Visions. Part 2

Dear G.o.d, no, she didn't want to know. But she was here, dammit, with her hopes beginning to shatter at warp speed. So she couldn't kiss. But maybe she could work her tongue for other good purposes.

Please, whoever is up there listening, let her work some magic.

Amy shoved her backward harder than necessary. If Paige was ever wet, which she was back at the grocery store when she spotted the tag dangling like an enticing drug from Amy's jacket, she sure as h.e.l.l wasn't now. Nowhere even close.

With none-too-s.e.xy movements, Amy tugged her shorts down her legs, then with that wicked smile that was beginning to scare Paige, a smile that would otherwise look nice on a p.o.r.n star, she slipped a finger under Paige's thong and slid it down to her crotch.

Okay, so far, so good. This could be promising. All she needed was an o.r.g.a.s.m, with someone else present in the room. She could pull this off.

Paige relaxed and spread her legs a little wider.

"Let me see it. Your p.u.s.s.y. I wanna see it." Amy licked her lips and Paige arched a brow.

She had a perfectly good p.o.r.n movie at home. She could be there, right now, flicking her own c.l.i.t and playing with her new lipstick vibrator as she watched Stacy and Angelica get each other off with their fluorescent pink d.i.l.d.o and b.u.t.t beads.

What the h.e.l.l had she gotten herself into? Again. Hadn't she had enough pathetic lovers in the past six years to prove she was never going to find s.e.x that ripped her emotions in half like her masked stranger had? Hadn't she endured enough lousy lovers to prove that kind of connection didn't exist out from behind a mask? Possibly outside of New Orleans.

Paige frantically searched the room. There was a bouquet of plastic tulips on the dresser. The kind little old ladies kept on their coffee tables to impress guests. A camera could fit in there. Absolutely. h.e.l.l, they made them small enough to fit in the smoke detector over her head. Any second now someone was going to burst through the door and hand her a gift card to Nordstrom for pa.s.sing the time limit for enduring this nonsense.

Please? Someone? Anyone? This had to be a joke. A cold but very good joke.

Amy pulled her underwear to the side.

Paige waited for it, for the touch of hot lips around her, of fingers to gently push inside her, slow at first, then faster, until she came around them. Please. Please. Please let this b.i.t.c.h be good at something other than drying up a crotch.

When cold air swirled over her flesh, Paige raised her head.

Was this b.i.t.c.h seriously blowing on her p.u.s.s.y? Where the h.e.l.l had she gotten her diploma? A f.u.c.king Cracker Jack box?

Amy winked at her. "Like nothing you've ever felt before. Told you I was good."

She blew again, this time harder. Paige was positive she could feel her c.l.i.t shrivel and shrink as the cold air swarmed over her flesh.

"Oh, for the love of kittens! That's it!" Paige crawled out from under her, shoved Amy onto her back, and then straddled her.

She was beyond furious as she pushed her hand between her own legs. How the h.e.l.l did she do it? Time after time, she got herself into these predicaments. When was she going to learn her lesson? When was she going to get it through her thick skull that New Orleans was a fluke of nature, that she was never going to find that earth-moving kind of s.e.x again?

G.o.d was punis.h.i.+ng her for some reason. There was no other explanation for it.

Hadn't she been a good girl? Well, minus the nights she stripped her clothes off, pinched her nipples into hard peaks, and gathered the dollar bills off the floor once the music screeched to a halt. That was survival, right? And He couldn't count the lovers. She was young, and needy, and h.o.r.n.y, for crying out loud.

Paige flicked herself and circled her hips while Amy stared up at her, that demented smile on her face that was seriously beginning to scare Paige.

Paige ground her teeth. She was a total nimrod for believing, hoping, this woman wouldn't be another lousy lover. She should have been satisfied with her new purchase of s.e.x toys instead of dreaming that maybe, just maybe, she could get off by the hands of another.

Her bad.

"Oh, how I love to watch a woman do herself." Amy squeezed her hips and popped upward. The motion knocked Paige off balance. "Do yourself, baby. Do yourself hard. Do it so good."

Paige righted herself with a growl and closed her eyes, shoved away Amy's voice, and willed the dark images of her masked warrior to her mind. She'd been perfect. Touched in the perfect places. Said the perfect things.

Where, oh where, was she? Where, oh where, was one just like her?

"f.u.c.k your fingers, baby." Amy snagged her hips upward so sharply that Paige was thrown off balance again.

Paige growled, pushed her free hand in the middle of Amy's chest, and pinned her down. "Don't move!"

