8 - ANYSSA/CAMILA
8
ANYSSA/CAMILA
I tossed and turned all night, thinking about the man I flirted with. I couldn’t see his face in great detail, but I could see enough to know that his features were sharp, striking, and handsome. Today, I’m ready to go in search of this man.
I have three weeks at this resort, but I have no idea how long he will be here. For all I know, he could have left this morning already. A quick glance at the bedside table’s clock has hope soaring through me.
I know the shuttle from the resort hasn’t come yet because there are two in the morning. One leaves at nine and the other at eleven thirty. It’s just a little after seven, so I may still have time to run into him if I hurry.
Leaving my hotel room, I search each floor as I take the glass elevator, praying that he’s not in his room. There are four suites on each floor, and each floor is a perfect square. My room takes up one length. There is a room opposite mine, one to the right and another to the left.
I make my rounds on the first floor, looking for him among the guests who are eating, by the bar, and at reception. When I come up empty, my feet take me down the path to the nude beach, and I pray that no one is sunbathing in the nude this early.
Unfortunately, God has a sense of humor because there are sunbathers out this early, and there’s an old man with a wrinkled ass and a crooked, long, skinny dick. I thank the stars that I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. Otherwise, I would have puked it up on this beach.
Why, oh, why couldn’t the man from last night have been here?
Yet, something tells me that this isn’t his thing.
I wander around the resort before I end up at Studio BoDSMe.
“Hello, welcome back,” Jules, the woman from last night, greets.
“Thank you. I uh . . . I was just wondering if I might check out some of the rooms. Are they in use right now?”
“No. Feel free to look into them,” she says cheerily. “Usually, they’re locked, but not this early.”
There’s no point in moving on if no one is here because that means he isn’t here either. Yet, I smile and head to the rear, peeking into each room to keep up the facade of my visit just to check out the rooms.
When my tour of each room confirms what Jules told me, I stop in the largest room in the back. Black walls have a luminescence to them as though sprinkled with diamonds. Heavy black drapes block the floor-to-ceiling picturesque windows. A black chandelier with diamonds and pearls draping it hangs from the ceiling.
A tall, ebony wardrobe sits at the rear of the room. There’s a lock on the wardrobe, so I step away and walk to a black table opposite the bed.
I tug on a drawer handle, surprised to find that it opens. It holds an assortment of knives, and I can’t help but pick one up and run my finger along the blade.
I cannot imagine what they use this for. I replace the knife and close the drawer before turning to admire the large California King dungeon bed. My hands stroke the steel bedpost.
Kneeling, I check out the underbed that holds a cage with padded floors. Excitement at being locked inside hums through me.
“Who the hell knew?” I ask myself as I marvel at my reaction to this room. I sit on the mattress, surprised at its comfort, before I reach up and grab one of the restraints looped through the restraint hoop.
Thinking of being restrained to a bed like this one as the man from last night has his way with my body turns me on. My nipples harden, and I squeeze my thighs tight, trying to stem the desire building inside me.
I climb onto the bed and grab one of the restraints, locking it around one ankle and then the other. I’ve closed the door, so I’m not worried about anyone coming in and catching me in a compromising position.
I grab one of the restraints and secure my left hand. Leaving my right hand unrestrained because I can’t restrain it, nor can I release it. I smooth my hand across my belly.
Closing my eyes, I imagine the man from last night being here with me. I know that he could see through my gown. I wonder if he’s here with anyone.
My nipples bud at the thought of what I’d want him to do to me with me lying on this bed. The soft click of a door closing causes my eyes to flutter open in alarm. I hadn’t heard anyone outside the hall, nor had I heard the door open.
“They say that black is a mystery. It’s inviting yet foreboding. It calls out to the deep within us, inviting you to take the risk. Most women are attracted to the purple, orange, red, and violet rooms here. Seldom do they come to the black. Are you a risk taker, my love?”
“Uh . . . I, um . . .”
“Black is my favorite color,” he says, pulling his fingers through the black leather tails of a flogger.
