Buenos Noches, Justine

Buenos Noches, Justine A Phaze Samba Short by

Robin Slick

Phaze 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. eBook ISBN pending Buenos Noches, Justine © 2006 by Robin Slick All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Cover art © 2006 by Stacey L. King Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

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Buenos Noches, Justine

It had to be the most uncomfortable plane ride I'd ever taken in my life. I was wedged between fellow employees Christopher Oates, who stared moodily out the window, and Benjamin Morris, who wore headphones and laughed out loud non-stop while watching The Forty-Year-Old Virgin. "Kick him for me, will you, Justine?" Chris whispered. "I’m considering worse," I said. "How dare he be happy? This is the flight from hell. Turbulent weather and crying babies for ten hours straight." "And a giggling idiot," Chris said, scowling at Ben. "Yeah, but we shouldn't be so hard on him. Poor thing. Away from his wife for seven whole days." Chris snorted and I laughed. But, it was true. Ben was the only one with an enthusiastic reaction when we first got the news. The three of us were New York investment bankers headed for Buenos Aires. The powers that be in our company had decided to send us to our office there for a week as part of a new training program. "Oh, wow, thank you for this amazing opportunity," gushed Ben. "Actually, I'm hoping that one or all of you decide to stay on in Argentina a bit longer," said our boss. "We could use people of your experience and work ethic." Chris and I exchanged looks. A week away from New York and our clients and our lives there, sprung on us out of nowhere, did not exactly make us ecstatic. We were obviously not as adaptable as our pal Ben. At one time, my heart would have raced at the thought of a week in South America with Christopher Oates. I really thought I felt sexual tension, or at least some sort of strong attraction, between us. What's weird is that I was usually never wrong about those things. I mean, I would look up to see him staring at me, or we'd accidentally brush against each other in the hallway, and I guess I was crazy to think I felt sparks. One time after I swore I felt downright heat coming from him I did something totally uncharacteristic: I asked him if he'd like to have a drink after work. "A drink? With you?" He seemed horrified. "Um, no, I don't think so. It's never a good idea to fool around at the office. Didn't they teach you that in college?" While I reeled from what I thought was a pretty humiliating comment, his next move was to ruffle my hair like I was his ten-year-old kid sister. And he walked away, leaving me confused altogether. I decided that I would never look him in the eye again unless I had to, and would only speak to him if absolutely necessary. And if he, God forbid, ever so much as came within an inch of me, I'd stick out my foot and trip him. It had taken a lot for me to work up the guts to ask him out. I'd recently broken up with my boyfriend, or should I say, I'd been abandoned. Michael was an actor who abruptly decided to relocate to Los Angeles. He never asked if I would consider going with him and,

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after I got over the initial shock, I had to admit I would never have gone anyway. Additionally I'd been ignoring signs of how self-absorbed he was throughout our relationship. Still, I was hurt and suffered a bout of insecurity following his departure, which was magnified when Chris turned down my offer to go out for a drink. What was I, an ogre? But in reality, I knew otherwise. I have long tawny hair, large hazel eyes, and a toned body from daily workouts at the gym. I can't walk down a street in Manhattan for more than a minute or two without hearing a wolf whistle. And considering it was New York we were talking about, official home of the supermodel, that had to account for something. So why was I alone? Maybe because I spent the rest of my waking hours at the office? It wasn't something I necessarily wanted to do; it just worked out that way. I'd grown up poor and was making sure that I'd never have to experience that again. Once I was positive my future was set, I'd relax and think about my personal life again. Anyway, time heals wounds, and Chris was always cordial to me after that weird incident. Eventually I forgave him and had to admit to myself that he was right about not playing where you eat, and that I'd overreacted. He was probably just joking when he made it seem like having a drink with me would be something grossly unappealing. Finally the flight from hell ended and, after claiming our baggage and going through customs, Ben, Chris, and I walked outdoors to hail a cab. Our drive to the hotel was shocking. Buenos Aires was nothing like I'd expected; in fact, it looked exactly like New York City. Oh man, and here I'd packed my bikinis and had dreams of moonlit swims in a tropical paradise. "This is bizarre," I remarked, looking at both men and pointing out the window. "I mean, we could be on Wall Street right now." "This is our business district," said our cab driver, who thankfully spoke fluent English. "The hotel where I am taking you--you will be impressed. It is right on the beach, and very grand." Ah, right. Of course. We'd all researched it on the Internet days ago. I was just spooked by all of the modern buildings. Actually, the hotel where we were booked was a luxury resort with palm trees and tropical flowers and all of the wonderful things you'd expect in South America. It was already late in the afternoon when we were dropped off, and we made plans to meet at the restaurant at eight. The hotel was five-star and magnificent, and none of us felt motivated enough to venture out into the city that night anyway. We were exhausted. I could have slept through the night and skipped dinner altogether, but didn't want to be a party pooper. Besides, hey, we were in Buenos Aires! My room was right out of Architectural Digest. I took a shower, donned a terry cloth robe, and stepped out onto the terrace. Oh God, it overlooked the ocean. What a view! I sat outside with a book and a glass of tequila from a bottle I guiltily took from the mini bar

