She found the ad in the Sunday real estate supplement: Maine coastal cottage, suitable for one, simple, comfortable, affordable. After several e-mails with the owner, she had booked two weeks in July. The rent truly had been affordable, and she was dying to get away.
Kate was braving through her second divorce. It wasn't bad enough that her first husband Josh had had an affair with her best friend; now her second husband Ben had done the same, a different friend, but nevertheless. Apparently, she had no taste in husbands or friends. Feeling wounded and weary, she imagined two weeks on Maine's rocky coast would be just about perfect.
The owner had been very specific. The cottage was really just one room, with a kitchen on one end and a small bathroom. If she was planning to have friends come up from the city, it wouldn't be at all suitable. No, she had replied, she would be quite alone.
She followed the directions the owner had e-mailed to her. His name was Anton Wolfe, and he lived in the big house on the property. She would be staying in his guest house, which he rented a few weeks out of each summer. He wouldn't be available to greet her, but hoped she would settle in. He wrote that he respected his tenant's privacy, and she was to make herself at home.
The directions were excellent. She turned down a crushed stone path lined with beach roses, passing a massive gray shingled house, Anton's, no doubt. Her own cottage was closer to the water, also shingled in weathered cedar shakes. There was a wide front porch facing the ocean with one rocker on it (suitable for one, she smiled). The key was under a sisal mat in front of the screen door.
Entering the house, it reminded her of the playhouse she used to have in her backyard when she was a kid. The kitchen lined the far wall, a small table with one chair was pushed under a picture window overlooking the water, and a sleighbed did double duty as a couch. There were well-thumbed books stacked up on a trunk, a little black and white TV. The bathroom was miniscule but spotless. Kate loved every inch of the place.
She unpacked her car--hadn't really brought much since she felt she was not apt to leave the cottage---she'd be too busy licking her wounds and figuring out how she was going to spend the rest of her life. She was only 30. How many other rotten husbands could she acquire over the next 50 years? And she had wanted kids, too. What a mess.
Kate arranged the groceries neatly on the open shelves in the kitchen and uncorked a bottle of Merlot. She was tired from the drive and didn't want to bother fixing a real meal, so grabbed a fistful of honey-roasted cashews, some cheese and crackers. She sat out on the porch steps, watching the sun set and enjoying her simple feast, managing to drink most of the bottle of wine. She'd never seen so many stars, and was lulled by the slapping of the waves against the rocks below. What an ideal spot.
She rose unsteadily, thinking she should go to sleep before she drank the entire bottle when she heard footsteps on the path.
"Miss Howard? I don't want to frighten you. I'm Anton Wolfe. How do you like Blackstone Cottage?"
The man was tall and very slender, with jet black hair to his shoulders. In the faded porch light, his face was pale but exceptionally handsome. He looked like an actor or a model or someone so famously rich they exuded luxury. Kate felt not a litle disheveled, and, face it, drunk.
"It's wonderful," she replied nervously. "Can I get you some wine?"
Anto looked askance at the bottle on the step. It had barely two inches in it.
"No, thank you, Miss Howard. I don't drink alcohol," he said smoothly.
"Oh." My God, he probably thought she was a lush. She sat down on the steps again and folded her hands.
"I'll join you though, if I may," he smiled, his teeth very white in the darkness. Kate thought hers were probably purple. He sat down beside her, stretching his long legs before him. His feet were bare, and Kate realized suddenly he was wearing bathing trunks under his white button-down shirt.
"I was going for a swim. Would you like to join me?"
"Isn't it too cold? I've heard all about swimming in Maine."
"Oh, it's not too bad. Go on, get your suit on, I'll wait."
Kate thought this was a very bad idea. Not only was she drunk, but chubby too. But perhaps he wouldn't be able to see her so well in the dark. She changed into her black one-piece in the tiny bathroom and grabbed a towel.
"A veritable water sprite! Come." Anton took her hand and for a second Kate remembered all those crappy romance novels she had read---'he touched her and the electricity penetrated to her very core.' That was exactly how she felt. She couldn't have turned back to the house if her life depended upon it. He guided her down the flat rocks to the shore. After dipping in one foot, she shrieked.
"Oh, no! I can't possibly go in! It's freezing!"
Anton laughed, and before she knew it, he had picked Kate up in his arms and was walking her into the ocean. She kept her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, breathing in his mysterious scent. He smelled delicious and somehow dangerous. What was she thinking? She'd met the man fifteen minutes ago and wanted to go to bed with him in the worst way.
He twirled her in the water, laughing into her ear. They weren't out very far, and he put her down so she could stand, holding her close against him. His rigid cock was unmistakale against her belly.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Kate whispered.
