Fate Read online

  Fate

  By

  Nikki Sex

  Copyright 2014 by Nikki Sex

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All rights reserved.

  Acknowledgements

  If I’d tried to do this all on my own, it wouldn’t have been half as good. So a very big thank you to my Beta readers, Cat, Denise, Jenny, Larry, and Margaret. A special thanks to Mike who’s been with me from the beginning. Also to Sheree Beans, who added TONS of great ideas, and really should write a book of her own.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1. And So it Begins…

  Chapter 2. The Plan

  Chapter 3. Charismatic, Seductive Paul

  Chapter 4. Ready or Not

  Chapter 5. Dominated

  Chapter 6. Volcano

  Chapter 7. Paul

  Chapter 8. Unexpected

  Chapter 9. Liar

  Chapter 10. Addiction

  Chapter 11. Aftercare

  Chapter 12. Emily

  Chapter 13. Wicked

  Chapter 14. Fate

  Chapter 15. Two Weeks Later…

  Chapter 16. Memories

  Chapter 17. Email

  Chapter 18. Friday

  Chapter 19. Friday Night

  Chapter 20. Little Rabbit

  Chapter 21. André Chevalier

  Chapter 22. Who Are You?

  Chapter 23. Rules

  Chapter 24. Breasts

  Chapter 25. Pleasure

  Chapter 26. Pain

  Chapter 27. A Best Friend

  Chapter 28. Judgmental

  Chapter 29. One Week Later…

  Chapter 30. Homecoming

  Chapter 31. Marilyn

  Chapter 32. Oops

  Chapter 33. Tissues

  Chapter 34. Letting Go

  Chapter 35. Torment

  Chapter 36. Stalking

  Chapter 37. Ouch

  Chapter 38. Revelations

  Chapter 39. Dad

  Chapter 40. Storm

  Chapter 41. Déjà Vu

  Chapter 42. Whole

  Chapter 43. Dessert

  Chapter 44. Seduction

  Chapter 45. Making Love

  Chapter 46. Fun Games

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1. And So it Begins…

  “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

  - Sir Walter Scott

  Twenty-three year old Emily Malone sat at a table in the Cantina, looking out over the clear blue waters of Cabo San Lucas, México. She took a deep, steadying breath.

  At only four in the afternoon, the place was packed. It was spring break, so most clientele were college students looking to party. Beyoncé was loudly singing about how “Girls Run the World.” Emily sipped a margarita, her first alcoholic drink of the afternoon, and wished that it was true.

  Am I ready for this? Emily asked herself. But she already knew that she was as ready as she could be.

  Euripides, a Greek scholar, once said: “When love is in excess, it brings a man no honor nor worthiness.” Emily figured that the same was true of a woman. She’d loved one man too long, too much, to the point of madness… and her plans were dishonorable. Well… too bad! What else was a woman to do? Euripides hadn’t offered any words of wisdom about how to get over such obsessive love, had he?

  To Emily’s mind, love was a virus. A disease. And there was no cure.

  At a table near hers, women shrieked with laughter when a group of healthy young men in tank tops and board shorts threw ice at them.

  Amused, Emily watched the flirtation while she sipped her drink. The tangy bite of tequila burned her throat and nostrils, mixing with the smell of heated sand and salty sea air. A cool breeze from the ocean kept the temperature down. Thank God.

  A good-looking stranger walked toward her, his eyes interested and hungry. Blue, green and black ink decorated the full length of one arm in a striking design.

  Why couldn’t she be attracted to him? To someone who wanted her? Because, she admonished herself. Fool that I am, I’m infatuated with someone else. With someone who refused me. Twice! How pathetic is that?

  When she looked up at the stranger, meeting his gaze, he gave her a killer smile. Wow. Very nice. He clearly intended to hit on her. With her deliberately slutty, exposed cleavage, and ‘come get me, baby,’ look, Emily had been fending off a number of men, and even one woman, since she arrived.

