AS I WATCHED MY LEVENGER LEATHER SYMBOL of success sink to the bottom with little swaying motions as if it were dancing, I figured I had finally lost my mind. I tried to remember what had happened in that Robert Redford movie when he offered Demi Moore a million dollars for one night, then realized I hadn’t seen the film, just the trailers. How did it end? Was I doomed? No, probably just stupid.
Marco handed me a linen napkin with something written on it. I read it out loud. “I, Marco Rinadi, being of sound mind and body—” I looked up at him. “Are you sure about the sound mind part?”
He laughed. “Keep reading, Christine.”
I swallowed and licked my lips. “—do promise to give Christine Monford my house at 428 Severn Court and five years of expenses for its upkeep. In return Christine Monford promises to agree to any action I deem required for the night of Monday, May 7, 2007. Signed, Marco Rinadi.” I looked up at him, trying to stall, but not sure why, just knowing the whole thing scared the hell out of me. “Should we have our signatures witnessed?”
He called my bluff. “Certainly. Whom shall I call? My attorney? Yours? Both?”
I thought about phoning Sean McGavich, my divorce attorney. This deal would be the talk of the bar association meetings for months to come. Sean was good and never named names, but in a small town like Annapolis a person in the know could always figure it out. Did I trust Marco? I could trust him to satisfy every single fantasy I had, but that wasn’t at stake here—it was his fantasies that were to be fulfilled. What if that involved whips and chains? I could probably do that for a little bit. Golden showers? Ew. I flinched at the thought. I studied him standing there with the open cell phone and the raised eyebrow. I hadn’t heard anything bad about the man except he loved to have loud parties and loved the ladies. As far as I knew all the ladies had loved him back. Even if he was lying, did it really matter? One night with Marco was worth it. I motioned with my hand for him to shut the cell phone.
“Just answer one question, Marco. Why?”
“Do you agree to the terms?”
“I’m not sure. You could have any woman do this for free, Marco. What is going on?”
“Would you do anything for free?”
“It depends. Making love to you, certainly.”
“Really? No meal, no agent contract, no promises of phone calls, no future favors, nothing?” He ran his finger from my collarbone to between my breasts, then back up again. “Think about it, sweetheart, while I’m getting the lamb ready.” He gave me a quick kiss on the lips, then went inside. I stared down at my notepad, which was now at the bottom of the pool. Would that be me, ruined forever after taking the plunge? I had come here knowing it was a good possibility I would have sex with Marco, even preparing for it with my special black lace matching bra and panties set. So why was I so unsettled over the offer?
It brought up the whole matter of trust. I trusted that I could be a big girl over a one-night stand, but for Marco to put so much on the line made me wonder what was truly at stake. What did he really want? Some kind of odd control over me? Some kind of creepy head game that he would film and post on the internet? I could always say no if the cameras came out, but what if he had them mounted around the property and I didn’t even know it? I scanned the corners of the house, where security cameras were usually mounted, and saw nothing. I knew the place had an alarm system. They could be hidden in those. I ran my hands up and down my arms, trying to warm up from the sudden chill.
I jumped when Marco came up behind me and wrapped his large hands around my biceps. He nuzzled my neck, then released my hair from its loose bun, running his hands over it, petting it. He gently turned me around and kissed me, our bodies sliding against each other like butter on lobster. He whispered against my lips, “Still scared?”
“No,” I whispered back, and meant it, for when he held me it seemed nothing else in the world mattered except feeling him, smelling him, tasting him. If he had drugged my wine, I didn’t care.
He picked me up and held me against his chest. I nibbled at his earlobe as he carried me inside and laid me on the wide brown suede sectional couch. He kicked off his boat shoes, then stretched out next to me, his head propped up on one hand, the other hand under my skirt, caressing my thigh.
I boldly began unbuttoning his shirt and pulling the tail from his waistband. He shrugged out of the garment, leaving me to admire his smooth wide shoulders, which I couldn’t resist running my hands over, feeling the corded muscles underneath the warm tan skin. I pulled at his undershirt, silently demanding that he shed that, too. Reaching behind his back, he pulled it over his head, revealing a chiseled, hairless chest with dark nipples. Oh my, what a treat. I ran my nails across a nipple, making him groan.
He pulled me hard against him and his cock twitched, full and demanding, against my bush. I opened my legs wide to cradle him between my thighs. Three thin pieces of fabric to go before ecstasy. I reached for his belt buckle, but his hand enfolded mine.
“It’s Saturday night, Christine.”
“Uh-huh.” Who cared? I figured it was my night to get lucky, and this time he wasn’t going to stop me. I pulled the end of his belt loose. He pushed himself off the couch, grabbing both my hands in his. The man must do yoga, the way he bent away from me. My dress was up to my waist, my legs sprawled open in invitation. “Why do you keep stopping?” I almost wailed in frustration. He crouched beside the couch, still holding my hands still.
“You’re a greedy wench, aren’t you?” he said, smiling. “Now tell me about your Saturday nights, Christine.” The sun was setting across the river behind Marco. It was as if there was a shadow man in front of me, a dream man holding my hands tight, demanding my secrets before he would release me. “You weren’t lying were you, darling?” He put his head down and I was blinded by the sun’s last light full on my face. I closed my eyes against the glare. At the same time he slowly licked my palm, running his tongue between each finger, mimicking how I wanted his cock inside me.