I don’t say anything. I just stare in shock with my mouth wide open.
“Next time, you may want to lock the door. It clicks a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign in place,” his deep, raspy, heavily accented voice says as he slaps the flogger against his palm.
Fuck! It’s him —the man from last night. I know I didn’t see his features. Yet, those broad shoulders, masculine chest, the slight curve in his legs, and the cocky way he stands let me know that it’s him. He’s just as beautiful as I thought he was last night.
Dark green eyes glitter like broken emeralds scattered amongst a sea of glass. Full lips are slightly parted as his gaze pierces me. Long, thick, dark brown hair covers his head and face. He looks moody and angry yet curious all at once.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be here,” I say, rushing to unchain my wrist.
He moves to the foot of the bed just as I sit up to unwrap my ankles. His hand holds my left one firmly as his thumb rubs tiny circles on my instep. Who knew something so gentle could be such a turn-on?
“They’re usually not this early in the morning. Which is what provoked my curiosity about the closed door.”
“Oh,” I say, too afraid to jerk my foot from his grasp or reach down to free my ankle from the cuff myself.
“Do you like it?”
“Um . . . Like what?”
“The room.”
“Uh . . . Yes, it’s different. Interesting.”
“What’s your guilty pleasure? Pain or tenderness?”
Shit! How could I answer that?
I’m never speechless. Hell, I’m a prolific writer for some of the most world-renowned magazines. How are words failing me now like some schoolgirl with a casual crush on the star basketball player?
“I’ll take it that you’re a virgin. Am I right?” he asks, his fingers still rubbing small circles on my ankle.
“No,” I say softly.
Laughing, he says, “You are. I can smell it on you. This is all new to you.”
I watch as his hands spread to encompass the room.
“Oh, you mean . . . BDSM?”
He licks those thick lips of his.
“I mean sexual exploration. Removing the barriers and testing the limits of pain and suppression. Unearthing your body’s deepest secrets and the ability to submit to another, yielding control to someone else, and trusting them with your life.”
“I, um . . . Well, I haven’t considered that before, but it sounds sexy.”
“So, you’re in this room for what? Trying it on for size?” he asks, finally unlocking both my ankles.
“Something like that.”
He nods, walks to the locked cabinet, and pulls out a key card, unlocking the cabinet as I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand.
“Tell me, Princesa, how much do you know about this world beyond what you may have read or watched on TV?”
I closely watch as he displays an assortment of toys I know nothing about. Some look fun, others interesting, and some downright scary.
Floggers, paddles, restraints, hoods, blindfolds I’m familiar with, but there are metal instruments in there, some with chains and others with hooks and spikes that I’ve never seen.
I want to lie, but at the same time, I don’t. I’m not trying to run him away, but I don’t want to come off too knowledgeable and find myself in deep shit.
I search for an answer that’s somewhere between the two extremes.
“Not that familiar with it, but that’s because I haven’t had a partner knowledgeable about it or interested enough to try it.”
“Everyone always has their firsts.”
I bite my bottom lip, holding my breath, hoping he’ll suggest what I think. He doesn’t. Instead, he closes the cabinet and relocks it, pocketing the key.
It’s going to be up to me to make it happen.
“I want . . .”
I swallow, trying to find the right words.
“The woman I want knows what she wants and is unafraid to express it.”
“I want what you want,” I boldly say.
He turns around and stares at me; the wicked gleam in those eyes is frightening. It’s as if I’m looking into the eyes of the devil himself.
What the hell have I just done?
ANNY’S ANNALS
Aloha!
Hey, it’s me again . . .
I met the man that I saw outside of my balcony last night. It was embarrassing as hell how I finally ran into him. I’d set off this morning determined to find him before he left the resort, but he found me . . . bound to a kink bed of all things!
Yes! Me.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, he asked if I was interested in this world. I didn’t tell him that I knew nothing about his world. I pretended I was into it but hadn’t found the right partner.
He tells me he’s looking for a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to say it, and I tell him I want what he wants.
