Maneater (8 page)

S
tress revisited me like an old acquaintance, making my stomach churn, grinding away my appetite for love, food, sex. Worrying about everything, at the same time caring about nothing. The sun rose gradually, dissipating into the ocean. Seven in the morning to seven in the evening, white satin sheets, a white linen comforter, the silkiest down pillows cradled me as though I were an infant in my mother's womb again.

Other than making my way to the kitchen for papaya-ginger juice, an untouched fresh crab pasta salad, which I tasted only with my eyes, and occasionally water, I lounged in my room. “I could stay in this bed, this space, forever and ever.” No one at the resort bothered me.

Earlier this morning, I'd checked in online, as required. Jagger instant messaged me around noon. Seven, your spirit is captivating. Can't stop thinking about you. Hope you let me pleasure you again.

I hadn't bothered responding. I was exhausted, and he'd probably sent that note to all the women he'd licked into cosmic paradise. My focus wasn't on Jagger. No text messages or calls from Zena or Maverick. I questioned what was I doing with my life. A part of me desired to have Maverick's baby growing inside me. The other 80 percent knew best not to have a baby out of wedlock.

Did I want to be a stay-at-home mom, homeschooling my kid while keeping another infant or two to help out a couple of single moms? I'd like that. I wouldn't charge them to give their babies a safe, clean, loving environment ten hours a day, five days a week. Working single moms needed people they could trust with their pride and joy.

Mama used to say, “Seven, if the women take care of the women, the world will be okay. Everybody deserves a break in life. Always give back. Always help yourself first.”

Passing time, I sat at the computer, reflecting on what Serenity had said about names having meaning; then I Googled
Maverick
. According to the Wikipedia definition, his name meant “a motherless calf, a non-conformist or rebel.” Consulting the dictionary, I found “a person who does not conform to generally accepted standards or customs.” Searching Maverick Maxamillion via numerology, I couldn't believe my eyes as I read, “Your number is seven. The characteristics of seven are analysis, understanding, knowledge, awareness, studious, meditating.” Nothing about being compassionate, loving, or faithful.

I read about my name. “Your number is nine. The characteristics of the number nine are humanitarian, giving nature, selflessness, obligations, creative expressions.”

“Whoa, Serenity was right. I expected to find some generic zodiac type of definition,” I said aloud.

Mama had told me, “Anyone who unconsciously names a child without understanding the meaning of the name may one day open Pandora's box. I named you Seven because God rested on the seventh day. The seventh day is holy. There are seven wonders of the world, seven gates to the other world, seven wise men of the ancient world. Not three. Not eight. Seven has special symbolism in universal philosophy and religion. And, baby, if you ever get a seven-year itch, scratch it.”

I composed an e-mail to Maverick.

Tears plopped onto the keyboard as I clicked on the send button. I felt better and worse at the same time. Didn't want to use my baby for bait, so I didn't mention the possibility of having his child. One day at a time was all I could deal with right now. Babies were lifetime lifestyle changers for the mothers.

Sitting on the toilet, I wondered aloud, “What is Mr. Fletcher going to do to me…um, um, um?”

I wiped myself, then stared at the white tissue. Disappointed by my missing period, I cleansed my hands, then went to the computer to send Maverick another e-mail, apologizing for being inconsiderate of his feelings. Maybe I was too conforming. Wanting things a certain way, my way, expecting Maverick to be more like me, less like himself. Surprisingly, he'd replied to my earlier message. Anxiously I read.

The Place at Esalen, where he proposed to me at two in the morning in the outdoor mineral bath overlooking the Pacific Ocean. No one could get in for a treatment or tour without a reservation. He was taking Zena there? Was that why my so-called best friend hadn't tried to contact me?

“Do whoever the fuck you want, you…you…nonconformist, egotistical, blackguard bastard!” I yelled at the screen.

Slam!
I snatched a book, then threw it to the floor.
Slam!
Another.
Slam! Slam! Slam!

Forget them.
“I'm the one in paradise,” I said, angrily clicking on the picture of Quin. His calming profile was hypnotic. I took a deep breath, then sat on the edge of the chair in front of the computer. Quin was the first in a set of identical quintuplets, seven feet tall, 245 pounds, broad shoulders, small waist, loves to swim, best underwater lover.

Underwater? Me? Or him?
I sent Quin an instant message, hoping he'd preserve my sanity. Would love to go deep under the sea with you anytime tomorrow.

He replied, Lovely, Seven. I'm all yours at noon, provided that you promise to feed me.

Me? Fish? Food? What?
A song by Tony! Toni! Toné! popped into my mind, so I IMed back, Whatever you want, singing the lyrics “Girl, you know I will provide whatever you need…call…”

Grinning, I said, “This place is too frickin' good to be true.”

No matter how down I was, my sadness didn't last once I got on this computer. Men I'd never imagined were at my fingertips, at my convenience, willingly. A text appeared on my phone.

Drove my car to her house?
O-kay.

I placed my phone on the computer desk, then walked away. Was I supposed to be stupid? Zena was really playing me. She was driving my car, had my laptop and my man, and she was headed to Big Sur with my fiancé. I went back to my phone, texted, Don't you mean your date's name is Maverick? then walked away without pressing the send button.

Backstabbing bitch! When it comes to a big dick, women have zero loyalty.

I stepped into a cold shower, too upset to cry. I had to freshen up.

I scrubbed my body, head to toe. Dripping, freezing inside and out, I tucked the towel underneath my armpits, then fell backward across the bed. Toes numb. Hands tingling.
Better calm down before I suffer a broken and betrayed heart attack.

