What She Needs
Page 25
Returning to the bed where Jenna leaned forward, resting with her shoulders on the mattress but her knees still tucked up under her, Brent smoothly reinserted his fingers in her ass. A strangled cry erupted from her, pleasing the dominant side of him.
He moved his fingers again in circles, gently stretching her, his arousal compounding at the sight of her widening asshole. “So hot, honey,” he murmured instinctively—and she only let out a weak, whimpering sigh in response.
Mmm, God, he was so ready for this. So ready to take her where no one else had. He’d done that many times already, of course, but this felt different from all the other fantasies—even more intense, more personal.
Upon withdrawing his fingers this time, he squeezed a generous portion of the lubricant into the slightly opened fissure. He knew, because it was the Hotel Erotique’s signature lube, that it would feel cool and tingly—and he heard her surprised gasp.
Feeling urgent now, he applied the lubricant to his cock, rubbing it over the whole length but concentrating on the head—and was forced to let out a small gasp of his own.
His gut clenched in anticipation as he leaned in from behind, then bent to whisper in her ear, “Your safeword is still Cleopatra.”
She turned her head to look at him, eyes questioning.
“In case this hurts,” he explained, low. “Don’t let me hurt you, Jenna.”
Too late for that, Jenna thought. But she had no time to think about that kind of hurt at the moment—the current threat felt much more immediate. And still, she wanted it. She wasn’t even sure why, but she yearned to have him inside her in this new way.
At her rear, the tip of his erection nestled in that oh-so-sensitive spot, and she shut her eyes, bracing herself, as he began to push.
Oh God. It hurt. He was too big—he’d never fit. She clenched her teeth, and her fists, wanting this to work.
“Relax,” he said gently. “Try to relax your muscles.”
She did, focusing on the task. And then it hurt less. It was still tight as hell, stretching her there, forcing her to bite her lip—but she never said Cleopatra. Because she didn’t want him to stop.
Behind her, Brent’s breath came labored and thready, and she knew he was partly inside her anus now. He massaged her ass as he worked, clearly trying to comfort her and stretch her more at the same time. She bit her lip and willed her body to open to him there.
“Aw . . . aw, fuck yes,” he muttered—and then she felt his thick cock make the painstakingly slow glide into her ass.
She sucked in her breath at the overpowering sensation. Although she was aware of being stretched to the max, it no longer hurt—exactly. Or maybe it did, but at the same time, it filled her with . . . gloriously overwhelming pleasure. “Oh God.” The words came straight from her core.
“Does it hurt?” He sounded barely able to talk.
Did it? Crazy as it sounded, she wasn’t sure. “Yes. And no. I . . . I . . .”
“Tell me, damn it—am I hurting you?”
“N-no. It’s . . . amazing.”
“You are,” he whispered deeply. “Fucking amazing.”
She could only sob in response. Because the sensations this position produced were growing, multiplying, spreading all through her body. It felt like his cock was everywhere, pervading her entire being. She’d never imagined any sexual experience could be this consuming. More than two cocks. More than surrendering to everything he’d inflicted on her in the dungeon. More than anything. It filled her. It saturated her. It owned her. Sweat began to pour from every part of her body as she clenched her teeth against the strange, hot pleasure, at once frightening and glorious.
And then he began to move.
Short, gentle thrusts in that tiny, narrow tunnel. And she lost all control.
As Brent slid into her, growling his pleasure with every stroke, Jenna found herself crying out through clenched teeth, pounding her fists on the bed, besieged with sensation. “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” she heard herself scream. All the blood drained from her face and her body grew weak trying to absorb it all. She heard the deep sobs and cries echoing uncontrolled from her throat and could barely fathom anything but the huge cock in her ass and her own incredible response—she’d never been this crazed.
And even after the most powerful orgasm she’d ever had—oh Lord, the G-spot was real!—she felt on the edge of another, wildly hungry to come again. Her clit ached—she craved friction there.
Behind her, Brent growled ferociously and she became aware of one more important thing—his pleasure. It felt as intense as hers, roaring through her almost as forcefully.
Soon, her limbs grew so shaky that she sank to the bed completely, flat on her stomach—still with Brent fucking that tiny fissure that felt so huge right now. And almost as soon as her clit touched the woven bedspread, the orgasm hit like an earthquake.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as it echoed violently through her—her body thrashed about and she screamed through the raging pleasure pumping from her cunt. And just when it ended—as mind-numbing and earth-shattering as the previous climax—Brent let out a deep groan, said, “Jesus, I’m coming in your ass, baby,” and thrust into her, spilling himself.
Then he sank on top of her and they both fell into an exhausted sleep within seconds.
Jenna woke a little while later to the rocking motion of the ship, astonished. Wow, she’d discovered her G-spot and been fucked in the ass, all in the same short span of time—no wonder she felt so replete yet drained.
Brent lay next to her, still in his sexy pirate clothes. Sexy, but she wanted them off now—especially since her own lay in shreds around her.
Just then, his eyes opened. “You okay, sunshine?” he asked softly.
She bit her lip, feeling sheepish about her reply. “More than okay,” she admitted. “I have been . . . thoroughly pleasured.” Then she let out a small sigh. “Although . . .”
