Juan kept running his fingers through my hair, tucking a curl behind my ear. My hair had probably dried funny. It is mostly a springy, frizzy mess of brown curls when I don’t do something about it. It has no discipline at all, left on its own. Juan hadn’t really left me much time to groom myself, and with my purse missing, I couldn’t, anyway. I was sure I looked pretty awful, which was why it was so weird when he suddenly kissed me.

​

It was a gentle kiss, almost as if he wasn’t sure he should do that. I guess, since we were both strangers stuck together by chance, he had a valid reason to feel insecure. But I wasn’t. I was totally ravenously horny for him. I mean, he was a very sexy man—tan, tall, muscular with longish dark hair and stubble—just my type, except for the whole being an asshole thing. But I could work with that.

The situation seemed to call for a distraction. So I kissed him back, encouraging him, and transferred myself to straddle his lap, wrapping my arms over those broad shoulders and digging my nails into his strong back as I drank him up.

​

“Stop,” he said, pulling back, though he didn’t pull me off his lap and his hands were both gripping my ass pretty tight. “We can’t do this.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t know each other,” he said. “Do you just sleep with men you don’t know at all?”

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” I said. “I want to fuck you. That’s different.”

“No,” he said, and this time took me off his lap, which made me miss the massive hard-on I had been so pleasantly pressed against. “I’m too old for you.”

“No, you’re not,” I said, kneeling on the couch next to him and giving him a sour face.

“You’re too young for me,” he said. “And you wouldn’t want what I’m into, anyway.”

“Try me,” I straddled him again. “I might surprise you.”
“Stop, Jenny Banks,” he said, pushing my hips away from his hardness.

“Why do you do that?”
“I told you. It’s wrong for us to do this.”
“No, I mean, why do you call me by my full name? It’s weird. You can just call me

Jenny.”
“No,” he said. “That’s too much like we’re friends, and we’re not. We’re strangers.”
I sat back on his lap and crossed my arms. “Look, why are you being such a jerk about

this? You kissed me first.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I shouldn’t have started it. Now is a terrible time to do

something stupid and impulsive.”

I draped my arms over his broad shoulders and gave him a sweet smile as I pressed

myself back up against the bar of hot steel trapped under his fatigues.

“But you want to do something stupid and impulsive, and so do I. We’re both grown adults. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re much too young for me, Jenny Banks.”

“I’m not a girl, and I’m not a virgin. I’m a twenty-two-year-old woman, and I am very turned on right now, and more than willing to fuck your brains out.”

“You’re not my type,” he said, pushing my hips back again.

​

I jumped off his lap and rushed out of the living room, unsure of where to head. The living room might be the safest room in the house for us to wait out the storm, as he said, because it was actually at the heart of the house, buffered from the windows and doors, in case the shutters gave up the fight. But I didn’t want to be in there anymore. I didn’t want to be in the house at all. I went to the kitchen, which was also sandwiched between the dining room and the den. It had a window over the sink, but that had shutters over it. Still, it was full of pots of boiled water and there was nowhere for me to sit, except on the cold, amber, ceramic tiles.

​

So, I left the kitchen and went down the hall to the hall bathroom and locked myself in, sitting on the padded toilet lid, covered with a pink, fluffy cover. It was a very feminine sort of bathroom, I noticed, now that my head was throbbing less and my eyes could focus better than the last time I was in there. A strange choice of decor for a man like Juan, though maybe he literally tried to re-create the house as it had been when he was little. Odd, really, for anyone to do that. I couldn’t imagine loving my childhood home so much that I’d want to build another one just like it.

But Juan was weird. What kind of man decides not to fuck you, even though obviously he wants to fuck you very much? And what did he mean by saying I wasn’t his type? I was everybody’s type. I was usually the one turning guys down. I’m not vain or stuck up, but I know I have a sexy figure and a pretty face. Most days, anyway.

​

I got up to get a better look at myself in the mirror. Though I only had the blue light of the battery-operated hurricane lamp to see with, I definitely needed make-up. I looked around eighteen without it. Maybe that’s what had freaked him out. Well, there was nothing I could

do about that without my purse. Plus, my hair really was a mess. I tried combing my fingers through it and searched the bathroom for some hair gel or mousse. Anything that didn’t make me look like an underage mess. Juan only had the basic supplies. Whatever. We were probably going to die anyway, going by the constant noise of the train rushing just outside the bathroom window.

 

What bothered me most, though, was that he implied I was a slut. I wasn’t. I had been with a few guys and I liked to party, but I was selective. I didn’t offer myself to guys I’d just met. In fact, I never offered myself. Most times, I was fighting guys off. He was the exception. I’d just been feeling vulnerable, and it felt so nice being held, and comforted, and called “little one.” It sparked something deep inside me, something I really wanted and I’d never had from any of the guys I’d dated. He had touched the part of me that longed for that kind of relationship—a hard man who might be scary and mean sometimes, but who would also take care of me. I’d fallen into a trap with Juan, succumbing to that need, and then he’d cruelly shoved me away.