My eyes closed. I exhaled, trying to forget that Maverick and Zena were becoming a happy couple. Zena didn't need my advice. She needed my foot in her ass. The chimes softly ringing in my suite were a relief. Fletcher was here.

Holding on to my towel, I went to the door. “Hi,” I said seductively, melting into his strong arms for a much-needed caring hug. Right now, I needed someone other than me to care about me.

The sheer black fishnet, collarless shirt and boxers clung to his body. My lips curved downward, not with sadness. The boxers draping his big, juicy dick looked like a bigmouth bass trapped in a fishnet. His thighs, oh my. His ass, unbelievable. His tasty, tempting, protruding nipples found openings in the net. The eye of his dick puckered at me. I wanted to lick him all over. Give his super head mouth to mouth.

“You already bathed?” he asked.

Shaking my head, I said, “Uh-uh. A little refresher shower. Oh, no, I didn't bathe. That's what you're doing for me.”

Grinning, he said, “Oh, indeed.” He placed his hands on my shoulders, and his fingers magically meandered up my neck. “You seem up-tight. I want you to relax. I'll prepare the Jacuzzi,” he said, escorting me to my bed. “Lie down.”

That I could do. Crawling into my bed face forward, I stretched out, then curled my arms under my pillow. “I'll be right here,” I said, sinking into the silkiness against my cheek.

What was it that I loved about Maverick that kept me mentally attached to him? Common sense would've let go of that jerk the second he'd said, “Lose the weight, or the wedding is off.” Maybe I just needed time to get him out of my system. Zena wouldn't lie to me, would she? That was my girl, and we knew one another too well. A man had never come between our friendship. Was she really going out with Danté, our limo driver? If I had to choose between marrying Maverick or staying friends with Zena, that would be an easy decision.

Fletcher returned to my bedside, gently nudging me. “Seven, you can relax, baby, if you want. We have lots of time for me to do you. We can cuddle, take a midnight stroll on the beach, or I can give you your space.”

“Huh? What?” I said, turning over. My towel escaped from my body. Naked, yawning, I said, “I'm ready.”

Holding out his hand, Fletcher said, “I'm ready for you.”

Lowering my palm into his, he led me to the Jacuzzi. I stepped into the heat of the water as he held my hand. Fletcher got in with his clothes on, if fishnet was considered clothing.

“We have fresh pomegranate juice and water right here. Which would you like?” Fletcher asked, gesturing toward the chilled carafes.

Day three. No solid foods. I caressed my stomach. There was a noticeable decrease in what Dr. Oz referred to as my omentum. I wasn't happy like Jagger had mentioned. I should be…I was getting there.

“You,” I wanted to say, but I honestly didn't want another man other than Maverick penetrating me if I was pregnant.

Studying my face, Fletcher asked, “You mind if we talk…dirty?”

My lips curled as I shyly stared toward the ceiling for a few seconds. What was happening to me? I was not shy. I took a deep breath, then said, “I couldn't help but notice how incredibly big your dick is,” leading the conversation.

Fletcher moved closer, sat facing me, then said, “Can I teach you how to verbally seduce me?”

What was wrong with what I'd said? Defensively, I replied, “Okay, I guess I'm not doing it right.”

“Seven, you can't do sex, sex talk, or sexy wrong with a man. But you can do it better. Most dicks are on automatic pilot. An experienced woman knows how to get inside a man's head and take control of his dick. Men want women to take control. I want you to take control of me.” Fletcher paused, then asked, “What do you do for a living?”

No way was I professing to be a well-kept woman. That wasn't my truth anymore. “I'm going back to school for my master's in architecture.”

Fletcher held my hand under the bubbling water. Slowly, he massaged my fingers.

“Almost finished your master's, huh? Impressive. That means you've completed undergrad. Let's just say you've gotten your master's degree, but you have not designed your first building or home for a major company or client—”

I interrupted, “I've already designed my dream house on the water.” I wished I hadn't shown my plans to Maverick.

“Business intellect is great. I bet you'll alter your design by the time you get your master's. My point is, love and sex also require education and on-the-job experience,” he said, lightly stroking my palm.

Trying to be cool, I took a deep breath. His nails gently gliding along my palm made my pussy twitch.

He went on. “Foreplay starts well before great orgasms. The best foreplay starts outside of your thinking about my dick or my being obsessed with sticking my dick inside your pussy. That will automatically evolve as we progress, if you'd like. At Punany Paradise, all the men think outside the punany. We want to connect with all of you. We want to please every part of you. And we like teaching and helping you to discover what you like.”

Wow.
As simple as that seemed, Maverick and I had never spent quality time to spiritually bond. Looking into Fletcher's eyes, I saw crystal clear white surrounding sincere hazel irises. “I love your eyes,” I said, trying to get it right this time.

“You don't love body parts. You love people. Seven, your eyes are so beautiful. You send chills through my body when I gaze into your eyes. I feel connected to you.”

“And your lips, the fullness, the wetness,” I said, kissing my thumb before smoothing it over his mouth. “I want your energy…to kiss me.”

Lifting my hand from the water, Fletcher kissed my palm. His tongue traced the lines of my wetness, and I swore the nerves were connected to my pussy as she puckered with each stroke.

“May I kiss you, Seven?” Fletcher asked, gracefully circling his tongue over his lips.

I whispered, “Yes,” as I closed my eyes.

Gently, he pressed his lips to mine. “Look at me, Seven,” he said, and then he kissed the side of my mouth. Then the other side. Trailing kisses down my neck, then behind my ear, Fletcher made his way back to my mouth, this time parting his, nibbling mine. “Your thick, juicy lips taste like nectar,” he said, passionately sucking my tongue.