After that, he just walked out of the room. No plans for later, no questions, no goodbye or nothing. He simply walked away as if we’d never engaged in a conversation in the first place.
Now, I hope I don’t see him again, and even more so that he doesn’t tell anyone about our encounter. I’ll bet he has a girlfriend at the resort and is just toying with me.
It’ll be my luck that he’s setting me up for some freaky threesome, which I’m Not down with.
Maybe he wasn’t Mr. Right, but he looked like he’d feel so good being Mr. Wrong.
After my vineyard tour, I think I will head down to the beach later this evening. I’m excited about that, as it will be the first time I’m doing anything related to my promise to Camila. After all, if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be here.
I haven’t reached out to her since my arrival. Maybe I’ll do that after the vineyard tour. I hope Mr. Dark and Kinky isn’t on this tour.
Until next time, Anny!
Nys
I close my diary, lock it, and secure it in my bag again. I’m itching to film some video or go live, but I know I can’t.
I’ve thought about going live on my channel and reading from my journal, but even that would be a breach of contract, going against everything in the NDA. After all, anyone could glimpse my background, and I haven’t found anything here that isn’t unique to the resort.
Sighing, I grab my phone and decide to call Camila now.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Camila. It’s me, Anyssa.”
“Anyssa! How are you, honey?”
“I’m doing pretty good. What about you? Has your dad had his surgery yet?”
“Yes, he did. Thanks for asking.”
“How did it go?”
“It was touch and go for a while, and he had some complications that the doctors will have to go back in and resolve, but they’re giving it a couple of days. Right now, he’s in a medically induced coma to help relieve the pressure on his brain and reduce the pain. I’m here at the hospital with him now. Mom needed some sleep, so I’m giving her a break.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Camila. You and your parents are in my thoughts.”
“Thank you. But that’s enough about me and my sorrows. Tell me all about Belle Baie. Is it as beautiful as I’ve heard? Exciting? Exotic?”
Laughing, I tell her, “Girl, it’s everything you told me it would be and much more!”
“Wow! As much as I want to ask you for details, I won’t. I know that you had to sign an NDA.”
“I did, but since it’s you that’s actually here and not me . . . for all intents and purposes, I will say that there are many things that I didn’t expect, and I’ll tell you that one of those things is a nude beach.”
“A what?” she screams in my ear.
Laughing, I say, “You heard me.”
“I can’t freaking believe that! Have you gone nude?”
“Not yet.”
“Yet? Hmmm . . . Sounds like there may be plans to.”
“I was thinking about it. I’m going on the vineyard tour now, though,” I say, changing the subject.
“Perfect. Did you get the questions that I emailed you?”
“I did, and I’ve downloaded them to my notes app on my phone to ask them while on tour. I don’t know if they would allow it, but I considered asking if I could record the audio of the tour. It’ll be easier for me to share that with you later as you can relate to their discussion.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” she agrees, “but I doubt they’ll let you do that.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ll just take some great notes, Camila. I promise to represent you well and get everything you want.”
“Thanks, Anny.”
Laughing, I say, “Wow. That’s what my mom calls me.”
“Really? My dad calls me Cami.”
“Pretty. Anny sounds homely, but I love it because it’s her nickname for me. Something only she and I share,” I say softly.
“Aww . . . That’s sweet.”
“Well, I won’t hold you up any longer, Camila. I know you need to be with your dad, but if you have anything you can think of before or during my tour, just text me, okay?”
“Sounds great, Anyssa.”
I end the call and glance at the clock. After changing into a yellow floral maxi dress, ballet slippers, and a denim jacket, I grab my crossbody purse and pull it over me before snatching up a big, floppy hat and sunglasses.
I head out of my room, wave at a couple going into their room to my right, and board the elevator with another couple.
“Are you going on the vineyard tour?” I ask.
“Yes, we are. Have you been to one before?” the man asks in a British accent.
“Actually, I’ve been to plenty.”
“Please tell my wife that the heels and perfume are a no-go. She wants to be cute.”