  “Would you like company?” he asked in a low voice.

  “No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I’m waiting for someone.”

  With a flex of one muscular shoulder, he shrugged. “Too bad.” He shot her an appealing crooked grin, and walked back toward the bar.

  Emily considered what she’d look like to the object of her obsession. Her normally long, dark brown, wavy hair was recently cut short, straightened and bleached white-blonde. She’d styled it in a wild, uninhibited sort of “just tumbled” look. Not long ago, she wore glasses in an “a la geek” style. Now, colored contact lenses turned her light-blue eyes dark brown. With the addition of silk eyelash extensions, her eyes looked striking.

  After five days in the sun, her pale skin was tan. Red blush, liberally applied, made her cheekbones stand out. Those eyelash extensions, combined with heavy makeup, created a sexually experienced and wanton look.

  Intentionally dressed to seduce, she wore a short, black, pleated skirt and a red halter that left her stomach bare. The top scarcely covered her breasts; exposing her generous cleavage, while the lace of her black bra peeked out to contrast her large gold hoop earrings.

  High-heeled, strappy sandals completed the picture. At five foot two, she needed all the height she could get.

  No one she knew could have possibly recognized her – which was the point, of course.

  Emily took a large swallow, finishing the rest of her margarita in one gulp. She hoped one drink would be enough to soothe her buzzing nerves, because she needed to be clear-headed. She snorted and almost dropped her glass with that thought.

  Could she really call what she’d planned the result of a clear mind? More likely, most people would consider her to be certifiably insane.

  A graceful green sailboat was moving smoothly toward the shore. She checked the time. Was it him?

  Fear rolled through her, making her body tremble and her stomach twist. Maybe I should forget about this insane plan of mine. Should I just pack up and leave? Yet since she was actually here, fifteen hundred miles from home, she was determined to see it through.

  The afternoon’s wet t-shirt contest had drawn quite a crowd. Emily was surprised to discover that the event had taken her mind off of her circumstances and made her smile.

  Men, randomly chosen from the audience, were seated up on stage, one at a time. A female contestant wearing a thin white cotton shirt was hosed down. Competing one by one, each participant enticed the man they were paired with, through suggestive movements and dance.

  At the end of the competition, the audience chose the winner through applause.

  A number of gorgeous, tall, slim, buxom women participated. Many were pinnacles of the current culturally accepted view of beauty, with pretty faces and supermodel figures. Yet, it was the short, chubby, Canadian contestant that won.

  When her performance was over, approval and acclaim resounded through deafening whistles, clapping and catcalls. The woman’s lusty enthusiasm as she danced and gyrated was incredible. She deserved her win.

  Whew, Emily mused. Forget the warm weather. The sexual heat th
at curvy little blonde exuded unexpectedly created a delicious sensation deep within her core. A slow carnal burn smoldered from inside. Yet, she wasn’t thinking of the sexy Canadian’s performance. Instead, Emily thought of him.

  Jesus. How can I be so sexually aroused and utterly terrified at the same time?

  Emily used the Cantina menu to fan her face, welcoming any distraction from the ball of tension she’d been living with for days.

  As expected, and right on time, the “Seabird,” a forty-two foot sailboat, arrived and anchored in the harbor. Now, its small outboard boat was speeding to shore. Her eyes burned with the intensity of her stare. Emily watched two men clamber out of the craft and wade up onto the beach. They each had a duffel bag. The little boat sped off.

  He’s here. She’d know that familiar, confident walk of his anywhere.

  Emily held perfectly still, while her heart hammered in her chest and her mouth went dry. Side by side, the two men walked up the beach toward the Cantina.

  Face burning in a heated flush, Emily caught a direct sight of him. What struck her first was his thick, tousled hair as it seemed to glow. Now sporting naturally blond streaks, his light brown locks had grown to shoulder length. A five o’clock shadow and his trim, yet muscular, six-foot frame accented the primal male inside. Paul’s angular face and high cheekbones gave him a somewhat menacing and dangerous look.

