The wind kissed the top of the grasses, playing with
them, ruffling through them. The sand was warm underneath her and her skin
shone with the sun’s caress. It wasn’t late, not much past dinnertime, really.
The day had hours left in it yet, but morning or evening, she’d never seen anyone else up
there at the top of the sand dunes. It was a perfect spot, an unseen platform
above the beach, looking down, with all the warmth of the day and the
protection of the long grass.
She turned, rolling onto her back, and let her book slip
away from her fingers. Her eyes closed and she let out a long, happy sigh.
Suddenly,
a shadow cast over her. She opened her eyes, wide, but the figure was in front
of the sun, a tall block silhouette against the bright light behind him.
“Hey,” he said.
He had a low growling voice, matching his wide shoulders and
bulky physique.
She froze.
“I said, Hey,” he said, again, the Russian clear in his
intonation. “Don’t you remember me?”
She blinked, then shook her head. She was certain she’d
never seen him in her life. She’d surely remember someone who looked like that,
never mind the voice that rippled over her, its deep, throaty resonance sinking
right to her groin. No, she'd definitely never met him.
Again, she shook her head.
“No?” without warning he dropped down, over her. He grabbed
her and spun her over so she faced the sand, then pressed himself on top of
her. “You think no?”
She pushed out her hands but he was too strong – he grabbed
her skirt and yanked it up, then took hold of her white cotton panties and in
one crazy pull he ripped them away – then he stopped, froze.
“Maria?” he said. “Oh, God, you’re not Maria, are you?”
She lay still, her face pressed into the sand, her backside
on display, naked. The breeze tickled her skin, and again, she shook her head.
“Oh my god,” he said. “Miss, I’m so sorry, I’m –”
She lifted her head. He was incredible. Whoever this Maria
was, she could only imagine what they’d planned.
Looking down, his hand was next to hers. His fingers were
long and wide, and rough. They were hands that knew how to take hold of
something, hands that knew how to touch.
She wasn’t Maria, but – but what if she were?
She looked up at him.
“You have no tattoo,” he said, gesturing to her bottom. “I
thought… I can only apologize, Miss. Really, I had no…”
Her eyes burned into his, and he stopped. Slowly, she ran
her tongue over her lips, and swallowed.
“You’re not the woman I thought you were,” he said. “I had
arranged, I had…”
She nodded, letting her eyes travel down his body. His shirt was
open to mid chest and even with the sun behind him, she could see the outline
of muscles – muscles on his arms, muscles on his body and down, below his belt
–
Holy Mary, Mother of God! She brought her eyes right back up
to his face.
You’re not Maria,” he said. “And yet, you do not
move, when I put you there.”
She nodded.
“You do not speak?” he said.
No, she thought, not trusting herself to try.
“You do not cover yourself, when I… expose you,” he said.
Moving slowly, he let his finger travel up the back of her
leg, up, up. She shivered, took a sharp breath, but the finger kept on
going, up and over her bottom, and around and around on her plump cheek.
“Here,” he said. “Here, Maria has a little tattoo. I did not
see her face, but I saw here.”
Around and around, he smoothed the skin, then he stopped.
Watching her face, he brought back his hand and spanked her, hard.
“Oh!”
He chuckled.
“So you do speak,” he teased her. "Interesting."
He leant over her and she tried to turn back to see him to
watch what he was doing, and as he lowered himself down beside her, he tipped
her head to look into her face.
“You like that, little stranger?” he said.
Again, his hand moved to her bottom. Where he’d spanked
her, the skin tingled and spiked.
She went to shake her head, she went to stop, to speak, but
–
He moved his hand down, between her legs, and she couldn’t
lie.
Was she really doing this? She looked around, peering
between the grasses – her heart raced in her chest, her mouth was dry but –
He was there. Whoever this stranger was, whoever Maria was, she didn’t
know. All she knew was his hand, his touch - the sun on her skin, the
sounds of the sea, the whistle of the wind - and the space, where he stopped
touching her. With his other hand, he touched her chin, again, raising her eyes to
his. He’d stopped, he’d pulled back, and she knew – her body knew – she could
feel him readying.
This time he spanked her twice, both on the same place, one
then the next, the slap reverberating around the dunes. Pulling away, she
breathing in, she –
Oh God, she moaned.
The pain receded and from underneath, came the
burn.
She shook her head. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going
to play these kind of games any more – she was done with that stuff, she was
done with men, she was –
She was absolutely soaking wet.
His hands stroked her, again, up and over her bottom, around
her waist, his fingers rough against her soft skin, his hold complete.
“What’s your name, little stranger?” he said.
She shook her head. She couldn’t have spoken if her life
depended on it.
“So fine, I don’t give you mine,” he said. “Just tell me –
tell me, what do you want?”
She looked back at the strong silhouette, and opened her
mouth.
