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ARCHER CRONE
TWO YEARS AGO / ZION ISLAND
The best thingabout the congressman’s daughter is her mouth.
The worst thing about her mouth is that sticky baby-pink gloss, now smeared on my hard-on as she slowly but steadily gets me closer to release.
Anna Reich is as diligent at everything she does as her daddy at his job in the government. Just as unimaginative. As calculating. But toiling away for the cause, day after day.
In her case—me.
And not because I brought the golden children to this luxury paradise and we are about to take this party to my yacht. But because her father very much wants to stay friends with mine, hoping his daughter will one day become part of my family. In three months, I will graduate from Deene and start full-time on Gen-Alpha Project—pharmaceuticals are a sure path to having ten figures in my bank account within a couple of years.
“Faster, doll face,” I urge Anna, feeling the climax approaching.
She is almost as good at this as one of my dad’s ex-assistants, Jenna, who didn’t care who she screwed—the Secretary of Defense or his son.
Spring Break is in full swing. After four days of partying, we still have almost a week to go. The ocean around Zion Island is soaked with champagne and horny frat boys’ semen. Yachts are trashed. Girls are sunburnt. Guys want more. Eardrums bleed from constant music blasting from luxury villas and party decks all across the west side of Ayana Resort.
Twenty. Four. Seven.
At this point, my hands grab Anna’s head a little too tightly, and I have to watch myself because—“Sweets, don’t you fucking ruin my hair”—every sexual encounter with her has rules and restrictions.
For a change, I think of Ashley Hurst, who suntanned on my yacht naked the day before and, in seconds, unload into Anna’s mouth.
Gracefully, she wipes her swollen mouth with her thumb as she gets off her knees. Doesn’t even look at me like she is an escort, doing a job. Honestly, most escorts I’ve had were more enthusiastic than her.
“Wanna take it to bed?” I ask as I tuck myself into my jeans, knowing the answer in advance and cringing at the feel of lipgloss on my fingers.
“Ugh,” Anna murmurs, brushing her knees that are red below her canary-yellow Marchesa cocktail dress.
She doesn’t want to fuck. That’s becoming a habit, and we’ve only been together for less than a year.
“You’ll ruin my dress or my makeup, and then I’ll have to take a shower…”
She keeps talking while fixing her lips and golden ponytail in front of the mirror as I pick up my abandoned drink from the night stand and loudly swish the liquid in my mouth. Mostly, to drown out her voice.
My phone rings.
“Bro, you coming or what?” It’s Qi Shan, high as a kite and buzzed by the sound of it. “Dude,” he corrects himself, knowing well only one person called me “bro” in the past, and I am waiting patiently for his grand appearance. Any day. Any hour. Kai Droga landed in Port Mrei two days ago.
Bitterness curls my lips at the thought as I snap, “Wait for me.”
“Take a speed boat, catch us later maybe? Drew already took a group to theEmpress. We are taking it around the island or possibly to the island next door.”
Impatient fucker. No one is taking my yacht without me. Drew Wiesselstein brought his own from Tortola.
“Just wait, will you?” I crack my neck, annoyed. “Anna is taking forever.”
“Asshole,” she murmurs from the mirror.
Cliff Villa is the biggest one on this island. Naturally, it’s where Anna and I are staying. Granted, my father owns Ayana, and the self-sustaining small resort on the Eastside, as well as several businesses in Port Mrei, the town up north.
The music on my party deck outside is so loud that I can feel the stone structure of the house vibrate.
“Let’s roll,” I snap at Anna as I leave the bedroom, cross the living room, and walk out through the sliding doors onto the deck.
The warm salty night air laced with the smell of wine and cigars wafts into my face as loud music assaults my eardrums. The change between the quiet cool interior and the blasting party in full swing by my pool is so drastic that it makes me smile.
