Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (21 page)

“Same reason
everybody
come here, madam.” The
driver turned down the reggae a bit. “My name is Milton, madam. I
take you anywhere on da island you wanna go. There nothing here I
don’ know about. You want to take island tour? I charge you only 10
US dollar extra.”

“Just the resort is fine, thank you.” I’d already
gotten into enough red tape engaging in extracurricular activities
with an American cab driver back home; I wasn’t about to expand my
horizons in that department while abroad.

“As you like, madam,” Milton chirped. “Whatever you
do while you here on St. Lucia, just take it
nice and easy.
That is da island way.”

It seemed it would be hard for me to do anything but
take it easy here on the island. Milton’s lilting voice was like a
soft Caribbean melody in itself; if he was anything like the rest
of his countrymen, this trip would be the ultimate in
relaxation.

The only problem was, I didn’t plan to spend much of
my trip in the company of laid-back, nice-and-easy St. Lucians. All
the guests to my luxury suite would likely be a bunch of Washington
insiders who were even more uptight than I was. If my plan worked
at all, anyway. If it failed, I’d just end up spending the week
alone.

After almost half an hour of driving past
vegetation-choked ravines and grubby island shantytowns, the taxi
finally rumbled into the circular driveway that led inside the
luxury Silken Sands resort. Milton brought the taxi to a stop in
front of the resort’s elaborately carved glass entranceway, and
helped me with my bags. “You are here, madam,” he said as he
deposited my luggage with a wink in front of a very attractive
young bellboy. “You need anything to help you
take it easy
during your stay, you give a call to First Elegant Lucia Taxi
Service. Concierge here know me by name. He be my cousin.”

With that, the good-looking Rastafarian gave me a
bow, and was gone with a swing of his dreadlocks.

I was a little mystified by what Milton meant; one
didn’t usually associate rides in dilapidated taxis
taking it
easy.
Was he coming on to me, perhaps? It was hard to tell;
these islanders were so laid-back and sensual in their speech and
mannerisms that I thought I might have mistaken Milton’s everyday
behavior for flirting.

There was no mistaking the young bellboy’s behavior,
however. The lascivious way he looked my body up and down with his
glistening golden eyes made his intentions pretty clear.

I didn’t quite know what to think. I’d never been
ogled in public before. I just wasn’t the type of woman who turned
heads.

At least I wasn’t in the States. Maybe here in the
islands, a slightly overweight, mousy thirtysomething woman was
what every man fantasized about.

Or maybe the bellboy was just angling for a bigger
tip.

Or maybe talking to Rodney back at the airport had
so moved sex to the forefront of my brain to the point that every
red-blooded male I laid my eyes on looked like a potential sex
partner.

In any case, I needed to make a beeline for my suite
and spend a nice long while getting to know my vibrator.

I checked in at the front desk, and a pretty young
woman with a golden complexion and reddish cornrows handed me my
key. The very attractive bellboy loaded my luggage onto a
brass-handled cart and gestured down a hallway that led onto a lush
private courtyard filled with palm trees and hibiscus. A parrot
with golden plumage sat in the low-lying branches of one palm tree;
it squawked “Welcome to Silken Sands” in its screeching bird-voice
as I strolled past.

The attractive young bellboy glanced over his
shoulder as he led me through the courtyard. “That is Beulah, the
resort parrot. She is quite intelligent. I have taught her to say
many things.” I was surprised to hear the young man’s voice come
out as a smooth, educated British accent instead of a bouncy island
patois. It was a deep, masculine-sounding voice, too—the kind of
voice one would expect to hear from a middle-aged, corpulent
English country gentleman, not a slender, sleek young Caribbean
thing barely out of his teens. He sounded like a British cross
between Barry White and James Earl Jones.

The combination of the bellboy’s voice and his
tanned, muscular physique made him irresistible. The sight of his
back and shoulder muscles flexing and unflexing though the tight
fabric of his uniform shirt as he walked in front of me was enough
to make me forget all about my troubles back home in
Washington.

“Do you do anything besides work here at the
resort?” I asked as innocuously as possible.

The bellboy glanced over his shoulder again and
smiled. “I spent two years at the University of London, reading
law,” he said. “But I ran out of tuition money when my mother
passed away, so I’m here working until I have enough saved to go
back.”

“It must be hard to earn enough to pay for college
abroad working as a bellboy,” I offered. “Do they pay you well
here?”