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until it was time to get ready. Relaxed from the drink, I decided to throw caution to the wind and dress the way I normally would if on holiday. I put on a short, black cotton sundress with spaghetti straps and black leather high-heeled sandals. I added a pair of dangling seashell earrings, some kohl around my eyes, and a bit of apricot lip-gloss. Then I bent over and shook my hair from side to side and stood up and tossed it back, giving it the appearance of a lion's mane. I looked good, and I felt better than I had in months. So what if I was about to have dinner and drinks with one man who rejected me and another who was married. ***

I saw Ben and Christopher exchange looks as I approached the table, and I grinned inwardly. Oh well, Chris, you blew it. Besides being married, Ben wasn't my type, anyway-he was too blond and too beefy. Christopher, on the other hand, was tall and well built, with thick dark hair and dark, brooding eyes. But what kept him from being cover model handsome was actually his most endearing feature--a gap-toothed dimpled smile which gave him the look of a mischievous teenager. "What are you sissies drinking?" I asked, looking at the little parasols they'd taken out and put on their napkins. "They may look like sissy drinks, SeÑorita, but I defy you to have more than one. This is sidra, an alcoholic cider," Ben said, offering me a sip from his glass. "It's the house specialty in Argentina." I wrinkled my nose at him and declined his offer, but then decided what the hell. "If that's a dare, you're on. I'll take what they're having," I said to the waitress hovering nearby and pointed to their drinks so she'd understand in case there was a language problem. In the meantime, I heard this incredible, live flamenco guitar music coming from the corner of the room, and when I saw who was responsible, I almost required CPR. He had to be the most gorgeous man I'd ever laid eyes on--heavy-lidded, almost almond shaped eyes and long straight dark hair which brushed his shoulders. If that wasn't sexy enough, he wore a suede sombrero. Now, normally I would have thought the hat was really lame, but hey, this was Argentina and this guy carried it off. Oh my, did he carry it off. Chris followed my glance and snickered. "Would you like to move to a table closer to Esteban?" he asked. "Esteban wishes he looked like that...I mean, played like that," I giggled. "But yeah, since there is an empty spot over there, I wouldn't mind." Ben and Chris shook their heads, but stood and picked up their drinks and started walking, so what could I do but follow. Wow. That was almost too easy.

