European Secrets (Madrid - Vol. One) Read online

  European Secrets

  Madrid – Vol. 1

  By Ana Vela

  © 2013 Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This story is intended for mature adults only. It contains sexual scenarios, dirty language, hot action, and much more! Please store your digital files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  ~Madrid: Vol. 1 ~

  “So it’s finalized, then? Four men in four cities? Four encounters?” Annie sat at her desk overlooking Georgetown. She scribbled notes as she spoke with her agent, considering the possibilities of sexual anonymity. An engineered adventure with four muses, all fruit for her inspiration. She needed lust, and she needed the unknown. And perhaps she needed to test the barriers of what she thought she wanted. Doubt still crept its fingers around the frontier of her decision-making.

  “And you’re sure these guys are all legit and attractive? Sorry to sound so shallow, but they have to be.” Her eyes darted around the office. Her door was open, leading to a shared hallway. Hopefully no one had heard her blunt discrimination. Or discovered the extra help her agent was giving her under the radar.

  “Yes, it’s all arranged. Four encounters in four cities. They’re all expecting the call when you arrive. The first will be a massage therapist in Madrid. You can still back out. Just make up your mind quick. You’ve got to be sure you want to do this. And if this fucks with your head, remember it was your idea. I’m happy to help if it means you write another book that sells that many copies.”

  Annie laughed at her tone. “I’m a big girl, Kate. I want this. Maybe I’ll fuck them all. I don’t know yet, but it’s definitely going to help me write my next book. No one will know who I am there, anyway. Christ, no one knows who I am anyway. God bless pseudonyms.”

  Kate snorted. “Well, we’ll see how you feel after the first one. See if you verify my assumptions on the type of men you like. Or you think you like. I have some backups.”

  “Backups?” Annie’s ears pricked up at the extra flexibility. At more opportunity. The plan was promising, but had its risks and potential for disaster.

  “I know a lot of men, Annie. Don’t ask me how.”

  “Are they all local to each city?” She heard footsteps pass along the hallway and lowered her voice.

  “I can’t say. Remember this is about the unknown. I’m not going to spoil it for you. Don’t self-destruct before you’ve begun this...this adventure you’ve persuaded me to engineer for you. And remember you get the expense bill.” She laughed and sighed, then slurped coffee in Annie’s ear.

  “You’re paying these guys? I said I didn’t want escorts. I feel filthy just thinking about it. And you’re damn sure these guys aren’t creepy? Not batemen-in-waiting?”

  “I’m not a pimp. No. I’m talking travel expenses, within the budget you agreed. None of them is creepy. A little kinky, some of them, but not creepy. Trust me, I know them, or they’re very close friends of people I know. Like I said before, someone will know where you are every time.”

  “I trust you. So Madrid is about being pampered, I guess. What about the other three themes?” She thumbed through her notebook, looking for notes she’d scrawled earlier. “The novel is in four parts. Pampered, Spoiled for Choice, Lured and...Bound.”

  “They’ll be revealed, Annie…”

  **********

  “Welcome to Madrid! Vacaciones?” The cab driver’s broken English carried over the radio’s flamenco music as he drove fifteen miles above the speed limit through the late afternoon traffic. Annie was wary from jet lag but wired from airplane coffee. She gripped the worn leather of the back seat as a sharp turn down another cobbled backstreet threw her sideways.

  “No, I’m here to write. I’m a writer. Just here for three days.” Her voice sounded scratched in her ears, and her eyes, still dry from the eight-hour flight, squinted in the harsh sunlight. Her feet ached, and she longed for a mattress. Just an hour to rest.

  “Ah! A writer? Muy bien! You are so beautiful...you are married?”

  Ugh. The marriage question. She still heard it. “No, I’m single.” She fumbled for a rapid change of conversation, too tired to find the patience to explain her marital status to a Spanish cab driver. “Is it usually so hot this time of day?”

  “Of course! It’s July! Always hot! But you can relax with some sangria…” He peered at her in the rear-view mirror, and she worried he’d lose sight of the traffic veering in out of lanes on both sides of the cab. Sangria...that sounded right. And to change out of the travel clothes that did nothing to keep her cool from the blistering heat. The cab came to an abrupt halt outside a hotel. Iron-railed balconies fronted tall windows and terracotta tiles sloped down the roof. A man with a thick moustache and leathered skin stood by a gated courtyard out front, and wandered over to greet her as the cab neared the curb.