He laughed. “I’m paid only in tips,” he explained.
“Which isn’t much at all. But I’ve learned how to pick up some
extra on the side.” He shot me a wink as he stopped the luggage
cart in front of the entrance to my suite.

“Here we are, madam,” he said in a voice that turned
my crotch to cream. “Your suite. May I have your permission to
follow you inside? I can help you get settled in if you like.”

I’m sure that’s not all you can help me with
,
I thought silently to myself as I keyed into the suite and motioned
for him to follow me in. He did.

The hot young bellboy showed me the features of my
luxury suite one at a time, in a stiff, rehearsed manner that I’m
sure he used with all the resort’s guests. “Here, you’ll find an
assortment of luxury bath linens,” he said, pointing to a
woven-wicker cabinet that leaned against the marble bathroom wall.
“And here is a direct telephone connection to our room services
department.” He pointed to an old-fashioned white enamel telephone
with brass fittings that was mounted above the three-person Jacuzzi
tub. “And here—“

I placed a gentle hand on his forearm to stop him.
“That’s enough,” I said. “I’m sure I can figure out everything I
need to know about the suite on my own. Why don’t you tell me a
little bit about yourself instead? Like your name, for
instance.”

His forced expression relaxed instantly. “Thanks for
stopping me,” he said. “I really hate doing the features tour. I’m
Reginald. Reginald Toussaint.” He extended a hand, which I shook.
The feel of his cappuccino skin on mine was electric.

“Very pleased to meet you, Reginald.” I kicked off
my shoes and lounged on a white plush chaise lounge I found in the
suite’s sitting room. “How long have you been working at the
resort?”

Reginald took my cue and seated himself in the chair
across from me. “Four years, on and off. I started here during my
last year of A-levels, then came back summers when I was at
university until my mother passed away.” A dark wave of pain passed
over his face, and the corners of his eyes glistened with
tears.

My heart went out to him. “I’m so sorry you lost
your mother. How long has she been gone?”

He swallowed hard and struggled to regain his
composure before answering. “Mum died two years ago, and I’ve been
working here full-time ever since. I even live here on the resort,
in the staff dormitory. I had to sell Mum’s little house in town to
pay her funeral expenses.”

The poor boy. He’d obviously had a hard life, and at
such a young age. “I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. “You must
have had a very hard time.”

Reginald sighed and looked at the floor. “Yes, it
has been hard. I was very poor growing up, and when my mum got
sick, we didn’t have enough money for her to get good treatment.
But my mum always told me I could improve my lot if I just worked
hard. So that’s what I’m doing.”

“I admire you, Reginald. I really do. What area of
law are you hoping to pursue? I hope you’re getting into law in
order to help people instead of making buckets of money lobbying
for evil corporations. I work in Washington DC myself, around loads
and loads of slimy lawyers who have sold their souls to oil and
tobacco companies.”

Reginald brightened. “I want to be a public-interest
barrister, who brings civil rights cases on behalf of the poor here
in St. Lucia,” he said.

I patted him gently on the back. “Good for you,
Reginald. I’m sure you’ll make a fantastic barrister who will help
a lot of people in need.”

He blushed to his ears. “Thank you, ever so much.
You don’t know how much that means to me,” he said.

“You’re welcome. You deserve it.How old are you, if
you don’t mind my asking?”

He gave me a shy smile. “Twenty. I’ll be twenty-one
in June.”

Good,
I thought. Young and fresh as virgin
snow, but still old enough to be legal if things headed the way I
hoped they would. “You mentioned something about earning a little
cash on the side,” I chirped, eager to change the subject. “Would
you mind giving me a few details about what exactly it is you
do
on the side?”

Reginald leaned in closer to me and fluttered his
eyelashes. “It would be a lot easier if I just showed you.”

With that, he kissed me. With tongue. Lots and
lots
of tongue.

I was caught totally off-guard. I of course knew he
was not-so-subtly suggesting that I hire him as my own personal
gigolo. I had no personal experience with sex-for-hire, but if I
remembered how Richard Gere handled his transactions in that old
film
American Gigolo,
we’d have to discuss monetary terms
before any hanky-panky got started. And this bright young thing was
throwing himself at me for free instead.

After a long moment, Reginald finally broke the kiss
and let me up for air. “Did you like that?” he asked.

“Very much,” I replied. “You’re a sensational
kisser. I can see how you could drum up some serious on-the-side
business with those tongue skills of yours.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he whispered, then
reached for the buttons on my blouse, which he unfastened one at a
time, slowly, making each motion into a sensual dance with his
lithe fingers. I watched awestruck as he deftly unbuttoned my
blouse and slipped it off my shoulders with one hand, as swiftly
and dexterously as a master chef cracking an egg between two
fingers. He made a move to start in on my bra when I stopped
him.