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I couldn't keep my eyes off the guy. Up close, I could see his long, tapered fingers travel up and down the fret board of his guitar as he bent the strings and made them cry. After taking a few sips of what decidedly was not a girly drink after all, I started imagining what those fingers would feel like traveling up and down my body, gently circling my breasts and stroking my clit. I almost moaned out loud. It had been far too long since anyone's fingers had traveled anywhere on my body unless I counted my own. I ordered another drink while Ben and Chris talked business. The air-conditioning was either not working at all or I was in serious heat. My dress felt damp and clung to my body. The guitarist noticed me and stared for several seconds. Then he nodded. What did that mean? Wait. This was crazy. I felt dizzy and needed to splash some cold water on my face. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, I had to walk right past him in order to get to the ladies' room. I stood up a little unsteadily. "Are you okay, Justine?" Chris asked. Hey, he seemed concerned. Nah, he was probably worried I was going to hurl on his white Armani T-shirt. "Fine, fine. Just going to the restroom," I said, never taking my eyes off of Esteban, or whatever his name was. I walked toward him just as he was finishing a song, and he looked at me with smoldering eyes. "Buenos noches," he said in a low, growly voice. "Hi," I said, because, well, I was drunk and if I'd said buenos noches it would have come out bony nachos or something. Even intoxicated, I was also very aware of Chris and Ben only a few feet behind me and the ribbing I'd have to endure for the next several days. "Habla EspaÑol?" he asked, and yep, he looked hopeful but he wasn't going to be smiling in a minute. "Nope," I said, shaking my head sadly. God damn it. Why didn't I listen to my mother and study Spanish in high school? Oh no, I had to be an individualist and take Latin. Yeah, a lot of good that did me. Four years of translating The Odyssey. Now that was something I used often in daily life. Guitar Man shrugged and played an off-key note. He made a face and adjusted the tuning peg until he got it right. Wait. I did know a little Spanish. A crash six-week course in eighth grade suddenly came back to me and my brain came up with phrases long forgotten. "Mi nombre es...Justine," I said with a tentative smile. "¡Ah! Me nombre es Dario," he purred. "¡Mire, que zapatos bonitos! ¡SÍ, son divonos!" I exclaimed. I was hoping I just told him how much I enjoyed the music, but the gasp and the hilarious laughter behind me said otherwise. "Justine! Oh my God," Ben squealed.

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"What?" I looked at Dario. He looked startled and stared down at his feet. I followed his glance and saw he was wearing a pair of beat-up huaraches. "Do you know what you just said to him?" Chris asked. "That I like his music?" Ben and Chris were practically bent over the table laughing. "You told him 'Look, what pretty shoes! Yes, they are divine!'" Ben finally gasped. "Oh, my God. No, I didn't." I was dying. Half of me was gasping for breath; the other half of me almost wet my pants laughing. "Yeah, you did," Chris said. "Sorry, sorry," I said to Dario, who didn't understand a word of anything by this point and probably thought we were all making fun of him. He scowled and began to play another song. I made my way to the ladies' room by holding on to the wall. What the hell was in those drinks, anyway? When I returned to the table, Ben and Chris were munching on some tapas. I had an unbelievable warm shrimp dish followed by fresh pineapple chunks, which made me sigh in ecstasy so loudly that I caused Dario to stare at me again. Chris punched me playfully on the arm. "I think we'd better call it a night. We have an early meeting tomorrow," he said. "You okay, Justine? Walk with us to the elevator. I want to make sure you go to your room. I don't trust Esteban over there." "I'm coming, I'm coming. But I don't think Dario--his name is Dario--wants anything to do with me anymore, thanks to you guys," I huffed. "Hey, we're not the ones who teased him he had pretty shoes," Ben said. He stuck his tongue out at me, but I continued to pout. "Hey, I wasn't teasing him about the condition of his sandals. I was trying to compliment his music and for some reason, that's the phrase that came to me. I know, I know, you can't take me anywhere," I laughed. "I'm sure you can apologize and make it up to him tomorrow night," Chris said. Did I imagine it, or did he sound a little pissed? Nah, I must have imagined it. We piled into the elevator and all got off at the fourth floor. I was amused to learn Ben and Chris shared a room. "That's some multi-million dollar company we work for. Christ, they wouldn't even spring for separate digs for you guys? Do you at least get your own beds? Or do you have to share a double?" "Oh, be quiet, Justine," Ben said. "At least we won't have to listen to you puking all night." "Very funny," I replied. "Well, here's my room. Good night, gentlemen." But when I tried to insert my card into the lock, I couldn't quite get it lined up. After six attempts and

