Miami Heat - Sex Stories

Miami Heat

As night descended and smothered the stifling heat of the daylight hours, South Beach became a shameless hotbed of sex, drugs, and tequila. The streets baked so hot under the merciless midday sun, that you could still feel the heat rising from the sidewalk concrete late into the night. Beautiful women sauntered from one bar to the next wearing just enough clothing to keep them legal, but not so much as to discourage the attentions of lonely, wealthy men. The dusk air was filled with the tantalising scents of fresh Caribbean cuisine. The rich, sweet aromas of spicy pork, jerk chicken, and flame-grilled peppers drifted down the streets on a gentle breeze that blew in from the ocean. Gaudy neon lights bathed the art deco buildings in splashes of eye-catching colour which bled from one shade to the next, whilst the beat of the drums and the throbbing strum of acoustic guitar strings breathed a new life onto the street once the sun set below the horizon. The hypnotic sounds spilled enticingly from the open doorways of hotels and nightclubs, as bright and as colourful as the costumes of the Havana carnival. The Latino rhythm was Miami’s melodic heartbeat. Sereno was one of the newest and most luxurious bars in town. Small, brightly painted wooden crates held piles of fresh citrus fruits, ripe strawberries, and tight bunches of crisp mint leaves. Bottles of rare liqueurs lined the backlit bar, as stacks of sparkling chilled glasses sat waiting for an expertly crafted cocktail to ...

... be poured into them. From the chestnut leather armchairs in the softly lit corners of the room drifted the smooth smoke of expensive cigars, and the rich roast of café cubano espressos. It was, in a word, refined. Kaylee rested her elbows on the bar as she blew bubbles into her sixth mojito. She twirled the black plastic straw around her mouth with her tongue and tried to shape the crushed ice into a pyramid. She’d been stood up. After two hours of clock-watching, the last little spark of hope that her date had just been running late had fizzled out. All she had left was an expensive bar tab and an empty apartment. The alcohol had done little to cool her temper. Time and money had been spent making a real effort to look fantastic. Her already down-and-out credit card had taken yet another beating over a french manicure at Paul-Eric Sinclair, and an embarrassingly expensive thong from a boutique shop on Purdy Avenue. She was showered, shaved, plucked, and polished, now looking every single cent of a million dollars. “I’m pretty, aren’t I?” she’d asked the bartender earlier when nursing her fourth drink. He’d just smiled in a polite manner and glided down to the other end of the bar to avoid further questioning. Finally admitting defeat, Kaylee decided to call it a night. She couldn’t afford to drink there anyway. Her glass clinked into the last one as she haphazardly dropped it back onto the bar. The rum was working its magic. “He stand you up, hon?” “Hmm?” Kaylee hadn’t even ...