“Yeah?” He lifted his head slightly to peer down at her.
“Well, my—um—anus feels kind of odd, like it’s . . . uh . . . sort of more open than usual right now. Which felt better, frankly, when there was something inside it.”
He cast an indulgent smile. “That’ll go away in a little while.”
He said it with such confidence that she wondered how he knew, but then remembered who she was talking to—he wasn’t just her lover. He’d likely been having this same discussion for years with other girls he’d fucked this way. Ugh—unpleasant thought, so she pushed it aside and tried to ignore the senseless jealousy pulsing through her veins.
As Brent scooted toward the head of the bed—they’d ended up sideways across it—he reached for her. “Come share a pillow with me,” he murmured, still sounding sleepy.
She replied by joining him but giving him a command, too. “Take your clothes off. The pirate thing is hot, but naked is hotter.”
Brent said nothing, just agreeably removed the white shirt over his head to reveal the muscular chest and arms underneath, then shed his boots and pants as well. Together, they wordlessly pushed down the covers and crawled underneath.
Then it hit her—what did this mean? Was she spending the night with him here? Or was this just a temporary rest period before they went their separate ways for the evening? Given his declarations this afternoon about not being able to get close to her anymore, she was pretty confused by this whole night.
So she propped up on one elbow and looked down at him. “I thought you said we were getting too involved.”
“We are,” he answered simply, without quite meeting her gaze.
“Then why . . .”
“Don’t ask me.”
“How come?”
Now he looked at her. “Because I don’t know the answer. I just did it. Because I wanted to. And because you wanted to.”
Hmm. Wow. He’d wanted her just like she’d wanted him. Enough to break more of his own rules. She couldn’t help it—she leaned down and kissed him, a move that lef
t her scalp tingling. “You’ve . . . changed me so much. In such a short time.”
He nodded. “That’s my job, sunshine.”
And her stomach pinched lightly. But, deciding this was no time to start holding back, she asked what was on her mind. “When I leave here, Brent, will I . . . mean anything to you? At least be someone you remember fondly?”
“Honey, let’s not go there.”
Damn it. “I need to. Need, Brent.” She knew that was a word he well understood.
He sighed, looked slightly troubled, but then met her eyes once again, looking calmer, more acceptant. “Okay, yes,” he admitted. “I will remember you . . . very fondly.” He reached up to gently stroke her hair. “Today on the beach—my God, I loved your . . . recklessness. You’ve gotten to be amazing in bed, Jenna.”
She lowered her gaze briefly, ready to make a confession of her own. It was obvious, but she felt the need to tell him. “I never could have done it without the freedom you’ve brought me. And . . . maybe I’m beginning to understand that those, um, occurrences in my youth did color my opinions of sex. So . . . thank you. For pushing me to do these things.”
Beside her, he used his elbow to raise slightly, as well, giving his head an inquisitive tilt. “So tell me, did you really not like being with girls?”
She shrugged, amused with the question. Guys were always so obsessed with that. “I kind of liked it. But I told you—I like it more when you’re there.” Then she smiled, teasing him. “Why do guys always think girls secretly want other girls? After all, have you ever been with other guys?”
“Yeah,” he said easily—and her jaw dropped.
“Oh.” His answer left her utterly stunned—and then, for some reason, it kind of aroused her. “Do you . . . like it?”
He lowered his head back to the pillow. “Sometimes. Does that turn you off?”
“No. I mean, I never thought about it, but . . . to tell you the truth, I don’t know why, but it’s kind of getting me hot right now.”
He grinned up at her. “Good.” Yet then his expression changed. “Though maybe it would have been better if it turned you off.”
“Why? Isn’t all this about me becoming more and more open about sex?”
“Yeah, but . . . it would be best if it stopped having to do with . . . me.”
Oh, hell. They both knew the situation, but hearing him say it made her feel like some “guide groupie.” So she simply chose not to reply. Instead she lowered her head to the pillow, too, bringing them face-to-face. “Tell me,” she said softly. “About being with other guys.”
The request hung in the air for a moment before he said, “What about it? I’ve been here for fifteen years—there’s not much I haven’t done, sunshine.”
Another harsh reminder, but since she was thinking of him with other guys instead of other girls right now, it didn’t sting so much as simply remind her that she was practically still a virgin compared to Brent Powers. “Tell me . . . what you like. With another guy,” she asked, cautiously. Because yes, she was weirdly turned on by the idea, but she wasn’t sure how much, or what she wanted to hear, or if his answers would transform her arousal to something else.
When he hesitated, she realized maybe she wasn’t the only one uneasy with the topic—maybe he was embarrassed to talk about it with her, afraid of her reaction. It was the first time she’d ever seen Brent uncomfortable with any aspect of sex—he was usually so confident and smooth. But maybe it was because of the weird divergence in current society—straight girls playing at bisexuality had somehow become socially acceptable, but straight guys experimenting with other guys? Not as much.
Finally, he replied, speaking more softly than normal. “Sometimes . . . I like that it’s harder than sex with a girl—I mean, I like feeling a harder body against me.”
