So I ran.
Took on the world one, two at a time, with one goal in mind. To come.
To feel my blood boil, my heart race and my body transcend to something-anything worth living for before their private dick catches up with me.
Jumping my cruise ship to a resort town in Mexico, I thought I was good. Thought I could disappear and resume my chase of debaucheries and delights.
Then I met him.
The monster of a man that has promised to do all I need. The catch? He wants my trust and complete obedience. Can I give up control in pursuit of my desires? Can I swallow my defiance and surrender to him or will my past arise and leave me as always— wanting?
Note: Contains cameos from the main characters in J. Haney & S.I. Hayes’ Island Heir. While not required reading they do hope you may want to know Ian and Autumn’s story!
Strong Sexual Situations
Nope, nope, no. No fucking way. This has been my mantra, my resolve for the last one hundred and four days. On New Year’s Eve, I met a man. A nice man, and at midnight I even let him kiss me. The following morning, as I helped myself to breakfast, I was told a match had been made. Not only was I to date this man, but within the year, I was to marry and become Missus Oscar Edmundo Rodriguez Suarez.
I don’t think so!
I did the only thing a girl raised by her Abuela can. I cried. I swore. I booked a cruise. By the fifth, I said goodbye to Fort Lauderdale and hello deep blue sea. I have eaten, licked, flicked, sucked but not fucked my way around the world. This cherry is and has always been cock free. Not for lack of want, but for lack of passion. I have yet to find a man or woman that can make me come. If they can’t do it by hand, why the fuck would I let them try with anything else? I can’t even get myself there. It’s a hopeless case, but I’m still trying.
I’m free at the moment, but that is slowly changing. I talked to my sister Ambery, and they have decided to come to get me off the ship. Well, fuck that. Five hundred American and a hand job can get you a motorboat to the nearest island. Goodbye, Cruise, and hello Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.
“It’s the middle of the night, Miss Jai. Are you sure you won’t rather have stayed on the boat?”
“You’re sweet, Miguel, but this is how it must end.” I kiss his cheek as he unloads the three bags I have carried with me for just a day over five months. My big roller duffel and my tote. Packing anything more, and I wouldn’t have gotten away as cleanly as I had.
I secure it all and start my walk up the beach toward the lights of the Vallarta Heirs, an offshoot of the Georgetown Heirs private suits in the Caymans. I stayed there a few years back and had a lovely experience. Let’s hope I get a similar one tonight. The walk is not simple in the sand, and once I hit the cobblestone, it’s not much easier. The Whitestone buildings rise like silent sentinels calling me to safety.
I hear catcalled from behind me. I knew I should have put on pants instead of the short joggers I have on, but I wasn’t thinking about anything but escape. I can’t risk them finding me, dragging me back to a loveless marriage. I won’t do that. Never. I want love and fire. Passion and sex. God, do I just want to have a person ravage me until my legs turn to jelly and my insides overflow until there is nothing more than a puddle where I once stood.
I pick up my pace and reach into my tote; I grip my taser. I don’t fuck around. I have a police issue that will make any man piss himself with a single charge. I can hear them coming.
Deep breaths, I feel one grab my hair, taser in hand before I spin.
I hit—what is that a fucking tree? Shit! Timber! This huge man falls, and down we go. I can hear the other men yelling.
“Perra blanca loca!”
Crazy white bitch? “Yeah!” I shove the man off me as he groans. It’s then that I see he’s not—well-a Mexican accoster. His shirt is open, and his muscles are still contracting from the zap I gave him. “Shit. I’m sorry! If you puke, you’ll feel better.”
“Fuck Darlin’.” The man groans. “I was only tryin’ to make sure you weren’t—” He huffs, blinking away the pain. “Molested.”
I bite my lip with worry as he notices what I promised would happen. He’s pissed himself. ‘Do-do you have a room nearby?”
“Why? So you can hit me again, then take my money and my shit?”
“Fuck you!” I throw a hundred bucks at him and, grabbing my bags, storm away, muttering. “Cock sucking, asshole. Try and make up for shit, and they gotta be mother-fucking jackasses.”