A satisfied expression crossed Amy's face. "Baby is filthy. Will you spank me, too?" She ground into Paige. Not in a seductive sway, but in a wiggle-wiggle movement that threw Paige from one side to the other.

Paige slapped her hand over Amy's mouth. "Don't move another muscle! Don't say another word!" She started grinding over her fingers again while Amy stared wide-eyed at her.

She closed her eyes again and let her mystery woman bloom into view. The dark image of the stranger hovering over Paige, the sight of her staring down at Paige while she thrust inside her, the erotic capture of lips against lips, tongue against tongue, and the feel of those fingers driving deep.

Paige's o.r.g.a.s.m reached the edge and fell over. It wasn't as explosive as she'd liked, wasn't explosive at all, but considering the circ.u.mstances, she'd take whatever she could get. Despite this woman's intentions to the contrary, Paige was going to get hers. She'd endured too much in the past thirty minutes not to walk away with something.

She rolled off Amy, donned each piece of clothing one at a time, and then walked calmly out of the house without so much as a backward glance. She'd seen and heard all she could for one night. Her spirits were ripped apart. If a s.e.x professor wasn't the good luck charm she'd been waiting for, who the h.e.l.l would be?

Still pondering the question when she walked into her house, she found the evil orange cat lying in wait just inside the door. He gave her that low growl he had mastered, and his ears went flat against his head. Was it possible for a cat to kill someone? If so, she was sure he was biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Lucky for her, he couldn't reach the kitchen knives. She'd deliberately stashed them in the drawers.

"h.e.l.lo, your evilness." Paige shook the bag of cat food and his ears perked. "Ahh. Look how pretty you are when you want something from me. You wanna be my best friend now, don't you?" She took a step forward and shook the bag again. "You know, I'm on to your little game. You're getting a sick thrill out of puking on my beautiful rug, aren't you? So, I was thinking." Paige gave another shake. Another step. Damien backed up, watching her with wary eyes, his ears flattening once again. "If I only feed you once a day, you can only puke once a day. Your doc says you must have an irritable digestive system. Living off all that rotten tuna and fish guts probably gave you a sensitive little tummy."

She stepped around him and walked into the kitchen. With a quick shake and a loud rustle of the bag, she removed his box of Science Diet, the only d.a.m.n cat food he would eat, and placed it on the counter. How was it a cat who had dined off maggot-infested grub had such expensive taste? "And since you've already been fed today, you won't be needing any of this yummy, delicious, bacon-flavored food."

When she turned back to him, he lowered his head and hissed. "Yeah, I know, sucks to be you right now. Good night, p.u.s.s.ycat." She took a step forward, thought twice, then reached down and plucked the rug off the floor. "And this goes with me tonight, you evil puker."

Twenty minutes later, she was curled up in bed with her laptop, website open for her blog, and ready to share her nightly horrors with thousands of followers. Good thing someone would find humor with her torturous night.

I met a woman tonight. In the grocery store. *seems to be my personal singles meet and greet lately* Tall, butch in all the perfect places we femmes crave...nice, tight a.s.s. Except for the fact that I found her on the organic aisle, I was in l.u.s.t from first glance. We gave each other the once-over, the one that says, "You're cute. I'm interested. I'm totally not straight," kind of stares. You guys know the look. I wanted to force her to come to me, to play a little hard to get. Didn't want to show her how easy I truly am. But my h.o.r.n.y curiosity got the best of me, and I was quickly lured down an aisle I wouldn't normally be caught dead on. She had pretty eyes, cute smile, and heaven help me, she had the golden ticket hanging like a drug from her jacket pocket. It read...s.e.xologist! In h.o.r.n.y pillow queen terms, it said, lie back and enjoy the ride. Holy frijoles! I can't remember if I told her my name, if she even asked, before we raced from the store. I'd struck gold, so what the h.e.l.l use was it to stall for such unnecessary exchange of information? I've been searching for this woman for years. I'd finally found her, with her tag screaming out all the things she was going to do to me. This was the one. At last! This was the one who was going to tilt my s.e.xual fantasies into reality. This was the one who was going to lift me off my feet with an o.r.g.a.s.m. She was going to make me scream from the intensity. She was going to make me cry from the wet heat. She was. Until...

Chapter Two.

Mayson Montgomery balanced herself on a scaffold under the tormenting Sri Lankan sun and pulled the trigger on the nail gun. The sounds of construction echoed around her. Other nail guns popped in the distance, hammers drove against wood, and voices bellowed for supplies over the racket. But the most beautiful sound of all was the children laughing and squealing as they played Simon Says, a game she'd taught them shortly after arriving in this leveled village.

