Chapter 6
Benson
“It’s only until Monday.” He stepped out on his balcony, the long cord of the landline following him from his bedside to the sight of the gentle Caribbean lapping at pristine beaches. Maybe I should go for a stroll after this. “Tell her I love her and I’m sorry to miss her invitation.”
Benson’s ex-wife had the uncanny ability to irritate him with one heavy sigh. “This isn’t like you. You’re lucky I didn’t file a missing person’s report.”
“What are you on about? Be grateful I even called to let you guys know I was without my phone this weekend.”
“Yet you could still call me.”
“Because, as annoying as it is, your number is the one I still have memorized because you haven’t changed it in fifteen years.”
Syndey must have held her head away from the receiver to scoff, but he still heard it. “That honestly almost sounds like an insult, Ben.”
“It’s the truth. I woke up this morning realizing I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. I just want you to pass the message on to Drew.”
“And I’m telling you that this is so unlike you. Really. What’s gotten into you, Ben?”
Did he actually detect concern in her voice?
I guess there is still that part of us that cares about each other’s well-being.
Just because they hadn’t worked out as a romantic pair didn’t mean they hated each other.
Even without their daughter tethering them together.
“I just really needed a break. Trying to be a bit more spur of the moment, Syd. So, I booked a super last-minute trip to an isolated Caribbean Island. Probably the same one you went to with Steve last year.” He hoped to God that was a lie, but how was Sydney supposed to know?
“Didn’t even dawn on me that nobody has cell reception here.
Not even satellite really reaches here.”
“Weird. Well, I’ll be sure to tell her that you’re unreachable until Monday.”
“Thanks. And tell her I love her.”
“Of course.”
Benson had to go back inside to hang up his phone, but he then returned to the deck, where he left his hands in his pockets and zoned out to the gulls swooping down from overhead and the shallow surf floating up to the shore.
Not so far away were the yachts docked there for the weekend.
I could be a yacht guy. He rethought that.
Maybe not.
There had only been so much he could tell his ex-wife, since it was absolutely none of her business that he was at La Mariposa, not that she knew what that was.
I had never heard of it myself until we were separated.
And it took until the divorce was a sure thing and Sydney was out in public with another guy for Benson to pull the trigger on his first visit a few years ago.
By then, he had already indulged in post-breakup one-night stands that had meant absolutely nothing other than he could still get some. But here…
This place was different. This was where a man came to really get it out of his system.
Benson couldn’t quite explain what had drawn him here at the last minute.
Even after last night, when he shoved his dick in the most beautiful woman he had yet to see here, he wondered what had compelled him to pay extra for a cottage.
The breakfast delivered to his room had been wonderful, of course, but he could get something similar anywhere in the Caribbean.
Sydney and I loved visiting The Bahamas.
He knew the resort they were members of still had his name on file and offered generous discounts.
He could be there, right now, sitting among honeymooners willing to experiment and groups of young women “looking for trouble.”
But, apparently, he needed to be able to grab any woman he wanted and fuck her until his head was clear again.
I’m a barbarian. He logically thought this as he straightened up his cottage and changed into his workout clothes.
Should he hit the gym in the hotel? Or go for a run on the path that circled the island?
Somehow, I’ve set feminism back another thousand years.
He caveman. He take woman to cave. He fuck her.
A run sounded good.
The heat was intense but pleasant when contrasted with the cool sea breeze.
Benson sweated it out within two minutes, and he had barely passed the other cottages and the pool area.
He didn’t steal a single glance. He was focused on the path in front of him, which was deliciously devoid of other people that time of morning.
All Benson cared about was clearing his head.
That was what spurred him to work out back home, where he popped in his earbuds and listened to nonsense podcasts, nostalgic music, and audiobooks that had nothing to do with his lived experiences.
Running, weightlifting, and even the occasional yoga class were the only ways he had discovered that shut up his ever-thinking brain.
Well, that and sex, but there was no guarantee he’d have access to that at any given moment.
And on this island? With sex everywhere, he needed his brain cleared of that, too.
Once he was past the pool area, the island opened up to more palm trees and some craggy rocks that jutted out into the sea.
Out here, the only sign of life was the paved path lined with solar-powered tiki torches and a few open grass areas by the beach that would be perfect for relaxing with a book.
I should have brought more books. But he hadn’t the time to pick something up from the airport, and he hadn’t thought to bring one. Why would he? He'd be busy.
Years ago, he would be up to his eyeballs in women.
Butterflies were out from noon to midnight, and even outside of those hours, Benson would be focused on swimming laps or working out in the gym.
This time, though… even the thought of one woman a day before he left sounded exhausting.
I’ve got it in me… I just… Things were easier to get into when he was younger. That’s all there was to it.
To be fair, there were memories all over the island.
As he came upon when he was behind the hotel, where some of the unsexier utility work that kept the island functioning was located.
No, not over there. He slowed down and stared at a patch of the beach where he once made love to someone who changed his life.
That person was gone now. But they had been on La Mariposa together before. It was hard not to think of anyone, least of all them.
