Page 1 of Aron
1
Willa
“Hey!” It’s three in the morning and my aircon has just stopped working. “This is so not cool!”
“I’m sorry ma’am. we’ll send someone up right away.” I let out a grunt that sounds like a cross between a pig and a dying squirrel. There’s sweat pouring down my face and my arms and my back and in between my breasts. I don’t think I’ve ever been so hot in all my life. “In the meantime,” the hotel receptionist says, “we can offer you a complimentary cocktail? And might I suggest you adjourn to the pool. It can be very cool and quiet down there at this time, and we will send someone to get you when this problem has been solved.”
“A cocktail?” I say. “By the pool? At this time of night?”
The man confirms that’s what he said. I refrain from giving him a lecture on the necessity of beauty sleep and, instead, look over at the empty sketchpad beside my bed.
“Fine.” When I won this holiday, I told myself I’d spend the whole weekend in the sun, drawing. That it would be the perfect time to work on the big project I’ve been dreaming about during all these years of freelancing and working to make other people’s dreams come true. “I’ll be down by the pool. And make it a mojito.”
Instead, I’ve spent all my time procrastinating. Putting off the inevitable. Coming up with perfect little excuses to why the work can wait another half hour or more.
“An excellent choice.”
“A big mojito.”
Five minutes later and the little bell in the elevator is dinging and I’m walking barefoot across the smooth tiled floor on my way to the pool.
The moon is huge and yellow, hanging in the sky like something out of a dream. There are palm trees and flowers and tropical plants all around me. In the night, only half-lit, their shadows create strange, abstract shapes on the floor. But, best of all, is the breeze.
I feel like ripping off my underwear and letting its cooling embrace ravage every inch of my body. But, just as I’m about to drop robe, I hear a splash.
I turn my head like a dog that’s just caught the scent of a high-faulting rabbit. My ears prick up. I close my robe tight around my bosom.
I can’t believe I was about to do that. It’s so unlike me. I haven’t even been in the pool the whole time I’ve was here, too afraid that someone would see me in my swimming suit and judge my plus-sized figure.
Quietly, I make my way to the seating area beside the pool.
There’s a man in the water.
At first, all I can see are his shoulders, glistening in the soft, night light. They’re big shoulders. Rippling with muscles. I can feel my tummy clench as they tear through the water like a shark.
Without taking my eyes from him, I sit down and pull out my sketchpad. This may not be the big project I’ve been dreaming about, but suddenly I’m full of inspiration.
My pencil flies over the soft, art paper. Long, smooth lines. Clear impressions. I draw this man in a huge variety of positions. Even though I haven’t seen his full body yet, I fill in with my imagination. Making him huge. Beastlike. A body fit for a greek statue, except, in my image his manhood isn’t small and delicate. It’s huge and strong and just putting my pencil to paper as I draw it makes my pussy wet.
“Uh-hum.”
My eyes open wide. My jaw drops all the way to the floor. I’ve been so caught up in my art that I didn’t notice him get out of the pool.
Now he’s standing before me. Water dripping from his perfect body into little pools around his feet. He’s holding a delicious-looking mojito. Smiling. His eyes look down at my art pad. “I believe this is yours,” he says.
“Yes.” I quickly flip the pad shut.
He passes me the drink and sits down opposite me. I take a sip of the cool, fruity drink, trying to distract myself from the sheer sexual energy radiating from this amazing man.
“You always come down here in the middle of the night and draw half-naked strangers?”
There’s a flirty mocking tone in his voice. I can’t believe I’ve been caught.
“My AC is broken,” I say, daring to glance at his rippling six-pack and the sizable lump below. “And if you didn’t want to be drawn, then maybe you shouldn’t be so damn good looking!”
I put my hand to my mouth, more surprised than he is at the words that have just escaped from it.
“Fiesty, and gorgeous,” he purrs, taking my glass from the table and taking an unsolicited sip from my drink. Using the same straw I just used. His thick, pink lips closing down around the fluorescent plastic and draining my glass of its colorful alcoholic liquid. “It seems like tonight is my lucky night.”