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having to listen to those two morons laugh, Chris finally took it from me and opened the door. "Tsk tsk. Some people just cannot hold their liquor. Well, we won't hold that against you. G'night sweetheart," he said. And he kissed me right on the mouth, turned on his heel, and shut the door behind him. Damn. He did it to me again! I stood there touching my lips for a moment, not believing it, then went into the bathroom, splashed yet more cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, changed into my nightgown, and fell facedown onto the bed. And, oh man, it was the world's most restless sleep. Fueled with whatever that ridiculous alcohol content in my drinks was, thoughts of Dario and his long slender fingers burning holes into his guitar; Chris, his sexy smile, his kiss...his wet, sexy, kiss...oh my God, I started thrashing and touching myself, pretending my fingers were theirs. I replayed my Dario fantasy in the hotel restaurant–at first gently cupping my breasts with one hand, then switching like a wild woman from breast to breast while I thrust my other hand between my legs. I stroked gently at first but then picked up the pace and inserted the first two fingers of my right hand as deep into my pussy as I could while I rubbed myself into an escalating frenzy, alternately moaning Oh Chris, Oh Dario over and over again. Finally I kicked off the covers in a total sweat and brought myself to a ferocious orgasm. But even after that, sleep continued to elude me. *** After tossing and turning, trying to find anything English speaking on television and failing, by five AM I gave up and decided to go for a swim. I'd noticed the pool was open twenty-four hours and that there was a warning sign in English about there being no lifeguards, which made me happy because I was a good swimmer. I'd have the place to myself and could get in some serious laps. I gathered my hair into a ponytail and after a moment of decision put on a tiny black bikini as opposed to a more sedate one piece. Hell, I starved myself to death half the time; I may as well enjoy how I looked, even though no one would be around to see me. I put on a cover-up and headed for the rooftop spa. As predicted, it was empty and I threw my robe on a lounge chair and jumped in. The morning was already hot and full of spicy, aromatic flowers. I did about thirty minutes of laps, and then just floated on my back luxuriously, watching the sunrise. Oh man, this was heaven. I didn't ever want to go home, let alone attend a meeting in a few hours. "Hi there." I opened my eyes, startled. Oh my God, it was Christopher, bare-chested in swim trunks. He was like freaking Atlas–his body so perfectly toned it looked sculpted from

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something otherworldly. He dove in with a huge splash. "Hey!" I shouted, the water spraying in my eyes and mouth. But he didn't hear me; he took off and swam like a pro. "Race you, Justine!" he shouted from the other side of the pool. But I stayed in the deep end doggy paddling and trying to catch my breath, both from my own laps and the sight of him in that bathing suit. Um, unless I was mistaken, there was something else otherworldly about him as well and it went almost up to his naval. "Ack. No racing. I already did thirty minutes and that's with a hangover, yet," I said. "Oh, you're no fun." Then he did something totally insane. He dove under the water and swam between my legs. Or should I say he slithered between my legs, because if he had stayed there more than a few seconds I probably would have had an orgasm. I mean, there I was in water over my head, moving my legs to keep afloat, and he slowly drifted headfirst directly beneath my crotch. When he came to the surface, I tried to compose myself, but I couldn't quite get my mouth to close or my eyes to stop bugging out of my head. And in typical screwed up Christopher style, he then swam right to the ladder, climbed out of the pool, and grabbed a towel. He dried off with his back to me–because of course I was still in the water frozen like a stunned drowned rat–then wrapped the towel modestly around his waist. "I know, I know–I shouldn't have done that. I apologize. I keep forgetting I'm not a nineteen-year-old spontaneous frat boy anymore. One of these days I'll learn to stop being such a jokester. You're not going to file any sexual harassment suit against me, are you?" He seemed genuinely worried and upset with himself. I shook my head no, trying not to think about my nipples, which stood on full alert in my skimpy bikini top. "Whew. That's a relief. Again, if I upset you, I really do apologize and promise to control myself next time. See you in the conference room, SeÑorita Zapatos," he winked. I waited until he was gone before I got out of the pool. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an attendant carrying fresh towels and, hoping they were right out of the clothes dryer and warm, I jogged toward him before he took them somewhere else, like the shower area. Too late, I recognized it was Dario and there I was half naked, wet, and aroused. I was hoping Dario wouldn't realize any of this nor even recognize me, but the expression on his face said otherwise. "What do you do, run this place? I mean, provide the towels and the entertainment and..." I trailed off because once again I forgot he didn't understand a word of English. Besides, he wasn't listening anyway, he was staring at my breasts with those beautiful eyes, which glowed copper in the early morning sun. "Will you be there on guitar...tonight...I mean noches?" I stuttered, strumming an air

