All set?” Carlos asked. He looked at her supplies and pursed his lips. He seemed resigned to whatever she had in mind.

  She nodded.

  “Should we start now?” He held up his watch.

  She nodded again. He pressed a button on his watch. “Begin.”

  “Take your pants and underwear off and get on your knees.” She was thrilled to issue him an order and to see him obey. The prospect of having him under her control made her giddy. She tied his hands behind his back with the cloth belt. “Bend!”

  He bent and rested his right cheek on the floor. He shut his eyes.

  She pulled the leather belt from his pants. She loved the weight of it in her hands.

  “You’ve been bad, Carlos. Very bad. Tying me up and leaving me. Touching me whenever it pleases you. You have to be punished.”

  She held the leather belt by its buckle and brought the free end down, hard, on his ass. He didn’t cry out, but his eyes opened wide, as though he had not expected her to strike so hard. She hit him again and again. There were red welts on his beautiful ass. She dropped the leather belt and knelt behind him. She wanted to own, to possess, to claim. She raised her hairbrush and smacked his ass so hard, he quivered.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she told him. “I want to own you.”

  She knew there would be hell to pay. He’d warned her. But still she bit his ass, one cheek and then the other. He grunted softly but made no other noise. She lubricated her fingers, ran them over the pink puckered skin of his anus. She plunged a finger inside then the other. Her two fingers fucked him, hard and harder. She leaned forward, and with her other hand, found his hard cock. She loved the fact she was in control of him, in control of his pleasure. “For the first time in my life I wish I had a cock so I could fuck you!”