“Jesus, Marco.” I reached for his belt again with my other hand, but he just held it tighter.
“Talk, Christine. No, better yet, show me.” He released my hands and stood up just enough to sit back on the coffee table. The sun hit my face full on again. “Oh, that’s perfect,” said Marco. He shifted a bit so the sun was illuminating my whole body. “Do you need anything? A vibrator?”
“Do you have one?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“Several. What kind?” He stood up, ready to do my bidding.
“Actually, I don’t need one.” I closed my eyes, debating whether to be truthful. A blush spread across my body. Maybe as a chef he would understand. Maybe as a chef, he had done this before. I pushed that thought out of my mind. I was here, now, for mutual pleasure only. “I need a pickle, or a cucumber, or a squash.” I put my hands over my still closed eyes.
“Kosher dill, sweet, or bread and butter?” I could hear the laughter in his voice.
“Doesn’t matter as long as it’s big and whole. Don’t you dare laugh. This was your idea. I’d be happy with a nice friendly man fuck.”
He did laugh then and I could hear him opening a jar, then pouring something. He padded over and set down a plain white china plate with a huge dill pickle on it, and next to the plate he put a glass of red wine. He leaned over and kissed me as if this were a simple date and he had brought me an hors d’oeuvre. He picked up a remote from an end table and pushed some buttons. Van Morrison’s husky voice flooded the room.
“How did you know?” I asked him as he sat down again on the end of the coffee table, letting the light fall on me.
“I take notes,” his shadowy self said. Then he took a sip of wine and waited.
It was my turn now to get him all hot and bothered. I, too, could play that leave-them-wanting-more game. I stood up and pulled my dress over my head. I tossed it in Marco’s direction. It hit his head and slid down his back. He sat up straighter as I sipped the wine in turn. I kicked off my shoes and stacked two pillows on the couch, then straddled them. I faced the sun and closed my eyes. I let Marco fade back into shadow and Van’s voice rumble through me until it was just me, with the sun, the music and my fingers making love. I released my breasts from their bra cups, letting the lacy material hold them high from underneath. I wet my thumbs and rubbed and pulled my nipples into straining, puckered peaks. I rocked back and forth on the pillows, the nubby fabric caressing my clit through my panties.
I was throbbing and wet within minutes, knowing Marco was watching me, imagining his fingers, tongue, cock deep inside me. I opened my eyes, focusing on the horizon, the blue and pink and gold streaking across the sky. I stood up and eased my black lace panties down, tossing them in Marco’s direction. I heard him groan, and wondered if he was naked, touching himself.
I picked up the pickle. It was still cold and wet. I sat back against the couch and closed my eyes again. I spread my legs and rested my feet on the coffee table. I rubbed the pickle back and forth across my clit. Bumpy and wet. I imaged it was Marco teasing me. I was ready, swollen and juicy. I pushed the pickle in slowly with one hand as I massaged my clit with the other. A moan escaped and I heard a deep one rumbling in return.
There were never enough hands when I did this on my own. As if Marco could read my mind, he was suddenly there between my thighs. He pushed the coffee table aside, resting my legs on his shoulders. He pushed my hands away and fucked me with the pickle, rhythmically, as he licked and sucked my clit. I pounded on his back with my heels as I pinched my tits and came with a yell that echoed off the high ceiling.
I was empty and spent for mere seconds when Marco filled me with his cock, oh so much larger than the pickle. Larger, harder, fiercer. I clung to him as he pounded into me, making me scream over and over, losing myself against the slick hammering muscle of Marco. He came into me with shouts nearly as loud as my own, his back and buttocks rock hard with the strain. He flipped us over on the couch, still deep inside me, and nipped my breast lightly, making my cunt clench against him.
“I could eat you up, woman,” he growled, pulling me down on his sweat-slicked chest.
“Anytime,” was all I could get out.
His hands danced down my back, rubbing, stroking. He unsnapped my bra and tossed it aside, letting my breasts swing free. He captured one orb and suckled gently as the sensation traveled through my body down to my cunt, wetting again around his cock. He was once more thickening deep inside me. He rubbed his other hand lightly down my spine, one finger trailing along my crack to push ever so slightly against my anus. He didn’t enter but simply pressed, the action tilting my clit against his groin. His coarse hair against my tender clit made me almost weep with pleasure. He pulled out just a fraction, then back, then out, back and forth, slowly, gently sucking, pushing, fucking. I came hard against him, my teeth clenched. A sob caught in my throat. I hid my face against his neck to hide my tears of release.
He sat up, bringing me with him. He pushed the hair off my face and kissed the tears away.
“You okay?” he asked. I nodded, not trusting my voice. He held me tight against him and stood up. I shrieked and he laughed, the rumble rolling through our bodies like a wave. Holding my bottom, with my legs locked tight around his waist, he carried me outside. It was full dark now, stars blinking in the sky, the pool lights shimmering across the water. He stepped onto the diving board and walked to the end, which bent low with our combined weight.
“What are you doing?” I foolishly asked.
“Going for a swim. We’ve had our appetizers and our vegetables. Think of this as cleansing the palate.” With that he jumped into the water, holding me tight. We went deep into the pool, where we floated apart, only to come to the surface and join again with a kiss that held the promise of many, many more.