One Hot Winter Break (Yardley College Chronicles Book 2) (4 page)

Chapter Three

From the windows of the plane, I see stretches of white sand beaches. Sunlight glints on the aquamarine water of the ocean surrounding a long, tree-dotted island—one of the British Virgin Islands. Smaller islands surround it. From above, I can see many tall hotels, but I don’t know which one is the
Azure
resort.

Jonathon suggested I take a window seat for the view and he was right. It’s spectacular. I have my nose pressed to the glass so I can see everything.

We land and walk down a stair from the plane onto the tarmac, where we stand in brilliant sunshine. A mellow breeze tosses my long hair around my face. I walk beside Jonathon to the airport terminal, feeling like a movie star from the past, arriving glamorously by private jet.

After we have the bags and have cleared customs, we head out to meet our waiting car.

“I can’t wait to get into a bathing suit,” I say.

Jonathon winks. “I can wait to get you tied to our bed.”

I shiver which could be attributed to the air conditioning but that’s not the reason. I agreed to try…anything. Having my hands tied with bondage tape was both exciting and unnerving.

On the plane, I focused only on the sex, on the scenario we were playing, on thrilling Jonathon. But now memories are biting at me. Things from my past that I’ve really tried to forget.

If I were blindfolded, after all, I wouldn’t have to think about what was happening. If my hands were tied, playfully, I could pretend that I couldn’t stop anything. That nothing was my fault.

I thought I could look at this week as a fun sexual adventure.

I still believe it. I just have to keep my memories under control. But maybe I should warn him.

“Jonathon—” I begin, but a man in uniform steps forward, holding a sign by his chest. He’s young, good-looking, blond, with skin that’s a blend of honey and copper. He wears a welcoming smile. “Mr. Powell?” His voice is deep and melodic.

Jonathon nods.

I can’t broach the subject of bondage in front of a stranger. I’ll have to tackle that later.

“Your car is right outside,” the driver continues. “The blue one by the curb. Let me take your bags.”

The young man opens the car door for me, tips his cap. I slide into the blessed coolness of an air-conditioned, beige leather interior. Jonathon joins me. He catches my eye and gives me a dazzling, wicked grin.

The car purrs along the highway from the airport. Soon we’ve reached the waterfront. “This is incredible,” I breathe. The water really is pure turquoise, and I glimpse stretches of blinding white beach. Most of the buildings are white stucco, though the towering hotels are like ribbons of glass that curve along the shoreline. The mirrored facades are every color of the rainbow—exotic turquoise, cool blue, dazzling gold, elegant rose-pink.

I peer at them, taking mental notes of their architecture. One day I will design something like that. I don’t care what the professors in the School of Architecture say—the ones who have already advised me to switch majors because they don’t think I have the right sense of style. I’m willing to work hard and I can learn.

I’m carrying my hoodie, but I’m still really hot in my jeans and body-hugging t-shirt. What I desperately want is to strip into a bikini. We turn, and ahead I see an array of boats moored at an intricate network of docks, bobbing in a harbor.

“The hotel is near a marina?”

Jonathon leans close to me. He hasn’t touched me much since our session of sex on the plane. Maybe he’s giving me some space. Maybe he needs some. He points to the horizon. “The resort is on a smaller island. It’s a ten mile boat ride. It has all amenities but if we want to come back here for shopping or dinner, it’s a short trip.”

“We’re not going to your private island, are we?”

He laughs. “No, my father is vacationing on that island this Christmas, and I didn’t want to be near him.”

His family
does
have a private island.

I’ve ridden on ferries and that was the type of boat I pictured. Instead, we board a sleek speed boat. Our luggage is stowed in the back, the engine roars, and we shoot out of the harbor into open water. The boat bounces on the waves, throwing spray in our faces. Jonathon’s arm is around me. I hold my hair back out of my face, thrilled. This is…stunning. The glorious sunshine and the warmth, the vast beautiful ocean, the cooling spray that tastes salty. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

Laughing, I turn, intending to kiss Jonathon. He puts his finger to my lips, stopping me. Perhaps he doesn’t like public displays of affection, but given what he does in public at his clubs and what he did to me on the plane, I’m amazed.

