It was the event of the season. Only the upper elite of Point Dixon were invited to the Grand Wanderer Ball. This, however, was not going to stop Ms. Summer from acquiring an invitation.
She had her eyesights set on Hank Remington all year long. Her mouth practically watered at the thought of his masculine hands guiding her across the ballroom, sashaying over freshly waxed tiles. Hank Remington was every woman’s dream. Built like a linebacker yet possessing the grace of the most celebrated ballroom dancers, he embodied effortless allure.
Hailing from a long line of lucrative investment bankers, Hank used much of his wealth to support his ever-expanding wardrobe. He topped every best-dressed list in the Point Dixon Gazette. What money could not buy, however, was his Cinderella. He dreamed of attending the ball with Ms. Fiona Broggs.
That was just as well, because a new woman was all anyone could talk about.
Short in stature, with a striking figure and long, wavy red hair, Ms. Summer made her presence quietly known. Wearing a mask over her eyes, it was immediately clear she was a knockout. Summer had heard whispers around town that a high-society girl would be attending in a velvet mask. She spent all her savings replicating the ensemble, rumored to have been stolen from the minister’s daughter.
Three days later, that same minister’s daughter was found locked in a broom closet. There was talk she had been drugged, unable to describe who had placed her there.
When Summer saw Hank on the dance floor, those unmistakable hands guiding his partner with practiced ease, she knew exactly what she must do. She slipped a dainty, heart-shaped key into his pocket and ran up the banister, leaving Mr. Hank Remington no choice but to follow.
The room upstairs was pitch black, but it didn’t matter. Summer found her way to his belt and removed it quickly. She climbed onto him, urging him to tear away her bodice. When the intricate laces resisted, he took out a pocket knife and cut through them without hesitation.
The anticipation was overwhelming. Summer discarded her undergarments, unable to wait any longer. Hank tied her wrists to the bedposts with the sheets before lowering himself to her, drawing from her a sound she could no longer suppress.
When he sensed she was ready, he guided her to pleasure him in return, her arms still bound as she struggled to keep pace. He was more than ready.
“Do it hard,” she whispered.
He obliged, relentless and unyielding, moving without pause. When it was over, he collapsed against her, breathless, murmuring a claim she would never forget.
When Hank awoke, Summer was gone.
He eventually married the girl from the broom closet, but every once in a while, he still sees Summer in town. When he does, he calls her Summer Dream.
And she knows.
Author: Freya Fitzpatrick