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guitar. Ack, I was such a dork. Two Adonises in one morning where most women don't even get one, and I was managing to blow it with both of them. But Dario mimicked me on the guitar and nodded. "SÍ, noches," he said. Okay then. I've cleared that up. Yep he'll be in the bar tonight with his guitar and all I had to do was lose Chris and Ben, and Dario would be mine. Wait a second. Was I out of my mind? I was going to seduce a total stranger who didn't even speak English? I looked at Dario again, taking in that hair, that body, those fingers. Yep. I went back down to my room and showered, thinking of the possibilities. Okay. First things first. Get through the stupid meeting, find out what Ben and Chris wanted to do tonight, and whatever it was, make sure it didn't involve the hotel bar. As it turned out, Chris and Ben had made plans, and they didn't include me. Well, okay, I'm being hard on myself, they asked me if I wanted to go, but they'd decided to go deep sea night fishing on a tourist-filled party boat, which was not exactly something I wanted to do. Like, ever. We left the conference room holding folders filled with computer print-outs and other assorted paperwork I was willing to bet we were all going to trash the minute we got to our respective rooms. Chris and Ben said they were going to take a nap. "Together?" I smiled sweetly. "No, with you," Chris said, pretending to pull me along. "Oh, I should be so lucky, a mÉnage a trois with Benjamin and Christopher. I would be the envy of every investment banker in New York City and Buenos Aires." "You know it, sister," Ben said. Would it be abnormal of me to admit that I really meant Christopher and Dario and the thought almost caused my knees to buckle? *** And so, while Ben and Chris napped in preparation of their oh-so exciting fishing trip, I spent the afternoon giving myself a pedicure, conditioning my hair, and bathing in scented oils in preparation of a night of unbridled lust with the most beautiful man in the universe. All I could think about was Dario and those long, sexy fingers. The idea that he couldn't speak English fascinated me. We would share the universal language of love, and I almost gagged when I had that thought–what was I turning into, a walking romance novel? Hey, it could be worse. I started plotting. I didn't want to get to the bar too early because his set lasted three hours. I didn't want to get sloppy drunk, nor did I want to look like I was staying all night just

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for him. So I managed to find out he finished at midnight. Okay, then I'd go downstairs around ten. I put on a gauzy, white halter sundress and added a choker studded with turquoise stones, large silver hoops, and let my hair go wild in long, loose curls. I was horny as hell and the thought of having my way with Dario–his dark hair spread on my pillow while I rode him with wild abandon–made my panties so wet at the last minute I had no choice but to be crazy altogether and take them off. I threw them on the bed, slipped my hotel card key in my purse, and headed for the bar. Dario was in the middle of an intricate solo when I entered the room, and I deliberately took a seat at the bar where he couldn't miss me. I asked the bartender for a sidra and, since it didn't appear to affect me as it did the previous evening, I downed it pretty quickly and ordered another. "Hey you," I felt a tug at my arm and turned. It was Chris! "Somehow I knew I'd find you here," he said, shaking his head. "Um, hi. I thought you were going fishing," I blurted. Oh hell, he caught me and now I was even acting guilty. "Those lunatics are going to be out drinking on that boat until four AM. I know Ben is away from home and feels he has to act like a pardoned prisoner, but that's downright crazy." "Agreed," I said, but what was I talking about? I was already on my second sidra and flirting with disaster–not to mention my evil plan to stay awake all night with Dario and his magic fingers. Chris ordered a drink while I tried to slowly sip mine. I kept my back to Dario. It was just too much for me–sitting this close to Chris, Dario a few feet away–and I hadn't eaten all day so the alcohol was going straight to my head. But I felt good. Chris finished his drink and asked for the check. "Separate?" the bartender asked, looking at me. "No, put it all on my card," he replied. "C'mon, Justine, let's go for a walk on the beach." What could I do? I had no choice but to follow him out of the bar. How do I describe this beach? It was so breathtaking I was speechless. Rock formations, tropical flowers–and the scent of the sea. Chris and I walked down by the water. A breeze came by and lifted my dress. Too late, I remembered. Oh my god, no underpants, and I quickly looked at Chris to see if he'd noticed. No. At least I didn't think so. But I had to get back inside before it happened again. The alcohol was hitting me big time, too. As if he could read my mind, Chris asked, "Are you chilly? It's getting late. Maybe we should go back to the hotel." "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