Soon, I see the island, a small strip of lush greenery surrounded by water that fades from mysterious indigo to clear bright blue. “That white ring…isn’t that a reef?”

“Don’t worry,” Jonathon assures.

We speed toward the reef. My grip on the side of the boat tightens. Then suddenly we slow, sending a wash of water ahead of us, and our captain—pilot?—guides us in through a narrow channel. We disembark and board an open-air vehicle that looks like a fancy golf cart. Again we have a driver, this one in a white uniform consisting of a short-sleeve shirt, shorts, and a white cap.

He bids us a good-natured ‘Good Afternoon’ and winds his way around the people milling on the wooden dock. There’s lots of noise. Tourists chatter, golf cart horns honk, boat engines roar, seagulls caw.

“I really want to strip off my jeans,” I whisper to Jonathon, certain my words can’t be heard over all this sound.

“Mmm, good idea,” he murmurs. He leans over me, undoes the zipper of my fly with speed and consummate skill. His fingers slide down, moving inside my panties.

“Not here. Not yet,” I whisper. At his look of disappointment, I feel a spurt of guilt. To tease him, to keep enticing him, I ask softly, “What exactly do you do when you tie a woman up?”

“I like to be creative,” he says. “Sometimes I’ll tie you up when you’re spread-eagled on the bed so I can fuck your sweet pussy. Or have you lie on your stomach, which allows me to do naughty things to your lovely ass. I might tie your ankles and hands together, and arrange you in interesting positions to fuck you. Would you like to be bound hand and foot while you suck my cock, Mia?”

His voice is low, soft, so innately sexual it makes my pussy throb. Emotions swirl and crash in me like water over the reef. I have to be honest. “The idea of being tied up excites me. But—”

“But there’s more?” Jonathon’s voice is gentle, inquisitive.

I may be about to disappoint him, but I’m not afraid to be honest with him. “You know I’ve known abuse,” I say very softly. “I thought I could look at anything as a fun, hot game. A fantasy. But I’m afraid that being a submissive might be just too close to what I’ve been through in my past.”

“Don’t worry. This is completely different. You always have the power to say no, to stop the game, even when you’re tied up. The fantasy has nothing to do with what you’ve been through. You will always be in control. And you remember the rules of my clubs: safe, sane, consensual.”

“You will be the one holding the spanking paddle,” I point out, my voice quiet.

“I will only take you as far as you want to go this week.”

But after that? I have boundaries—I just don’t know yet exactly what they are. I suspect this week is going to make me figure them out.

When I know what my limits are, how close do I want to flirt with them? Would I be willing to cross them for a man as gorgeous, as understanding, as powerful and tempting as Jonathon?

***

Our car purrs into a semi-circular drive and stops beneath a soaring concrete canopy, a beautiful feature that ripples and undulates like a sail and defies its material. We pass through gold-tinted sliding doors onto the huge floor of a foyer with a tall, bubbling fountain in the middle. The reception area has vaulted ceilings. Palms stand in enormous ceramic pots.

A woman in a white suit approaches Jonathon before he even takes a step toward the reception desk. “Mr. Powell, how delightful to see you again this year. Your usual suite is ready. Champagne is already chilling. Benjamin will bring up your bags.”

At once, a grey-haired man with deep bronze skin comes forward, pushing a shining brass luggage cart. He gives Jonathon a beaming smile. “Good afternoon, sir,” he says.

“Benjamin, I thought you had retired last year,” Jonathon says, shaking the man’s hand.

“I got too bored with nothing to do,” the older man says.

“This is Mia Reynolds,” Jonathon says, “My lady friend.” He introduces Benjamin as the backbone of
Azure
, which makes the man laugh and protest, but I can tell Benjamin is totally charmed.

Jonathon can do that. He can make you melt, make you adore him. Then, sometimes he is elusive, quiet, reserved. He’s like Gatsby, watching silently over his guests at his parties, an isolated orchestrator with a mysterious past. (Even though I’m studying architecture, I’d loved English literature in high school.)

Other times, Jonathon is stubborn, as he was with Lara about his bondage needs. And then he can be the Jonathon I know—a blend of all these things; kind, protective, and the most amazing friend in the world.