  The smell of floral shrubbery hit her as she followed the man inside. The lobby was lined with bright flowers blooming over heavy vases on wire console tables. Nothing looked newer than twenty-five years old, except the young man who winked at her as she checked in. Her hotel room was simple but comfortable, with a brass-framed bed sitting in the center of a small bedroom and a tiny kitchen behind closet doors. She felt a sudden rush of excitement at the realization that she’d arrived. Alone and free in a new city with a date already planned. It could lead anywhere. As her heart raced and her fingers twitched with a blend of nerves and excitement, she felt inspiration flow from her head, and somewhere in her stomach. A fluttering. Her novel’s character was already forming, and the plot began to shape itself as each moment passed.

  The bed was hard but welcomed her tired body, and Latin music from street cafes wafted in through the bedroom window, along with a hint of cigar smoke. She reached for her cell phone and braced herself for roaming charges.

  “Kate? I’m here!”

  “You made it! How was the flight?” Her agent sounded tired but happy to hear her voice.

  “Fine, thanks. Relieved to be here. So this is still on?”

  “Yes, he’s expecting you in an hour. He’s smoking hot...your type. I’ve known him a while. He’s happy to play the game. He’s seen your photo. Call him Pedro.”

  The scenario was so tempting, so enticing. A stranger. No strings attached. And all in the name of research. Life experience transcribed to paper, with words spilling forth as she was still reeling from a stranger’s touch.

  “That sounds about perfect. If he’s that hot, I can’t wait.” She twirled a lock of dark brown hair around her finger and considered what to wear. Her pulse raced with a blend of tiredness and excitement. She padded over to the bathroom and hesitantly turned the dial of the electric shower, convinced she would electrocute herself. The water was tepid, missing the reek of chlorine she was used to. She was really in Spain. Writing could wait until tomorrow: the rest of the day was dedicated to some sensual field research.

  An hour later she stepped out onto the dusty street in a thin floral dress and flip-flops. Her cab passed endless roundabouts and old, imposing government buildings that gave way to more cobbled back
streets and small plazas. Pedro’s office sat at the top floor of a stone apartment block, overlooking a park lined with trees, in the old quarters of the city. The door stood open, and she walked into a tiled hallway that immediately sheltered her from the waning afternoon heat. A rickety wire elevator begrudgingly lifted her to the top floor. She bit her lip, hoping he spoke a little English, and she wouldn’t have to embarrass herself with her limited Spanish.

  “Hello? Hola?” She rapped lightly on the door until he appeared. She was immediately relieved and tempted by how attractive he was. He smiled broadly as he let his eyes linger over her and motioned her inside.

  How does Kate know this guy? She asked herself, silently. His thick black hair. His cheekbones. The way his shirt clung to his chest. She already wanted him.

  “Hello Annie. I’ve been expecting you. Come in, please.” His voice was soft and low; warm and friendly but reserved.

  She smiled and stepped into the hallway, already blushing. Relax, she ordered herself. His angular jaw was lined with four o’clock shadow and his eyes were dark brown; almost black as they looked at her. He pointed to a room at the end of the hallway, and she thought of his warm hands on her.

  “Five minutes, OK?” He guided her into the room with his hand on her back and left her to undress. She stopped a moment, suddenly unnerved that her plan had become a reality. She felt a flash of doubt at the morality of it, followed by a blend of arousal and guilt as she peeled off her dress and lay on the table. She was exposed in just her panties under a white towel, waiting for a stranger to touch her. My mother would not approve, she told herself wryly, and the thought only encouraged her.

  She heard the shake of a bottle and curled her toes. He stood at the side of the table, with only his waist and crotch within her line of vision. The scent of his musky, amber cologne hung in the room, blended with the floral citrus scent of massage oil. She closed her eyes and felt another pang of guilt as she realized she was already wet from his sudden proximity. His hands were warm, slow, and sure of themselves. He moved in firm, fluid strokes over her back and shoulders, slowly teasing out the tension of travel. His long fingers moved along her neck, digging lightly and moving in short, circular movements. He worked over every crease and tired muscle until she felt limp and serene with relief. His fingertips kneaded between her neck and shoulders, brushing the top of her breasts as they reached under and swept over the skin of her chest.

  “Is this OK, Annie?” He asked in a lilt, brushing his hands over her lower back and digging his palm into the muscles along her spine. She liked the way he pronounced her name, soft and drawn out. “Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.”

  She stole another glance at the part of him within her line of vision. Black pants that sat low on his hips and a fitted shirt that lay flat over his toned stomach. Tan skin under rolled cuffs, as his fingers worked deeper into her waist. He lifted her arms to lie parallel to her head, and began to work his way up the side of her torso, sweeping the sides of her breasts. She let out a sigh and immediately blushed, knowing it revealed how much she was enjoying his touch. He laughed softly and suggestively. His touch grew lighter, slower, and her spine tingled. He brushed her breasts once more...testing, perhaps. She sighed again; a subtle but notable answer to his query.