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We walked through the ornate double doors to the lobby and headed for the elevator. "You must be happy that at least you have the room to yourself tonight," I said once the doors closed. Chris pushed our floor number and turned to face me. "You aren't kidding. Ben snores. I'm hoping to be already awake and at the pool before he gets in from his night of fishing." Ah. Was this a hint that Chris was going to be at the pool at dawn again tomorrow? Oh man, I felt so tipsy, I almost asked him, but then decided the hell with it. If I woke up early and wanted a swim, a swim I would have. I wasn't going to let him dictate my actions. He walked me to the room and stood there while once again I fumbled with the door card. "Ha. You really can't handle those sidras, can you?" he laughed, opening the door on the first try. "Oh, I can, too. It's those stupid computerized locks I can't handle. Why they had to do away with simple hotel keys I'll never know." "Because these cards are a lot easier, which you would know if you weren't loaded," he laughed. "Hey, are you tired?" "I'm not tired and I'm not drunk," I said, sticking my tongue out at him. "If I promise to behave, why don't you invite me in and we can have a nightcap on the terrace and talk a bit?" "Sure. Sounds like a plan," I said, and opened the door wide but as he brushed past me, I saw a strange expression on his face. Too late I remembered the discarded peach lace panties I threw on top of the bedspread. To his credit, he didn't say a word, and all I could hope was that he thought I'd left them there that morning and was not naked underneath my dress now. I took the already opened bottle of tequila from the mini bar and held it up. "I can drink straight shots," he said in answer to my unspoken question. "Me, too," I lied. "You'd better not. You should just have water." "Chris, I am not intoxicated. For the last time, how can I prove it to you? Oh! I know! If I were drunk, would I do this?" I don't know what possessed me, but I gathered my hair on top of my head and struck a sex queen pose. He laughed out loud and poured us both a shot. We opened the doors leading to the terrace and sat on rattan chairs facing each other. "So what's the story with you, Justine? Are you in a relationship? Happy at work? What's the deal?" Well. That was interesting. Since when did he care about my life? I was the one he was horrified to have a drink with in New York, remember? "Me? Well, I was in a relationship but it ended–he was an actor and moved to

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Hollywood last year and I threw myself into working ninety hours a week. I mean, I wasn't brokenhearted or anything, but, you know...it's hard. What about you?" "Ha. If you can believe this, same thing. I went out with an actress on and off for two years, but it's officially over. She's still in New York, though. She wanted to concentrate on her career and told me she didn't have time for a relationship, but the last I heard she's dating some big soap star." "No way. We both got fucked over by actors?" "Way. Why are you surprised? Who do you think lives in New York besides actors and actresses?" "Investment bankers?" I sighed. Chris laughed and poured us each another shot. We sat silent for a few minutes, and then he gave me a wicked grin. "You're not wearing panties, you're not wearing panties," he chanted. "Oh my god!" I realized I was so pleasantly buzzed I'd forgotten to close my legs. I sat up and squeezed my thighs together. "No, don't do that," he drawled. I honestly did not know what to say next. And on the other side of the sliding glass doors leading to my room there were my said panties on the bed, mocking me. "I'm sorry if I ruined your evening with Dario," he remarked. "Dario? I didn't...I mean, I wouldn't..." "You were sitting at the bar in that dress with no underwear and Dario. C'mon, Justine, you can tell Uncle Chris all about it." "Uncle Chris? Oh gag. Look, if you must know, I took them off because of panty lines," I lied. "In fact, I go without underwear a lot for that very reason!" Oh, for goodness sake, why did I just say that? Especially since it wasn't even true. Chris raised his eyebrows at me. Apparently, you can't bullshit a bullshitter. Or something like that. He stood up and put his empty glass on the small wicker table between us. "Okay, I guess I'd better get back to my room. It's been a pleasure, Justine." I was disappointed, but supposed it was for the best. I rose from my chair to walk him to the door. "Before I go, do that thing again," he said. "What thing?" "The thing you did to prove that you weren't drunk." "What? This?" I swept my hair up and struck a pose again. "Yeah. That." Then he kissed my neck. I couldn't help it. I turned to face him, kissed him on the mouth, and ground my pelvis into his rock hard groin.