She'd been the leader of hundreds of emergency missions, rebuilt thousands of houses, and each time, it was the children who caught her breath, not the unbelievable sight of devastation or the unreal images some people never witnessed in their lifetime. Sure, there were tears. Of course there was fear. However, behind those tears and their fear, almost always, there were timid smiles. Behind those smiles was hope. Hope that Mayson and her crew could bring laughter back to their lives even if through a d.a.m.n nail gun or a simple game taught to them during a water break. Somehow, kids were resilient to disaster.

The villagers called Mayson and her crew the heroes simply because they could create a foundation with concrete, because they could erect a house with two-by-fours or brick and mortar.

To Mayson, these survivors were the true heroes. They had lived through emotional turmoil, witnessed something terrifying, lost loved ones, yet they still greeted each morning with bright eyes and an eagerness to be a part of the work. To Mayson, that was true heroism, to make it through something so unimaginable, so life altering, and still be able to face each day as a new beginning.

With every smile and every outburst of laughter, she was witnessing their middle finger to the earthquake, to Mother Nature, that had shaken their lives apart. Every time they wrapped her in a thankful hug, she was experiencing miracles.

She lived for the smiles. Those hugs were what drove her. It was her pa.s.sion, her calling in life, to rebuild their broken dreams, definitely what made her tick. It was part of her genetics to give back, to always lend a helping hand to those less fortunate, and to be among the first emergency responders to every natural disaster. Being part of a team who gave her a rushed high she couldn't describe.

Building a billion-dollar empire of aquatic wind turbines on her own, feeling the surge of adrenaline every time one of those beautiful monsters was erected in the ocean, couldn't compare to the elation of seeing order rise from chaos, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of tragedy.

"Mayson! Take a break!" Tim, one of her crewman, yelled from the ground. "It's an order!"

She gave him a nod, disconnected the power, and laid the gun on the wooden planks before climbing down. The sun had taken a toll on her this morning. Not to mention her raging thirst. She'd run out of water several hours back.

They'd been busting their a.s.ses since the sun slipped over the horizon, eager to put the final touches on the school. She was proud of each of them. Proud to be part of this reconstruction. Proud to be part of something so huge. The best part was yet to come. The reward. When those school doors swung open for the children to pour inside, to explore their new desks, computers, and textbooks in awe, she would receive all the reward she could possibly want or need.

The satellite system for the Internet had already been installed, and a team was inside unpacking boxes of supplies. Within hours, their lives were going to be almost back to normal. Lord knew she couldn't bring back their loved ones. This was all she could give them. Materials. A chalkboard. She prayed time would heal the rest.

Mayson grabbed a water bottle, removed her cell phone from her work belt, and found a shade tree behind the supply trucks. She opened the inbox and skipped through less pressing business matters. She didn't have time to think about aquatic wind turbines or business proposals today. Her private jet was already ga.s.sed and ready to take her back across the map, back to the States, back home, to Galveston, to civility, to her secluded beach house. That king-size bed was calling her name. Right now, after weeks of cold water in the port-a-shower, she'd pay bank for a leisurely hot bath without the gross, sweaty men waiting in line.

Then she'd return to business as usual. Designing. It was in her blood, a trait handed down from her father. He was a prideful man who designed bridges and skysc.r.a.pers all over the world. Mayson looked up to him, saw him as an honest and loving father, who always put family first. He not only handed down the knack and ability to draw, he'd also taught her how to be n.o.ble, how to care about others before she cared about herself, and how to earn respect.

Respect didn't come from writing checks. It couldn't be bought.

She'd founded her company on a dream. A vision for the future. To erect the first wind turbines offsh.o.r.e in the North Atlantic. Everybody said she was mad, that the harsh conditions would wreck the giant structures long before they generated any power, and the extra installation costs, in such deep water, plus maintenance would cripple her financially. How wrong they were.

Her self-found fortune had been strung behind by one failed relations.h.i.+p after another. Having money shouldn't be that hard, but it was. People were money hungry. They wanted to marry it. Own it. To Mayson, it was just money, and if she couldn't do for those without, as her parents and grandparents had done, what was the use of having it? Not like she could take it to her grave.

The money made her keep people at arm's length. She was always leery of new dates. As soon as someone found out who she was and what she was worth, dollar signs gleamed in their eyes. They either wanted to be her best friend or propose to her. That daily realization made her skeptical of people.