I start to put my bags on the cart to save Benjamin the strain, but he rushes over and takes them from me. I suppose I’ve made a mistake, shown I don’t belong in this world, but I don’t care. It’s true that I have no experience with an exclusive resort, and I’m not going to pretend I have. I have to be myself.

I’m more worried that my past—and all its baggage—will end up ruining this potential relationship with Jonathon.

Our luggage is loaded on a wheeled cart that is attached to another fancy golf cart. Then we are driven to a sprawling building that looks like it belongs in Morocco. There are gleaming gold domes for roofs, curved stucco walls, exotic gardens filled with pink flowers and spiky plants. Our driver, Rene, explains everything to me as we go up the drive.

“There are a dozen of these villas on the resort, miss,” Rene says. “They are separate and private, and just steps from the ocean. Each villa has dedicated staff, a private well-stocked bar, and you can order anything you desire from the main kitchen. We’re on call at any time of the day or night.” He wishes us a Merry Christmas when he drops us off and carries our luggage inside. Jonathon tips him generously, but doesn’t return the sentiment. So I say it.

“Merry Christmas, Rene, and thank you so much.”

Then we’re in our villa, alone. I pass through the entrance foyer into a circular, domed space, filled with curiosity. The huge round room is the living room. A flat screen T.V. spans the curve. Comfortable couches and chairs of white leather are arranged in a circle. On one side there is a bar; on the other, a large doorway which I guess leads to bedrooms.

Right across from the foyer, the circular room juts into a square space that is glassed in with doors that open onto a terrace. And a pool!

One of the doors is open and I realize the rhythmic, crashing sound is the surf on the beach. Sultry breezes, tangy with salt, waft into the room. From here, the sky looks almost pure gold with slashes of pink, and I realize the sun is dropping to the horizon.

“Finally,” Jonathon says, dropping his carry-on bag. “Take a quick look outside at the sunset, then come back in here. I’ve been going crazy for the last two hours, waiting to tie you up again.”

Chapter Four

Am I ready to be tied up again? Ready to test and push boundaries already?

After watching a breathtaking sunset, I’m quivering a little when I slip into the bathroom to wash up. There are three bathrooms in our villa. One has a huge walk-in shower done in decorative tile. The second has a soaker tub large enough for four people. It is set into the floor and surrounded by a plush, white carpet. The last one is larger than my bungalow, has a heart-shaped tub with jets, and a granite waterfall that frames the sink and mirrors.

I end up deciding to use the one with the sunken tub. The room is decorated with black and silver art deco tiles and features a huge mirror framed in bulbs, like a Hollywood-style makeup mirror.

After I come out, I take the wrong route and end up in a huge bedroom. A four-poster bed stands in the middle. Gauzy white fabric flutters around the bed. Large doors open to a terrace. Steps lead down from there to the white sand beach. Thick carpets surround the bed, all in an exotic, Oriental pattern. Furnishings of dark wood contrast with the pale beige-white walls. It looks like the room of a pirate who brought his old world sensibilities to his luxurious Caribbean home, built with his plundered booty.

From that room, I go through a connecting door into another that matches the sunken tub bathroom, decorated for a Hollywood siren from the 1930s.

Catching my breath, I leave that room, closing the doors behind me with a sense of awe.

I figure out how to head back to the living room, where I find Jonathon.

“There are six bedrooms. All of this is really just for us?” At the bondage club I visited with Jonathon—where nothing happened except some voyeurism—I met a friend of Jonathon’s. A man named Devlin Crane, Jonathon’s age, a billionaire who took over the helm of his family’s industrial empire two years ago. Crane told me he and Jonathon regularly had threesomes with whatever lucky girl either man was dating.

“Are you expecting other guests?” I ask slowly.

Jonathon sits back, pulling the cork from our chilled champagne. “These villas are intended for several couples, but I like privacy. I rent the entire place.” He fills a beautiful crystal glass, opens one of the huge doors, and holds up the champagne. “For you, but you have to strip naked first.”

Then he casually walks outside.

“I can’t go outside naked.”

He leans back in. “You can. We’re secluded here. Private.”

Remembering how I had an orgasm on the airplane, I blush. I tried to be quiet, but I suspect the crew must have guessed what was going on. I’ve already been shocking in front of his father’s staff.