  As she glanced at him she swore he was hard, but he moved too fast for her to be sure. He lowered his hands to the top of her thighs, and began to work in firm strokes, edging toward the seam of her underwear beneath the towel. As his fingers swept deeper between her thighs, she spread slightly, and his movement slowed. His caress ignited her, and she suddenly felt bolder as the desire to be touched further loosened her reserve.

  “It’s a pleasure to touch you, Annie…” His voice was low, and his words left him with a subtle sigh. “But I think you want more today, no?”

  She nodded, too gripped by his suggestion and the glide of his hands to find words. He responded by slowly peeling off her underwear, leaving the towel in place. She was more exposed, more vulnerable. She ached for him, and wanted to raise her hips to him as he moved under the towel. His hands were firm on her ass and inched down between the tops of her legs. She widened her legs and felt his fingers find her. They rotated over her lightly, teasing. As a moan escaped her lips he slipped his finger inside, and a wave of pleasure weakened the last of her self-consciousness. He continued to knead the skin of her thighs, alternating between sweeping over her skin, and sliding between her legs to enter her. His hands glided over her back again. “Turn around” he whispered in her ear. She rolled over, too lost in pleasure to decline. His gaze met hers as she lay under his hands, and he smiled knowingly. His skin glowed in the late afternoon sunlight, and the muscles of his forearms twitched, strong and defined under the grey cotton of his shirt. He moved over her breasts slowly, enjoying their fullness under his palms, and pinching her hard nipples. She arched her head back as it sent another ripple of pleasure through her, increasing her need for him between her legs. His hand wandered down to the towel again and slipped under it. She spread a little for him again, and he began to circle her and tease her, gliding over her opening but never entering her.

  “Yes…” It left her lips as the fire and rain of pleasure swirled under his fingers, edging her toward the brink of release. She was hungry for him; for more of him. She saw the outline of his hard cock in his pants, just out of her reach. His lips found hers as he circled her faster, and a stronger, thicker wave of pleasure rippled through her. Another, and she gripped his waist as she came under his fingers, pinned to the table from the flow and hold of climax. As she opened her eyes, she saw him smiling at her, and he brushed his hand over her hair. She covered her face with her hands and laughed a little as it dawned on her how much of her reserve had slipped under his touch. Bad boy. He’d been a very bad boy. Exactly as she’d wanted. Every moment of it. She was surprised when he walked toward the door. “Five minutes?” He asked, and she nodded as her heartbeat slowed. She sat up dizzy, pulled her dress over her head. She shook her head, still smiling. He hadn’t wanted anything more. Just offering a special service. She wondered if she needed to pay him.

  “Nothing. No, Kate wanted to pay me, but I said no.” He looked at her with timid insistence as he refused payment from her in his doorway. “But I would like to see you again...maybe for a drink, if you like? Tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that,” She replied, still blushing. He kissed her lightly as she stood on the doormat, and she was tempted to walk back inside, but released him and walked down the stairs, smiling. She fumbled for her cell phone.

  “Kate? Damn...that was incredible...he was incredible. I want to see him again. Hey, are you free for coffee? I’m right outside his office.”

  She walked toward a street cafe, relying on her phone’s GPS to get her there, and she still felt his touch between her legs. The last of daylight cast deep gold shadows over the stonework of the old apartment blocks, and Vespa scooters lined the streets between trees. She settled into a wicker chair of a cafe on the square, shaded under an umbrella, and toyed with the menu in her hands.

  “Off to a good start?” Kate appeared from around the corner, and sprinted to her as she saw her, clutching her in an embrace as she reached her. “It’s so good to see you!”

  “You too! You look amazing!” Doubt whipped her for a moment as she saw a familiar face. Her puppet master, looking every bit a part of the DC crowd. What had she just done? It was an interruption and reminder of the bigger picture, where complexity and obligation cut the flow of her inspiration.

  “No, you look amazing...no wonder he had his hands all over you. So you had sex?”

  She laughed and pulled out a chair for Kate to join her at the table. “No...but I want to see him again. I need to see this guy naked. See what he’s like…”

  A tall waiter with black hair and tan skin emerged from the cafe. Another hot, sculpted man at her service. “What the hell? I’ve never seen so many gorgeous men in my life before!
This city is swarming with them!”

  Kate nodded and looked at him. “Dos cafés con leche, por favor...” The waiter smiled and disappeared again, glancing over his shoulder at them before walking inside. Only tourists drank café con leche in the late afternoon, apparently.

  “I can’t get over it either. I arrived yesterday, and I’m still reeling from it. They’re flirtatious, too. I don’t see how anyone could be faithful here. Or get anything done. I’d be bent over a desk all day.” Kate pulled out a pack of Prince lights and watched her friend as she lit a cigarette. “So what happened?”