His answer made her heart pound. Possibly because it meant he truly understood—through experience—something a woman liked about sex? Or perhaps just because it clearly wasn’t easy for him to say and yet he was telling her anyway.
“What else?” she asked, fascinated. “What else do you like about it?”
He met her gaze squarely, as if about to confide in her. “Honestly, sunshine,” he said on a slightly awkward laugh, “if I’m in the right mood, everything.”
Everything. Wow. Did he really mean that? “Sucking another guy’s cock?”
He nodded simply.
“Having yours sucked by another guy?”
Another nod.
Her chest tightened at the images forming in her mind. “Do you . . . you know, fuck them?”
“Yeah, honey, I do.” He looked a little less embarrassed now, like he was coming back to himself, to his normal confidence. In fact, he sounded much more amused than worried when he asked, “So, are you . . . not liking me yet?”
She shook her head. “I’m actually . . . amazed by you. This means you’re not all talk.”
He cast a typical Brent grin. “Nope, afraid I walk the walk, babe.”
“And you’ve . . . been fucked? By a guy? In your . . .”
“Ass?” he finished for her. “Yeah.”
Whoa. So that’s how he’d known the odd feeling would go away—and it had now, mostly.
“What are you thinking?” he asked when she said nothing.
She didn’t respond immediately. There were too many new, impossible pictures in her head. But the answer, she realized to her surprise, was, “That I’d kind of like to see it. You with a guy.”
“Oh,” he said, back to sounding unsettled again.
“Can I?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“Well, because that doesn’t have much to do with my plans for you. And trust me, we’ve already sailed far enough off course without drifting farther.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “You’re talking like a pirate.”
He laughed softly and said, “No, if I was talking like a pirate, I’d be . . . asking if you want to see my yardarm or . . . saying you’ve got the nicest booty I’ve ever seen.”
She giggled in reply. “You were much smoother as Captain Powers.”
He shrugged, grinned. “I’m not in character right now, so you have to settle for the goofy stuff.”
Just then, her eyes fell on the tattoo on his arm. She noticed it often when they were together, but only now did she feel bold enough to bring it up. She reached to run her fingers over the initials. “Did pirates have tattoos?” she asked inquisitively.
“Probably.”
“So, who is D.L., anyway?”
“An old girlfriend,” he said with a slight shake of his head, as if it was nothing.
“I didn’t think a guy like you had girlfriends,” she said, half teasing, half serious.
He grinned in reply, but his eyes looked sad. “It was a long time ago.”
“She must have been special,” Jenna speculated. “I mean, to warrant a tattoo, a permanent reminder.”
He shrugged, still managing to sound totally blasé even as he said, “Yeah, she was.”
She couldn’t help wanting to dig more. “What was her name?”
“Deena,” he answered softly then, his voice sounding different, lower, as he said it. “Deena Little.”
She had been special. Very special. Jenna could tell. “Did you meet her here? Another guide or something?”
Brent shook his head. “It was back in college. We were in love.”
Oh. Wow. The girl in the photo album? The plain one. “But it ended?”
“Yep.” He rolled to his back, looking like he didn’t want to discuss it anymore.
“Did you ever get over her?” Jenna pressed anyway.
“Of course.” He peered toward the ceiling as he spoke now. “It was more than fifteen years ago. Why?”
Now it was Jenna’s turn to shrug. “Well, like I said, she warranted a tattoo. That just seems . . . important. Permanent. Like maybe you thought you and she would be permanent.”
Hmm—sure didn’t sound simple. “Have you ever been in love again?”
When he looked at her this time, he gave her a sexy grin. “No, Miss Inquisitive. Now go to sleep, my little pirate wench, and maybe I’ll tup you again in the morning.”
So they were spending the night here. On the pirate ship. Breaking rules. Already planning more forbidden guide-and-guest sex in the morning. It was, as he’d surely planned, enough to take Jenna’s mind off Deena Little and make her snuggle against him in the captain’s bed, back to feeling sexy and thinking about all the naughty pirate fun he’d given her. “Thank you, by the way,” she said. “For the whole pirate thing. I’m sure you knew how much I’d like that.”
Slipping his arm around her, he raised his eyebrows playfully. “I did, but I was still surprised to find out you were the wife of a wealthy planter.”
“I’m unpredictably quick on my feet sometimes.”
“And your husband would have been shocked, my lady, to see you getting your brains fucked out by two guys on the beach today.”
“And now, too. Don’t forget—I just let the captain fuck me in the ass.”
He chuckled and said, “I must be the luckiest buccaneer on all the seven seas to find such an accommodating wench.”
“Well, keep giving me orgasms like that and I’ll . . .” Oh crap, she’d started to say she’d forget the planter and become the captain’s wench for good. But under the circumstances—being a “guide groupie”—she stopped, and fumbled for a conclusion. “I’ll . . . let you . . . play in my treasure chest anytime.”
He laughed at her silly attempt at more pirate talk, then smoothly slid his free hand onto her ass. “Honey, I’ve got news for you—you couldn’t keep me out of your treasure chest if you tried.”
Chapter 12
MasqueradeYou Are Invited to
Where: The London home of the Duke of Sexingham