Chapter 23 Samantha
SAMANTHA
As we descend towards Hawaii and the islands become visible in the blue waters, I try to work out what is real and what is not.
Things are getting a bit out there, and it’s hard to know what to feel about, well, everything.
I’ve always imagined I could help Mom pay off her apartment.
But I’d always thought it would require the endless grind of saving for weeks and months over the next decade.
Or maybe some shares I’d buy in tech companies would do well. Not that I’d gotten any, yet. Mom’s mortgage is $120,000, so the white lie or fake engagement would be put to good use. And at least I didn’t have to screw him for money.
Not that I’d mind.
In saying that, I do still want him, even if he’s getting a bit intense under the pressure. And all this, after the perfect evening in the gown and with just us. Us and finally getting to know each other.
I side-eye him as he flies us down towards the island in the Pacific. He is good, I’ll give him that. He commands the private jet with ease, which makes me remember how he commanded me.
But instead of landing a ten or twenty-million-dollar plane with perfection, he had made me come on him. And he had made me come on his fingers to perfection again, and again, and again.
“What?” he asks, catching me looking at him.
“Nothing,” I say, lying. “Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Coming.”
“What?
“I mean, coming to Hawaii.”
He looks back at me, and I’m unsure if he bought it. Gulping, I lecture myself.
After landing, the idea of sun and surf fires me up. Being cooped up in the cockpit had taken its toll.
I am expecting a hotel or some kind of borrowed home after an SUV drive, but as often, Harry pulls one out of the bag.
From his jet, we are ushered to a luxury chopper.
A ten-minute flight takes us to another island around a mountain. We then bank over the most stunning green retreat and touch down in some wickedly remote hideaway.
We thank the pilot, and we are quickly shown to our rooms. I am fast to yank on my black bikini bottoms.
Before I can be stopped by the grumpy fun police, I run down the grass and onto the sand. I dive into the water and gasp at its clarity. I catch my breath, and it feels a million miles away from scary LA. Likely because it is.
It takes twenty minutes for my husband-to-be to find me, and he is not overly excited.
“Come on, let’s go! We need to get down to business.”
Harry realizes I’m swimming topless, and he turns away fast. “Please put something on.”
“No way,” I say, walking back up towards the recliners.
As we reach them, I lie on the one with my towel already laid out.
Harry turns away from me, trying to avoid my chest. It must be hard, but too bad. I need a rest from the chaos, and I need to relax.
“Look, we need a table, and we need to focus.”
“I have focus here, and I need vitamin D. That means sun.”
“What about questions and answers?” he asks, with his fancy yellow legal pad out.
He does not look bad in his black shorts and a black T-shirt, but I want max sun. “How about this?” I propose, checking my watch. “We have sixteen hours, correct?”
“Around that.”
“Okay, we start immediately. People bring us drinks and food onwards. And they do it all the way until, say, midnight. That is nine hours.”
“You want to work through?”
“We need to, but we stop hourly for a five-minute swim, snack, whatever?”
I reach out, and he pauses. “Take it!” I demand.
Finally, we shake hands.
“As long as you can remember things and you don’t need to write details down,” he says, all bossy.
I raise a brow over my stylish old sunglasses. “Honey, you have to be kidding. I’m in my twenties. You’re in your thirties. You are an old man. I have a perfectly good memory.”
Harry shakes his head, and reluctantly lies back beside me. He then shuffles his recliner away a little from me and my breasts. “Square,” I mumble.
“Tease,” he says with a growl.
Just as we are about to start, a hot waiter arrives. I can tell he likes the way I look as he takes me in and clears his throat. Grumpy does not like it, and it feels good.
“Hi, I’m Samantha.”
“Hello.”
“What’s your name?”
“Madam, I am Marshall.”
“That’s great, Marshall.”
Grumpy looks over and he seems uncomfortable. I order fast. Being a chef, I know what I like. I also know what we need.
I order enough to come for the first three hours, and I am very specific on the delivery times. Marshall then turns to Grumpy, who clears his throat.
“What she is having, and the same instructions.”
“What your wife is having?” the hot waiter asks, as if checking I am with him and we are married.
Grumpy looks unimpressed. “Yes, my wife!” Marshall leaves, and I check out his butt. Grumpy growls, and I think that’s enough. “Okay, now tell me about yourself, and no lying,” Grumpy commands.
