Epilogue

When Richie woke up he was in his suite. One of the last things he remembered was being fucked a third time, and though it was almost painful, it had been a good long while since he had such a forceful orgasm. He remembered pulsing endlessly inside the woman – damn, why wouldn’t she tell him her name? – and when all the blood rushed from his head, he grew dizzy and giddy.

He thought he remembered her slow, even breathing beside him, and must have drifted off himself, for he had no recollection of getting back to his suite. He noticed he was wrapped in a hotel robe, so at least her thugs didn’t bring him back here nude. Yawning widely, he stretched and smiled. What a hell of a night. He hoped to meet up with her again today, and perhaps take her up on her offer.

Doing with her whatever he wanted.

He had a list of ideas that started with watching her pleasure herself until she was trembling. Then he’d take her roughly, fucking her until she passed out. He had much better control of his cock when he was on top. He was so frustrated that he didn’t get to touch her last night, that he might have to spend an hour just lightly twisting her nipples. Another hour flicking her clit. He’d wind her hair around his wrist and bare her neck to him, marking her the way she did him.

What the hell was he thinking? She didn’t tell him her name, didn’t even let him really see her, so all he had to go by was what he saw by the pool. “Fuck it,” he said, sitting up. She wasn’t the only one who could get people to do what he wanted. He hissed as the terrycloth robe slid across his sensitive cock. The thoughts he was having about this woman woke up the one part of his body he was sure would sleep for a week. Chuckling to himself, he carefully got out of bed. He knew his body, and what he needed was a cold shower.

After showering and dressing in loose clothing, he went down to the lobby. Once the clerk at the front desk had finished with the patrons he was checking in, Richie approached. “Excuse me, but I’m trying to find out the name of one of the guests I met by the pool yesterday.”

The clerk looked down his aquiline nose at Richie. “Sir, we pride ourselves on our discretion,” he said. “Of course we will be unable to furnish you with that information.”

Richie was undeterred. “Could I leave a message for her with you?”

“For whom?” the clerk countered, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you what she looks like, and…”

“Sir,” the clerk said, his patience wearing thin, “we are not a messenger service. Good day, sir.” He turned away and began sorting through papers on the desk.

Discouraged, Richie slapped the desk and turned away, heading back up to his room. The concierge approached him tentatively, smiling shyly. “Excuse me, Mr. Sambora?” she asked, looking up at him with huge, scared, sky-blue eyes. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Karl.” She smiled tentatively. “Perhaps I could help you?”

Richie smiled, dimples flashing. “What about discretion and all that?”

The concierge, Wendy, smiled widely this time. “That’s a crock, if you don’t mind my saying so. He only helps out the women,” she said. “I would be happy to try to help you.”



Kathryn sighed as she packed the last of her clothing into her suitcase. One of the benefits of taking holiday at a nudist retreat was that there was very little to pack. She called down for her driver, and was soon off for the airport, and the Air France flight that would take her home. She never took her own jet when flying with her staff. She preferred to travel with them.

As she buckled into her first-class seat and looked out the window at sunny, beautiful Mexico she sighed. She never thought the interlude with Richard would be so stuck in her mind. Her other lovers were ports in the storm. She really enjoyed herself with Richard. She almost wished she had slipped him her card before he was taken back to his room, but it was better this way. So she told herself.

She sighed in annoyance when she heard someone messing with the bags in the compartment over her head. She turned her head and saw a man’s midsection – a deep red t-shirt tucked into a slim-fitting pair of black jeans. She gazed with appreciation at his form and smiled at the memory of Richie’s beautiful body under hers last night.

Kathryn had just turned to look out the window again, when the man dropped heavily into the seat next to her, and leaned in until his lips were practically in her ear.

“Good afternoon, Kathryn,” he said softly.

Kathryn turned, shocked. She lowered her sunglasses and gazed into his face. His eyes were indeed the same chocolate brown as his hair. “Richard?”

Richie ran a hand over Kathryn’s hair, down her neck, and across to her breast squeezing firmly.

“We meet again,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

** THE END **