  He was facing her, casually chatting with his friend, when he suddenly flashed a broad grin. Straight white teeth showed against the sun bronzed skin of a virile male in his prime. It was the kind of smile that would make heads turn, knees weaken and hearts melt. Not to mention setting her panties alight!

  ¡Ay, caramba! Emily’s gut knotted. Oh. My. God. Paul Jarman.

  He looked healthy, happy, and better than ever. The last time she saw him, he’d been firm-lipped, bitter, and enraged. Cussing a blue streak, Paul swore that he was leaving, promising never to return.

  She watched him enter the cantina, wearing blue jean cut-offs and a snug, faded black t-shirt that hugged his chest. Long, muscular legs easily weaved through the crowd with fluid grace, as he grinned at his companion.

  She had no idea who his handsome friend was. The man had dark hair and brown skin. Emily quickly averted her face as they strode by, moving toward the bar.

  Am I really going to do this?

  She’d already gone over her plan a thousand times, maybe more. Should I? Shouldn’t I? The answer was always the same, because there really wasn’t a choice at this point. She’d done too much, and come too far not to go through with it.

  I have to. It’s the only way.

  Chapter 2. The Plan

  Emily stood up and went quickly to the bathroom, reflecting on her family and the circumstances that had brought her to this.

  Emily’s mother, now divorced, had been depressed for the last few years. Her father was happy-go-lucky and undependable. Her older brother, Reese, had taken after her father. The moment he could, he left home and rarely visited. To be fair, he was at school, but why did he have to go to a college out of state?

  Emily frowned irritably at that, because she knew why.

  What sort of masochist would choose to stay?

  Everyone considered Emily to be the “sensible” child of her family. Conservatively dressed, she’d always been responsible and level-headed. Go to school, hold a job, and keep the family together. She hadn’t had much success with the last one, but someone had to look after her mother.

  Ordinarily, she was bound by duty and the unspoken ‘shoulds’ and ‘shouldn'ts’ of life. Emily had always been a rule follower.

  Well, she mused to herself as a wicked smile curved her lips, tonight I’m going to be a rule breaker. I’m going out of my way to do some seriously scandalous shouldn’ts!

  Checking her make-up in the mirror, she practiced her lower, soft and sultry voice. Tonight she intended to minimize speech. As close as she and Paul were, it was doubtful that he’d recognize her. For a start, she now had breast implants. She’d gone from flat-chested to a full C, or small D. They were state of the art, her present to herself when she turned twenty-one.

  Emily always wanted larger, feminine breasts, yet she’d internally debated surgery for years. She told herself that only insecure people would have breast augmentation. She’d ask herself, ‘Why do I have to be something I’m not in order to impress a man?’ On and on and on such negative thoughts stormed through her mind.

  When she’d discussed it with her mother and her friends, they all said the same things. “Your own breasts are the way God intended,” or “It isn’t natural,” “Why would you want to be fake?” “It’s such a superficial thing to do,” and “You’re beautiful as you are.”

  In the end, she’d gone ahead with the procedure after asking herself, ‘What would Paul like best?’ So stupid! And pathetic! She had no pride where he was concerned. After the surgery, she found that she was much happier and more confident, with both her body and with herself.

  Having a flat chest and being mistaken for a pre-pubescent boy had annoyed her all her life. She was too short as it was. Now she no longer looked like a child.

  Paul hadn't seen her for three long years. Back then, she’d never look or dress like she did right now, nor had she traveled out of state, much less to Mexico.

  The stranger staring back at her in the mirror struck a sexy pose, further exposing her generous cleavage in that tight red halter. Emily practiced an alluring smile – creating an eager “come hither” look.

  Yes. Perfect!

  That seemed to be exactly the kind of girl Paul Jarman went for, she mused. He never went out with “nice” girls. He liked experienced, big breasted, naughty girls who put out. He was looking to get laid – not looking for love. There was something about him, too. Every girl seemed to instantly fall in love with Paul, probably because he didn’t commit to anyone. Ever.