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"Oh God, I want you, pantyless woman," he groaned. "Then take me," I whispered, kissing him again. "No. Not like this. We're both drunk and not thinking properly." "Says you," I replied, trying to kiss him again but he held me at arm's length. "Listen, Justine. It's no secret that I find you extremely attractive. But I just can't mess up my career and fool around at the office. Do you know what it's like to grow up poor...to be hungry?" "As a matter of fact, I do," I said. He regarded me thoughtfully for a moment. "Is this the career you would have chosen for yourself if things had been different?" he asked. "No. I mean, I'm not sure what path I would have taken, but I probably would have taken more interesting subjects like philosophy and...I dunno...astronomy...anything but business," I admitted. "You're unhappy, then?" "No, not really. But I could see doing something completely different in the future." "Interesting. I actually find I like the world of investment banking. I hope that doesn't mean you like me less," he smiled. Meanwhile, this whole time he was still holding me out in front of him, appraising me. "No, of course not." Oh kiss me again, kiss me again, kiss me again. "Well, anyway, that's enough information for one evening. See you tomorrow." And he gave me a brotherly peck on the cheek and let himself out the door. Oh, my God. I was lust-drenched and so confused I didn't know what to do with myself. I only knew sleep was out of the question. I looked at the clock. It was ten minutes to midnight. If I raced downstairs, Dario would still be there. I walked into the bar, feeling like a madwoman. It was like someone else had taken control of my brain. I craved a man's touch--I felt like the emptiest woman in the world and I desperately needed to be filled. Dario, of course, saw me right away and tipped his sombrero. I ordered a club soda and waited. Seconds later, Dario sat next to me, eyes glowing. "Buenos noches, Justine," he said. "Buenos noches, Dario." He took my hand and kissed my fingers one by one. The bartender looked amused. Oh God, what must he think of me? And all of a sudden, I realized I couldn't go through with it. This was wrong. All wrong. I had to get out of there before I did something I'd regret for the rest of my life. I stood up quickly and raced for the elevator, leaving Dario still sitting at the bar, shaking his head like I was completely loco. Well, he was right.

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*** I went back upstairs feeling like a fool and, if my life wasn't a big enough joke, there was Chris at my door, knocking. "Looking for someone?" I whispered. He didn't say a word, but silently took the hotel card from me and embraced me as soon as we entered the room. His kiss was like nothing I'd ever had in my life. His tongue flitted in and out while his hands roamed up and down my body. I traced his back with my fingers and let them travel to the base of his spine, then slid them toward his crotch. His erection strained as I gently unzipped his jeans. He released me to shimmy out of them, then took me back in his arms, pulling up my dress and revealing my dripping, naked pussy. We fell on the bed, me on my back, and he pulled my dress all the way up over my equally naked breasts. "Oh, my God, Justine. You are so beautiful," he gasped. He gave me light little kisses on my throat and his tongue slid down my torso and up again. I moaned as he took one of my breasts into his mouth, sucking so gently he gave me the chills. I was aching to have him inside of me. I didn't need foreplay; I just wanted him to fuck me now, to thrust himself inside me so deep I could feel him in my shoulders. And so I bucked underneath him, gyrating my hips, trying to catch him by opening my legs far apart, then bringing them up quickly and wrapping them around his waist. "No. Not yet," he whispered. "I need you. Please." "Oh, God. Are you sure?" I stretched my arms over my head and unclasped my legs, instead pointing them straight in the air, spread wide. He moaned and entered me easily while up on his knees. Taking my ankles in each hand, he brought my legs all the way up over his shoulders and pushed his cock in and out of me. The sensation was so intense I groaned. "Are you okay?" he murmured. "Can you stay like this if I let go of your legs? I want to touch you. I want to feel you come." "Oh, my God, this is unbelievable--you feel so--" "Shhh," he said, and while my legs remained high in the air he began to work my clit, running his fingertips up and down, then slightly applying more pressure. With his other hand, he massaged my left breast and squeezed the nipple as he thrust inside of me, then alternated to the right breast. And all this time, he was rubbing my clit and fucking me like I'd never been fucked in my life. As fragrant sea breezes blew in through the open window, I felt like I was flying up and up and up into the stratosphere to the point where my ears started to buzz and I completely lost control. With a primal yell my entire body shook in orgasm and Chris felt it happening and shot into me with such force I could feel him in every

