“It’s okay, Summer,” he reassured me. “But whatever they’ve got me on, get them to give me some to take home, because…Wow!”
“You asshole,” I spat at him. “Do you know how worried I was?”
“I can only imagine”—he reached up to brush away the single tear—“and I’m so sorry. But I’m going to be fine. Here, pull that sheet back and hop on! I’ll show you how fine I’ll be!”
That made me laugh. Sure, he was high on painkillers, but the color was returning to his cheeks and his eyes were bright again. Even his voice sounded more awake. His lips were dry and his voice sounded labored, so I held a small beaker with a straw in it up to his mouth so he could sip some water.
“I thought you were dead for a minute,” I told him, “and I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can go through that again.”
“I don’t even remember what happened,” he said.
I filled him in on what we thought Blake did and that I was sure Suzi was behind it. I decided not to tell him about the video, though. Not yet.
“Man, that’s fucked up,” he said. “Who knew she’d be such a psycho?”
“Yeah, anyway,” I said, “we’re flying back tomorrow. But we still haven’t decided exactly where you and I will fly to.”
“I thought about that. Tell me, you do own a bikini, don’t you?”
James
A day later, we touched down on the two-square-mile island of Mustique in the West Indies, about eighty miles west of Barbados. Summer was thrilled by the little single-engine plane we took from Barbados International Airport, and even though we’d just done an eleven-hour long haul from Buenos Ares, she looked impossibly fresh and stunning.
We were here because we couldn’t agree on how to move forward. I owned a villa on this tiny billionaire’s playground, along with people like Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. My particular place had been built, lived in, and previously owned by David Bowie. It was basically a group of interconnected, Indonesian-themed pavilions built up in the hills over some small ponds and a pool. It was secluded, tranquil, surrounded by greenery, and utterly beautiful.
I hated being on painkillers; I was pretty out of it and Summer had to fend for herself, take care of me, and find out where everything was for the first day or so. However, judging from her reaction on arrival, she wasn’t too upset about it.
On the third day, I woke up alone. I had to sleep sitting up because my left arm was strapped up so my shoulder could heal, but on this morning, the pain was bearable enough that I thought I could get by on aspirin.
It was near 11:00 a.m. and the sun outside was shining down from a deep blue sky, casting magically sparkling ripples across the pool outside. I put on some loose linen shorts and a thin white shirt—slipping only one arm in, obviously, and pulling the other side over my shoulder—before I wandered out to find Summer. I found this goddess lying naked and face down in the sun next to the wet bar. Her hair was as long and dark as usual, but damp and tousled from swimming. Her magnificent body had turned a wonderful coppery-brown and shined from sweet-scented oils and the tiny beads of sweat that tickled seductively along her curves. I instantly felt my cock start to firm up at the sight.
“I have never seen anything sexier or more beautiful in my life,” I said breathlessly as I approached her slowly. “I guess this means you don’t own a bikini, after all.”
“Mm, morning.” I heard her lips curl into a relaxed grin around the words. She turned her head to face me. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, I am,” I told her. “Thanks in no small way to finding you like this.”
I crouched beside her, doing my best not to block the golden rays that illuminated her radiant skin.
“Oh really?” She lifted her head and smiled temptingly at me. “Poor baby, it’s been two days. You must be so horny. I know I am. I would be lying if I said I didn’t start without you.” She licked the first two fingers of her right hand slowly, and it was the hottest, naughtiest thing I’d ever seen.