The Lion's Den(80)

Amythest strokes him with her bejeweled nails, trying her best to get him hard. She blows him and gets him up to half-mast, then pushes him back on the bed, stuffs him up inside her, and bounces up and down with zeal. After a minute, they have to stop because he can’t keep it up.

“How do you want me?” she asks, coquettish.

“Have you ever done a golden shower?” he asks.



My jaw drops. This is too good to believe.

“No,” she says.

“It really turns me on,” he says. “And girls who turn me on get rewarded nicely.”



I can’t help but snort with laughter. This is exactly how I would’ve expected John to talk in bed.

She looks him, at the bed, considering. “But the bed—”

“I’ll have someone clean it up.”

“Okay.” She positions herself above him. “Where do you want me to—”

“On my cock,” he says. “I want you to piss all over my cock.”



Oh my God. I don’t want to see, but my eyes are glued to the screen.

And there it is.

Wow. I don’t want to be the type of person to judge other people’s sexual proclivities, but…gross. Does Summer do this, too? I shudder and throw the phone on the bed. There’s a good deal more of the video, but I’ve seen enough. I’m not going to be able to unsee it. Though I do wonder what use it might be.

Amythest may be some kind of nympho, but she’s not stupid.

I throw on a dress and run a brush through my hair. Fourteen minutes until the meeting. I realize my nerves must be the effect of my ego, bracing for a hit. But a needy ego is no reason to stay here. So it’s decided: I’m done with this charade. I’ve played my part; I’m ready to take a bow and go home. I’m gonna go up there and politely ask for my passport and a plane ticket. No hard feelings, just goodbye.

I step across the hall and knock on Wendy and Claire’s door. Claire answers, wearing a paper face mask made to look like a cat. “Hey,” she says, her eyes sympathetic. Then, remembering the mask, she laughs. “Oh. Wendy’s making me moisturize.”

Wendy’s sitting on the bed behind her in a matching face mask, her hair piled on top of her head amid some kind of deep-conditioning treatment. She looks up from the magazine she’s reading and waves as though nothing is amiss.

“I’m sorry you got left,” Claire says.

“Yeah, me too,” I agree, glancing at Wendy, who doesn’t meet my eyes. “How did your day go?”

“It was great!” Wendy chirps without looking up from the magazine. “We went to this cove that was absolutely beautiful and swam off the back of the boat and rode Jet Skis.” She gestures to her hair. “Ruined my hair though, so I had to wash it. So annoying. What’d you do?”

What the hell is wrong with her? “Nothing much,” I say. “Just had lunch, walked around. Did Summer mention anything about having left us?”

Wendy shrugs. “No. She was just having fun.”

“It was kinda weird to just leave you in port, then not say anything all day, like nothing happened,” Claire says.

“Yeah, she sent me a text telling me how ungrateful I was,” I divulge. “I have a meeting with John in a minute. I’m sure I’ll get my ass handed to me.”

Wendy flips a page in her magazine and continues to read.

“I’m sorry,” Claire sympathizes. “I know you didn’t mean to be late.”

“No. We ran all the way. I texted, but…it seems like Summer has a bigger problem with me. Like she thinks I was intentionally rude or something.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve been rude,” Claire says sweetly. “This whole trip has been different than we expected.”

Wendy still doesn’t look up from her magazine. “Wendy, has she said anything to you?” I ask.

Wendy shakes her head and gives me a perfunctory smile. What is going on with her? I try a different tactic. “Did she say anything more to you about Leo?”

Again she shakes her head. Clearly, for whatever reason, I won’t be getting anything out of her. “Okay, I gotta go meet John. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Claire says.

Wendy calmly flips to yet another page of celebrity gossip as I back out of the cabin.

The living room is empty when I arrive at exactly six thirty. I fiddle with my watch while I wait for John to arrive, then try to ground myself by taking a deep breath and feeling it all the way down to my feet, like I learned in yoga class. This meeting is nothing I should be afraid of. Just ask for your passport and a ticket home. Out the windows, I watch as dark clouds close in, obscuring the evening sun.

When John hasn’t arrived by six forty-five, I take a seat in front of the computer and fire up my email. I’ve been careful to delete every message after I’ve sent it, so I’m not too worried about Vinny or whoever else poking around in my in-box. I’ll just have to watch what I say.

Writing from the boat—I’m in trouble for returning late after shopping, awaiting the opportunity to apologize to John, which Summer so thoughtfully arranged. Looks like rain tonight. I’m sure rocking seas will do wonders for my seasickness. Heard there may be sea urchin for dinner though, if I’m still