Kept for His Appetites Read Online Free PDF Page B

carrying dark, musky scents in the moonlight. Wordless sounds of want, of giving. Of taking.
     
    And all the time, my idle wandering mind found new angles to approach how it had happened. Whether it had been his plan from the start for the two of us to dine on deck. To dine and to then entwine. Or had he perhaps kept open options for himself, between myself and the skinny, sulky Kaysha, or whatever her name was. Tanned, leggy and dripping expensive style, she seemed a more likely companion for the dark-eyed debonaire billionaire. It could be that she was his target all along. More likely than a bouncy, curvy diner waitress like me. I may have been the distraction, the drunken night to dilute his disappointment for failing to be nailing her. After that thought had assembled itself, it burrowed into every crevice of my thoughts and reproduced itself in remixed versions all the rest of the day. Those unwelcome ideas mixed and mingled with echoes of the sensations and sights of the night before to make a painful tang that rose from the pit of my gut to the top of my chest. Still something darker and deeper recalled the charges of the more delightful and ecstatic smells and sounds and touches.
     
    In the middle of the afternoon, I patrolled the decks and the lounges once more, checking for guests who might partake of a snack. The layout of the boat, Splash, was becoming familiar to me. My feet knew their way around, I had the rhythm of the decks, the steps and the doorways. Like any course repeated often enough, the full tour had become a dance that my body had learned. Up the steps from the galley, across the rear deck, duck into the cool, shaded lounge bar at the rear for a turn around the room, out of the door towards the bows, and four steps up to the sundeck level. Through the sliding glass into the sunlounge, across the deep carpet, out at the far side, up the steeper steps to the skydeck.
     
    From up there was the best view to the stern, that huge mansion commanding its hill and the expanse of grounds, still not a human anywhere in sight. The house itself was fascinating enough, to wonder what went on to occupy the dozens of rooms, and what kinds of functions filled the massive halls. I daydreamed for a few moments, or maybe a few minutes. Then back to the routine. Check the bar and lounge up here on the top deck, across to the other side and down the steps. The highest part of a boat, the farthest above sea level, is the part that rocks the most, so the stepladders either side of the skydeck felt the most precarious. Even moored up, there was a distinct sway.
     
    At the bottom, the shorter steps from the sundeck led back to the lounge at the rear, and there was Kaysha. Propping the bar up with a champagne flute in her hand, the green bottle frosted with cold water at her elbow. She wore a silver robe. She hadn’t tied it, so it just hung open. I didn’t want to peer into the shadows there, in fact I had no wish to linger around her at all. Her hair hung like it had tumbled off a shelf. I said,
     
    “Good afternoon,” about as formally, politely and evenly as I could and without breaking step. Where yesterday she had looked perpetually pouty, now she seemed desolate. My pace slowed as I walked past her, but she didn’t make a move or a sound.
     
    At least I had somebody to feed, something to actually do. The activity gave me some relief from my worry and confusion.
     
    Kaysha had moved to the only patch of shade on the skydeck when I brought out the nachos, olives and dips. She sprawled on a sunlounger. She hadn’t fixed her hair or put on makeup, nor had she tied her robe. She was like a lost waif, an unloved stray. I was coming close to feeling sorry for her, she looked so miserable. When the food was all laid out I asked if there was anything else she’d like me to get for her. She didn’t look up, but her head shook slowly. As I started backwards down the steep steps, I heard her say,
     
    “Be