Buenos Noches, Justine

pore of my being. He collapsed on top of me and pushed a damp strand of hair out of my eye. I didn't want to ruin the moment by speaking so I merely held him and kissed the top of his head. We stayed that way for several minutes, and I really believe I could have stayed that way forever. It was Chris, though, who finally broke the silence after rolling off of me. We remained in the bed side by side holding hands. "You know what I wish, Justine?" "Tell me," I said. "That we never had to go home. That we could stay here indefinitely." I sat up on one elbow and looked at him. I was taking a big chance here, but I couldn't stop myself. "Well, you know, technically we can." "We can what? Stay here? I wish. Ah, what a dream that would be," he sighed. Oh. Perhaps once again I'd read him wrong. My throat went dry and I was afraid to speak another word. I fell back on the pillow and sighed inwardly. "Hey, just out of curiosity, what did you mean when you said technically we could stay in Buenos Aires?" he asked. Ack. Why was this happening? Let me guess. He fucked me and now he wants to get the hell out of here. Oh sure, I could see it already. He thought I was already planning our wedding here and he's going to sweetly remind me about his no fooling around policy at work again and as an added bonus, he'll probably apologize for being an uncontrollable frat boy and how this can never, ever happen again. And as for me, I was going to go up to the pool and drown myself. Damn it. I knew I should have chosen Dario instead. "Justine? Seriously. What did you mean by your remark?" Oh, what the hell. There was nothing more to lose. "I meant that when we were first told we had to come here, our supervisor said that he hoped one or all of us would decide to stay on because of our great work ethic," I laughed weakly. "That's right! I'd forgotten all about that because at the time it seemed so absurd. But now--I can't believe this, but I want to do it. I want to stay in Buenos Aires!" I bit my lower lip, thinking of Michael, actor boy, who left me for Hollywood. Oh, come on, this really wasn't going to happen to me twice in one year, was it? What kind of evil karma did I possess, anyway? What had I done in a former life to deserve this? "But of course that depends on you," he whispered, kissing me. "Me?" I'm sorry, but I went stupid the minute his mouth was on mine. "If you'll stay, too. I know this is insane, but this happened for a reason. This trip, this night. We can't be a one-night stand–we have something special together. I think I might love

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you and I think you might love me. Well, if not now, you will. Or am I wrong?" he asked, kissing me again. I turned to face him and somehow managed to camouflage a shocked smile. "No, you're not wrong." He took me in his arms and held me close. "Mmm--then let's do it." "Okay, let's," I replied, snuggling into his arms even deeper. He reached down and wrapped us in the cool white sheets around us like a cocoon. "Buenos noches, Justine," he whispered. ###

Buenos Noches, Justine

Look for these other great titles by Robin Slick from Phaze Three Days in New York City Another Bite of the Apple About the Author Robin Slick is the author of Three Days in New York City , Another Bite of the Apple , and Buenos Noches, Justine , light-hearted erotic comedies published by Mundania/Phaze Press. Robin's short stories have appeared in print and on the web—everywhere from heady places like In Posse Review and Slow Trains Literary Journal to give-heady places like Clean Sheets. She lives vicariously through her rock star offspring Julie and Eric Slick, who were featured in the Picturehouse Films documentary, Rock School, and are now members of the Adrian Belew Power Trio. Visit her online at www.robinslick.com and www.inherownwrite.blogspot.com .