  Well, he won’t want to commit to me either, but who cares? I just want to have sex with him.

  “The only way to banish temptation is to give in to it," the saying went. She sure hoped it was true. Emily intended to finally scratch that long term, never ending itch of hers. There was a fine line between “hopeful persistence” and “stalking.” Clearly she’d gone well over that line. Hell, she’d literally and metaphorically driven past state borders and even left the country when it came to “crossing the line.”

  Emily adored Paul when she was a child. He’d always been kind to her, he listened to her, and made her laugh.

  Then when she became older, and her body flooded with hormones, she really noticed him. He was tall, and strong and handsome. And he had that sexy smile that somehow made her melt inside.

  What she felt for Paul was a bone-deep ache that never went away. Emily frowned, frustrated by the mystery. How do normal people get over their first love?

  Being obsessed with someone was like being caught in finger traps. The more she struggled and fought the infatuation, the tighter the cuffs held on.

  She’d convinced herself that if she just had one night of mind blowing, intense, no-holds-barred, toe curling sex with the object of her fixation, then maybe, just maybe, she’d finally get over him. Perhaps then, she could move on with her life.

  At least, that was the plan.

  She sprayed her new up market perfume into the air and walked through it. Paul would never associate that expensive scent with her. Bracing herself, Emily filled her lungs with a deep, fortifying breath, and walked out of the ladies room with a sexy swing to her hips.

  She kept going until she came to the table where Paul and his friend were sitting, stretched out drinking beer. They had a large spread of tacos and quesadillas in front of them, mostly half eaten. Chairs were at a premium, so there was nowhere for her to sit. Not that it mattered.

  The margarita she’d slammed down had gone straight to her head, giving her the confidence she’d hoped it would. She not only had to look slutty, she had to act slutty, to
o.

  Please God, don’t let him recognize me.

  Emily stood facing Paul. Hands on her waist, she crooked a leg in a provocative, catwalk model pose. “Hey, hot guy,” she said in a low, sultry purr. “Where can a girl sit if she wants to join you?”

  Paul gazed up at her with interest and amusement sparkling in his light hazel eyes. Those eyes of his had always entranced her. Just now, they looked chocolate brown, but in sunlight or other well-lit settings, Paul’s irises were a beautiful bright green near the pupil.

  His eyebrows rose into an arch as she looked down at him. The corners of his mouth lifted as a slow smile curled his lips. Emily’s breath hitched when a nearly tangible frisson of attraction passed between them.

  Before she knew his intent, Paul gave a delighted, low-pitched laugh and swept her onto to his lap. One of his arms lay across her thighs, the other around her back, holding tight to one of her hips.

  “Oh!” For an empty space of time, Emily stopped breathing.

  Her mind went blank as every brain cell she had seemed to disappear. Evidently, said brain cells had been replaced by rampant female hormones, all exuberantly singing, “Take me! Take me! Take me!”

  For a moment, Emily totally forgot the part she was supposed to be playing, as electric jolts of joy and pleasure rolled through her, making her skin tingle.

  All the years of desire she’d bottled up inside, popped open and exploded, spraying like shaken, uncorked champagne. Was it the alcohol that made her whole body flush and her head swim? Or was it just Paul? She felt drunk, intoxicated by the scent, sight, sound and feel of him.

  I’m in Paul’s arms! I’m in Paul’s arms!

  It was a heady experience.

  He smelled so good. Hot, muscular and male. An all-consuming need for him spiked through her in an instant of sharp arousal. It was as if a bolt of lightning struck her, right between her legs. Her body heated and pulsed; her breasts ached and her nipples hardened, their taut peaks brushing against her lacy bra.

  Until that moment she’d been unaware of any friction between the lace and her sensitive nipples.

  Paul had been her dream lover, from the first time she’d ever had a sexual fantasy, for as long as she could remember.