I lean back and get comfortable. I think about who I am, how much I want to share, and how much is private.
As in private private.
“Okay,” I start. “I’m a one-man woman, and I’m not fussy. Fussy like some. I like sex every day. I also sleep naked. I’ve probably had sex with a dozen guys, mostly average. Once I slept with a guy, and he was amazing. The thing is, he then vanished.”
“Maybe it was a fantasy. Or even a dream.”
“Maybe,” I say, smiling in the sun.
I then shake my head to clear it. Not the right time to be thinking about him commanding me to come.
“Career?” Grumpy asks, pulling me from the visual.
I explain that when young, I started flipping burgers. Later, I worked my way through average restaurants and into classy ones.
“And finally,” I say, “around nineteen, a French chef said I should go all the way.”
I look over, and Grumpy is now leaning on his side. He is watching me, and he looks hot. He is also shirtless and swirling a stylish pen. “Like he wanted to take you?”
“No, for my career! You need to get some.”
Harry clears his throat, and I explain how I was sent to Paris to study. Then, London to be a chef.
“So, past boyfriends?”
I am slow to jump in, and I don’t want to get into it. “How about this instead?” I say. “How we met?” I roll around and look at Grumpy. “It’s more relevant. Why? Because it may come up in conversation.”
Grumpy’s eyes are dark, and I feel them on my body. I am also getting turned on as we lie semi-naked side by side.
It’s nice, too nice, and my nipples will soon pebble.
I realize I’ve paused for too long, so I push on. “How about this? And it’s supposedly wise we stick to part of the truth. Otherwise, we’re likely to mess it up, when asked.”
“So, you want to tell them I took you on top of a car in the rain?”
“No, but maybe in the hotel,” I say.
We stare at each other, and I sip my fruity drink, my eyes on his.
“And how you fucked me,” I say. “Like I’ve never been fucked.”
I snap out of my trance, and I shake my head. “Actually, hang on, no, wait.”
I gulp, embarrassed. I then take a moment to compose myself. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
“You sure about that?” Harry asks huskily.
I inhale and look at him.
“Do not tell them how I held your jaw tight or why,” Harry says. “Especially so I could see your eyes and read your mind.”
I sip my drink as my nipples pebble. “And why did you do that?” I ask, getting turned on.
“Simple,” he says huskily. “Because I wanted to see your spirit change. Change when you shattered.”
“Is that what you were really doing?” I ask, needing to know.
“I don’t know,” Harry says, rolling over and looking up at the sky. “I guess.”
“What’s it like pushing someone over the edge and controlling them like that?” I ask, intrigued.
Harry sighs and he looks up at the sun. “I can’t remember. And I always forget. It’s just what I’ve always done.” That hurts. “But for some reason, with you, I’ve never forgotten. Ever.”
I watch his face, and he looks disturbed.
Really disturbed.
“The look in your eyes as you came for me will always be with me. Haunting me. Tormenting me. Dominating me.”
We both lie there, remembering just how we took each other.
Spectacular. And life-changing.
I reach out and touch his arm gently with a finger. Harry snaps out of it and returns to the now.
“Okay,” I say. “How’s this, and it’s quite close. We switch the bar we met in, for say, a tropical island. We met on an island. And we spent time together. We do not talk about how you made me come on your fingers.”
“And we don’t talk about how perfectly tight and wet you were. Or how you bucked as you came and tightened around me.”
We are both now looking up towards the sun. We are also now trying to not look at each other. My clit is throbbing, and I am wet.
Sighing, I roll around onto my stomach. I do it in case my nipples are visibly rock hard, or my wetness shows.
As I do, I hear him sigh loudly. “Are we going to be able to do this?” he asks.
Concern creeps in for the first time, and I look over. “No, Harry. But we have to, right? You got a lot riding on it. Don’t you get distracted now, okay!”
Harry nods, almost lost. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”
“You’ll be alright. Now, let’s stay focused.”
“Right.”
“Don’t think about us fucking, okay!” Harry inhales long and slow. “You can do that as much as you like after. After the deal is done.”
We share a loaded look, and he rolls over, like me. I can see he is hard, and the poor bastard is super charged.
Even if I want him now, I do not want him to mess up this deal. Not now. Not ever.
“Thanks,” he says, disturbed and looking over. “Okay, back to business. How about family life?”