Skeptical that she would never find what she was truly looking for in life. The one. The one she couldn't live without. An unconditional love. She wanted to find a woman she couldn't live a minute without. A woman she couldn't tug from her thoughts every minute of every day. The s.e.x would come naturally. Quick and hot. Unimaginably perfect.

Like it had been years ago in the Big Easy, where the night had always been brighter than the day. Mayson feared her masked G.o.ddess had been the one, the one she was meant to spend eternity with. She'd definitely left her mark on Mayson's ability to find her happy-ever-after. Their connection had started from across a room, churned with every stroke, and raged into a conflagration with every whimpering kiss. She wasn't sure it had ever been extinguished. Not on her end, at least.

She thought about the woman constantly. Heard her sighs and moans of pa.s.sion in her dreams. Who had she been? Where had she come from? What was her name?

Now, six years later, here she was, still single. Still searching for the one who didn't turn into a simpering idiot when she found out Mayson could own the bank. She wanted that person desperately. Someone to love her regardless of who she was. She deserved to find that person. Deserved to settle down with a woman she couldn't shake from her consciousness.

Her special woman was out there somewhere. Maybe one day, when Mayson slowed down long enough, they'd find each other.

After skimming through the most important of the unimportant emails, Mayson found one that made her smile, one that gave her a quickening of excitement.

X had blogged.

Mayson was addicted to the author's flawless failures at finding the elusive s.e.x partner. Her name was a mystery, simply signing everything X. Her blogs were always so comical, even when she'd had the most miserable s.e.x imaginable. The stories were too hilarious to be made up. Even if they were, she'd read them anyway. She could relate, actually. She, too, hadn't had much luck in the relations.h.i.+p department. Though her s.e.x life was decent, it wasn't amazing. Nothing like the s.e.x with her masked stranger in New Orleans had been.

s.e.x never rocked her world. No matter how hard she searched.

Mayson opened the link to the blog and started reading, a smile stretching across her lips with every word.

Until...she stabbed her tongue in my mouth.

Literally. Stabbed.

I tried not to panic as I gagged. So she couldn't kiss. So she wanted to play Ping-Pong with my tonsils. That didn't mean she couldn't f.u.c.k. Don't forget, I was in the hands of a professional. A woman who had studied the female body, who knew exactly how to make me come, screaming.

I couldn't lose hope. My anxiety and excitement was too high at this point to be slam-dunked.

And then she offered me...toys. Not just any toys. Toys from a freaking shoe box under her bed. Was she serious? What female would want used toys in her va-jay-jay? Not this girlie, that's for sure.

I politely declined, my excitement slowly fading.

Finally, she opted for oral s.e.x. Oh yeah. Now we're talking!

At this point, we've established that she's not a good kisser, has no respect for secondhand bodily fluids, but please, please, please, let her be good with that tongue.

*hands folded in prayer*

Is it too much to ask for a simple o.r.g.a.s.m? Too much to ask that another human being be present in the room?

Why, yes. Yes, the f.u.c.k it is!

I'm ashamed to admit this...

She blew me. BLEW! Wtf?

And not just a subtle puff of air. I'm talking full on, hard-core, b.l.o.w. .j.o.b. Goose b.u.mps crawled along my thighs and sprang to life across my stomach. And finally, my poor c.l.i.t shriveled up like a lifeless raisin and ran for cover. I may never find her again.

I'm mentally scarred from the whole ordeal. I will never get over this. She totally ruined my original mood to watch p.o.r.n and m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e with my new lipstick vibrator that arrived yesterday.

*shakes head*

Worse, now I have the incredible urge to cuddle the evil orange cat.

'Nuff said.

X.

Mayson chuckled. Either X had the biggest imagination possible, or she was seriously the most s.e.xually deprived person on earth.

Was it truly possible to have an endless chain of appalling s.e.x? Was that humanly possible?

According to these blogs, all two years' worth of them since stumbling across her b.u.t.terfly vibrator rating, that Mayson had opted out of buying due to X's words of discouragement, it was possible.

Mayson was still shaking her head when she sent her comment to the blog, which was quickly swallowed in a sea of other comments.

She stuffed the phone back in her pouch and spotted a group of kids kicking a tin can back and forth to each other. They were truly amazing.

Their world had been altered, yet a simple game of kick the can had made them forget that until three days ago, they didn't even have running water, that they'd been squeezed into tents and bunking on cots.

If only the rest of the world could see the beauty before her. If only the rest of the world could see the diamond in this rough.

It wasn't money. It wasn't fame.