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
“Thank you,” she replies, preening before sticking her tongue out at her husband.
“I hate to admit it, but your husband is right. We’ll be doing lots of walking, and if this trip is anything like others I’ve been on, we’ll be touring not only the vineyard but also the fields and caves. After walking all day and drinking, your feet and back will kill you. Not to mention, stumbling from too much wine might have you falling down or tripping up a hill.”
“Crap!” she groans. “What about my perfume?”
“I say don’t wear any at all, but I have a couple of friends who opt for a lightly fragrant lotion. I wear deodorant and skip everything else because the fragrance impacts your ability to taste the flavors of the wine and sniff the glass. If you truly want to experience it, you should listen to your husband.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he says, graciously taking a bow as the elevator doors open on the first floor.
She shoves him playfully on the shoulder. “Well, at least ride back up to the room with me to change shoes.”
“We’re going to miss the tour.”
“We won’t!” she exclaims as the door closes on their argument.
I giggle and make my way to the front of the hotel, where the bus pulls up to take us down to the vineyard.
We’re boarding five minutes later when the couple comes racing through the door and running up to the bus.
“Just in time,” the driver announces. “We were just getting ready to pull out.”
The drive to the vineyard is only five minutes, and I enjoy the serenity of the ride, taking in the beautiful foliage around us as I listen to the couple from earlier engage in lively banter. Others talk softly or sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.
We climb off the shuttle bus and gather in a large circle as the driver tells us what to expect. Just as he finishes his speech, someone steps out from one of the rows of vineyards, and I swear I want to disappear.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m leaving you in the expert hands of your tour guide, Mr. Nazário Rivas, the owner and operator of Belle Baie and Sérénité Vignoble,” the driver says, pointing at the signage for the vineyard.
I can’t do anything more than stare at my feet as my senses block out everything except an awareness of him. Although I’m not looking at him, I can smell him, hear his voice, and feel his energy rolling off him in waves.
“You probably are wondering why I would give this tour when I have so many capable staff who do everything else and even run this place in my absence. Well, it’s because the vineyard is my heritage. It’s in my blood, and it lives and breathes in me. Were it not for a vineyard back home in my hometown of Villa de Leyva in Colombia, I would not have had the opportunities I’ve had in life to be successful or even run my own vineyard.”
His accent is thick and bold. His tan seems to be deep and rich in the late-morning sun. I didn’t notice these things as much this morning because I was mortified at being caught in a compromising position. But he looks like he has spent the morning in the sun.
He’s wearing tan khaki pants, a crisp, long-sleeved white shirt rolled up to his elbows, showing off a smattering of dark hair on his arms, and a casual pair of loafers on his feet.
“Care to join the rest of us, Ms. Martinez?” he calls out.
My head jerks up, and I realize that everyone is moving forward. I’ve been lost in my thoughts. My eyes widen in wonder as I keep up with the others, taking notes as we go.
When we stop again, I close my eyes and inhale the crisp, sweet air tinged with the ripeness of the grapes, which glisten with moisture from the morning dew. I can almost taste their bitter sweetness on my tongue.
Nazário’s long, tapered fingers pluck a grape, and he holds it up for us to see.
“As you can see, the harvesters are out here, harvesting the grapes we will use in our sparkling wines. Then the grapes for the still white wines will be harvested next.”
“When does harvesting end?” the woman who had to change her shoes asks.
“We’ll finish either late October or early November. Those are for the red varieties,” Nazário explains.
“Oh, my favorite!” someone else gushes, causing the rest of us to laugh.
“This is a perfect grape. It has no sunburns or blotches. It’s perfectly round, big, and full. It’s not misshapen at all. This is what we’re looking for.”
He pops the grape in his mouth and chews slowly, a twinkle in his eyes as he stares at me.
“Delicious. Juicy. And ripe,” he pronounces, making my panties wet.
Shit! It takes a while before I can get my mind back on track while he’s moving along, as though that didn’t just happen.
My notepad is full when the vineyard tour ends, but I have many other questions.
And they all revolve around one man.