“Pardon me, Reginald,” I stammered, nervous as a hen
in heat. I’d never had to negotiate a transaction before sex
before, so I figured it was best to just be direct. “Shouldn’t
we—ahem—discuss
payment
before we start?”

Reginald ignored me; he just went to work on the
front clasp of my bra with his teeth.

I didn’t quite know what to make of that, so I
burbled on. “We should probably talk about what you charge for
your—ahem—services at some point, because you see, I just recently
lost my job, and you can therefore appreciate my budget for
certain, um,
recreational
activities is somewhat
limited.”

Reginald continued to ignore me. With one final
swish
of his canines, he bit my bra open, and nudged it free
of my already-heaving globes with his pointed little chin. That
accomplished, he immediately transferred his attentions to my left
nipple.

“Reginald, darling, I don’t know what your rates
are, but if what you’re doing to my left boob right now is any
example—
ooooohhhhhh
, that’s
nice
—you are probably
quite expensive. And as I said before, my money is pretty tight
right now—“

Reginald put an index finger to my lips. “Hush,” he
breathed, then transferred his mouth from my left nipple to my
right, but not before leaving a long wet trail with his tongue
in-between.

“But—“

“This session is free,” he said with a sly grin.
“And any future sessions you might desire, too. My usual rate is
three hundred US dollars per hour, but I’ll never charge
you
a penny.”

“So you
do
work as a gigolo then?” I tried my
best to sound shocked, but I only sounded aroused.

“Of course,” Reginald replied, tracing an elaborate
design in wet saliva with his tongue in the valley between my
breasts. “I can hardly earn enough for University of London
tuition, accommodations, and plane tickets abroad lugging bags and
pocketing tourist pennies. I discovered back at university that I
have a talent for satisfying women, and decided to use my position
here as a marketing tool for my talents. And business has been
good. I should have enough earned to pay for my remaining years at
university and law school by the end of the summer.”

I stroked Reginald’s close-cropped, wooly hair and
sighed. He was a sweet, generous boy. Not to mention
smoking-hot
. Why on earth was he doing me a sexual favor
like this on nothing more than a whim? “I’m glad to hear you’ve
found a way to support yourself,” I sighed, relishing the feeling
of his tongue on my breast. “But if your hourly rates are so high,
why are you giving me a freebie?”

Reginald looked up and caressed the side of my face.
“Because in the entire two years I’ve been doing this, you are the
only woman who ever showed any interest in me as a person. Most
women, once they find out what I do on the side, just toss some
cash in my face and expect me to take my pants off in a hurry. You
actually took the time to get to know me. Which I appreciate very,
very much.” He nuzzled me ear and sucked on my earlobe for a
delectable moment. “And besides all that, you
are
very
beautiful.”

Now it was my turn to blush. “No, I’m not.”

His mouth strayed lower, tracing the fine line of
dewy chestnut hair that led to my nether parts with his tongue.
“Yes, you are,” he whispered. “
This
is beautiful.” He
nuzzled my soft belly with his nose. “And so is
this.”
His
head strayed lower, until he was kissing the top of my mons through
my trouser waistband. “You have a real woman’s body, curvy and
soft—not an ugly bundle of sticks like so many of my other clients.
Touching you is a pleasure in itself, madam. I don’t need to get
paid to enjoy doing it.”He began to work the fly of my trousers,
making the unbuttoning and unzipping into an elaborate ritual, then
took his time sliding the rough woolen fabric of each trouser leg
over my skin until the garment was off. I felt myself blush again
when I remembered I hadn’t shaved my legs in a few days. But
Reginald obviously didn’t mind, because he was raining kiss after
kiss on my razor-stubbled left shin. His soft, wet lips slid up and
down the sensitive area—I never knew the shins were an erogenous
zone until now—until they came to rest on my knee. He placed one
more soft kiss there, then lifted my leg higher until he had access
to the soft folds of skin behind my knee joint. Once there, he
darted his tongue against the thin, translucent skin behind my
knee, a part of the body which apparently has way more nerve
endings than you’d expect for an area that is rarely touched or
noticed. The feeling of Reginald’s skilled tongue, lips, and mouth
on this unusual spot was nearly as mind-blowing as if he’d been
sucking on my clit.