​

Juan was a horrible human being, I decided. As soon as this damned hurricane passed, I was out of there. How long would that be? Too long, going by the deafening noise of that incessant train. I sat back down on the toilet, covered my ears and cried.

​

A knock on the door startled me. “Open up, Jenny Banks.”
“I’m busy in here.”
“You’ve been in there too long. It’s not safe. Finish peeing or whatever you’re doing

and get back into the living room. We need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you ever again, Juan Ruiz.” If he insisted on being formal,

calling me by my full name, I could do it too.
“Now is not the time to throw a tantrum, little girl,” he said, sounding stern. “If you’re

not out of there in five minutes, I’m going to light your ass on fire. Consider yourself forewarned.”

“Is that how you solve everything, by spanking the women you’re with?”

“Yes,” he said, like it was no big deal.

 

Then I heard those boots storm away. What was the point of the carpet in this house? Those enormous feet pounded the ground, regardless. The man was like an un-jolly green giant.

​

Still, I sat on the toilet a while longer, thinking about how long I’d have to be in there before I’d earn a spanking. He’d said five minutes. But did he have a stopwatch or an internal clock that told him when time was up? Was he serious? Well, he had spanked me without warning earlier. That spanking kept playing in my head, making me hot and wet. Wearing his boxer shorts made that awkward since the crotch hung low and I felt all slippery and exposed. Why was I so horny? Was this just a normal reaction to imminent death?

​

I had my answer when three things happened almost simultaneously.

​

First, the metal shutter which had protected the small bathroom window above the tub peeled right off with a loud creaky clank like the hull of the Titanic hitting that iceberg. Then, a loose branch shot through the window like a wooden missile, raining shattered glass bits and splinters of wood everywhere. I screamed as the debris landed on me. The strong wind blowing through the broken window wasn’t helping. Almost immediately, Juan kicked the bathroom door off its hinges and carried me out of the bathroom, cursing loudly in Spanish.

​

I braced myself for a hell of a spanking. Instead, he dropped me on the living room couch and went back down the hall carrying a toolkit that he picked up from the corner of the living room, then produced enough hammering and drilling to reawaken my throbbing headache. I picked the last bits of debris out of my hair, hoping I got all of it. Fortunately, the bathroom window was tempered glass, and it had broken into a crumbly dust instead of shards. I might have been seriously hurt. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and search for some Tylenol, but there was nothing like that in there. What I found, in the back of the dark fridge, was a six-pack of beer.

​

Sneaky son of a...

 

I popped the top off a bottle of Sol with my back teeth and gulped down the chilly goodness in one long swallow. I didn’t get to finish because a monster hand grabbed the bottle right out of mine.

I squeaked and spurted a sip of beer but didn’t get to complain before he pressed me up against the sink with the boxer shorts pulled down to my knees. Juan had grabbed a wood spoon out of a drawer and he started whacking my butt with it mercilessly.

​

“Ow-ow! Stop!” I screeched each time the spoon contacted my flesh.

​

Juan kept going and going, swatting my ass and my upper thighs, even when I kicked back. He whacked until my ass felt like I’d fallen on ice while skating. It was a deep ache, and part of my butt was numb from the pain, but the part that still felt anything was deeply sore and hot. My rear hurt much worse than my head, worse than anything I’d felt in my life up to that point. I burst into tears and switched to pleading with him to stop, hoping that would work better than shouting insults at him.

 

Eventually, Juan stopped, but he still had me pressed over the sink. There was a tense moment when I could feel his warm erection pressed against my throbbing rear. I thought he might just have to slip inside me then and fuck me raw. I hoped he would—I was so shamefully slick with desire. He had to notice as he used his hand to stroke my injured back cheeks.

 

Juan breathed heavily against my tousled hair. “You... are... a very... bad... girl.” His voice was a low, hungry growl, which only intensified my dripping need. I raised my rear so his fingers might slip into my slit, where they were desperately wanted. Instead, Juan stepped back, pulled up the boxer shorts and let me go. I felt cold. My rear was ablaze, but my spine missed his warmth.

​

“Go, Jenny Banks,” he said when I finally straightened up again. “Stay out of my way and don’t find trouble.”

​

I thought Juan would follow me to the living room, but he didn’t.

​

Sitting wasn’t an option anymore, so I just stood staring at the glowing blue light of the hurricane lamp, playing that scene over and over in my head, wondering what the fuck I just got myself into and how soon I might get Juan riled up enough to pull his spoon out again.

​

Maybe next time, he’d finish what he started.