Nothing got him running faster than that.
When he came back around to his cottage, he hopped inside with the full intention of going straight to the shower.
Except he was thirsty. The fridge in his small kitchen was stocked with bottled water, and the counter had all the tea and coffee a man could make.
While another cup of coffee was being prepared, he grabbed a bottle of water and lowered his heart rate with a walk around the living room.
His eyes kept landing on the book of Butterflies on the coffee table.
That woman from yesterday… Brim, was it?
He needed her name to figure out who she was in the book, because everyone’s faces were obscured and their exposed skin Photoshopped, probably to protect their identities in case any of them leaked to the outside world.
All a guest could really discern was skin tone, hair color, and body shape.
But at least half of the women were some combination of pale, brunette, and curvy.
And while Benson loved a curvy woman, regardless of anything else, he still wasn’t sure he could pick out Brim from a lineup.
Oh, there she was. Eleventh page. Sitting on a stool with one foot up and a sheer white scarf held before her face.
Her breasts were immaculate in her lacy white bra, but it was the dimple of her belly button that drew his eyes downward toward her gorgeous thighs.
He had his hands all over them last night. Why couldn’t he have them now?
That’s what this place does to you. Every woman in white becomes yours.
A great selling point. But the ramifications in the real world… for a man known for falling in love if he let himself…
He left the book open as he went into the shower, determined not to think about her anymore.
Yet he did. As the shower steamed up and he washed his face first, he remembered how soft and yielding Brim had been beneath his body.
How eager she was to say yes to me. And while the entire encounter lasted about ten minutes, Benson had not been dissatisfied.
He’d daresay she hadn’t been, either. I know what women are like when they fake it.
Brim had not been faking it. She had come more than once, and every time it reminded Benson why he was a returning guest to La Mariposa…
…Despite the bittersweet memories.
Great. He was getting hard. Should he do something about it – while inevitably fantasizing about Brim – or turn the water temperature to cold?
Well, his hand was already on his cock, so there was that.
Damnit. As he stroked himself until he was completely hard, Benson saw Brim on the back of his eyelids.
She was propped up against his headboard, two pillows cushioning her holy shit oh my god fucking fantastic thighs as she spread her legs wide and fingered herself with a teasing look.
“Come fuck me, Ben,” she’d say, as if she’d even know his name.
And he would go to her, desperate to sink his cock into her depths again.
He would pin her down onto his bed, driving his hips to their breaking point as his whole body ensured that she knew, without a doubt, that every inch of her was his.
The possessive freak in Benson Smith only came out during sex or exclusive relationships.
Sometimes, one led to the other. I make them mine.
Getting on top of them, fucking them until his balls smacked against them, was how he left his damn mark right before he came.
And that’s a whole new mess of trouble. But here on the island, where every woman had to provide proof of birth control, he didn’t have to think about it.
Even with the vasectomy he got after the divorce, ensuring he had no more children.
I’m done. One is enough for me. One who had grown enough to be in college.
At least the island ensured all of his fantasies came true.
A forty-five-year-old man looking to fuck as many women as he wanted, barely having to consider the built-in consent and with endless availability…
yes, when he was hard in the shower with his hand doing what it did best, all he could think about was tearing through every Butterfly until they were all his.
Except his imagination kept going back to Brim. The only one he had touched so far, and the only one to make him want to do it again. Here. Right now. Long before noon.
He remembered the way her cunt squeezed him dry the night before. He had no choice but to empty all of his seed into her like a wild animal desperate to claim her in a club full of horny idiots. Not me, though. I’m not an idiot. But Brim was his.
Brim was his.
The sound she had made… as if she knew. So melodically feminine and wildly perfect.
It was that exact memory that made Benson climax in the shower, his seed instantly washed away with the water.
He hoped that the clarity that came afterward would let him get on with his day.
Maybe do the impossible and go hang out somewhere he could meet other Butterflies, even if he didn’t touch them until later that evening.
But when he finished washing up and grabbed a towel to take with him to the living room, all he could think about was that image of Brim on his bed, her body open to him and her soft lips beckoning to come fuck her.
It was an image he had to make come true.
So he grabbed the phone off its hook and punched in the direct number to one of the supervisors in the main office.
“Hi,” he said after the older woman picked up. “This is…” He almost forgot his code name. “Bryce.” God, as if. “Cottage #7. I would like to request a specific Butterfly’s company later today.”
“Of course, sir. Who do you have in mind?”
He glanced at Brim’s seductive picture in the book opened up on the coffee table. “I need Brim to accompany me for dinner here in my cottage tonight. Six o’clock. I want her for the rest of her shift.” Six hours. Perfect. “I don’t care how much extra you charge me for half her shift.”
The supervisor betrayed how fortuitous this was with the tck in her voice. “Of course. Brim is available tonight from six. She will arrive promptly, with both of your dinners shortly after.”
Benson hung up without saying goodbye. He didn’t know what he would do until six, but he definitely knew he would not be touching anyone else.
Brim was the only Butterfly for him.