The kiss left her stunned at first—she’d never kissed a black man before, and she found the experience powerful, different, deep. Because it was new to her? Or was it simply the way Andre kissed?
She kissed him back, and soon he lifted one hand to her face. His mouth was firm yet tender, and she sensed confidence there, knew he was a man with experience seducing women. It felt easy to drift from one kiss into another . . . until he sank smoothly to his knees in the sand, pulling her down with him.
He’d just begun to kiss her again when she understood . . . oh God, she was entranced by the differences between them, by the exotic romance of making out with a Jamaican calypso singer, and she was charmed by his thoughtful personality—but she wasn’t . . . aroused. She wasn’t driven to kiss him.
In fact, it felt wrong. Because he wasn’t Brent. And he wasn’t in a fantasy that Brent was watching or had even created. And only sensual acts sanctioned by Brent, it seemed, moved her now. Oh Lord, it was awful—but true.
The realization made her lift her hands to his chest and push him gently back. “I’m sorry. It was very nice kissing you, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“No?” Andre sighed. “That is a disappointment, Jenna.”
“For me, too,” she confided, shaking her head lightly. “I mean, you’re so nice, so strong and sexy—I must be crazy.”
“You, crazy? No,” he said with certainty. “Just . . . perhaps this is the wrong place, the wrong time.”
She nodded. “That’s it.” And you’re the wrong guy. Oh God, she was doomed. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
Rising to his feet and reaching down to help her up, he shook his head. “Please do not apologize. I got a lovely walk with an equally lovely lady. And a few kisses, too. Come, let me walk you back,” he said, motioning in the direction from which they’d come.
“You’re a good man,” she told him with all sincerity.
“And you’re a sweet woman. May I give you some advice?” he asked as they began heading toward the resort lights.
“All right.”
“Whatever happened here to upset you, don’t . . . let it change the way you view yourself. Because everything I see in front of me right now is good, all the way through. You’ve got a good heart, a good soul—I can feel that. So promise me you know just how good you are, Jenna.”
His kind words nearly took her breath away, and compelled her to more honesty. “I do know,” she promised him. “But I also think I’m . . . foolish. It’s not so much what I’ve done here that’s hurting me—it’s that I’ve . . . come to care for someone here who doesn’t care back. And I’m realizing it’s no one’s fault but my own.”
“Ah, a broken heart,” Andre said with consoling eyes. “Well, no wonder kisses weren’t enough to fix it. Hearts take time to heal. And it has to come from within—no one can do it for you.”
“Did your heart heal?” she wondered aloud. “After your wife?”
He seemed to be considering her question as they moved back up the beach, the tide still washing in around their feet, until he finally answered, “Very slowly. Now I am only sad to think what could have been. But I also appreciate what is. I take advantage of every goodness that comes my way—I appreciate every warm breeze, every sunny day, every smile, every walk on the beach with a pretty girl. Don’t let your heart stay broken for long, Jenna. Life is too short to spend it suffering. Instead, live it. Enjoy it.”
She let Andre’s words sink in as they walked; she tried to analyze what they meant to her, right now. Wouldn’t living life, taking advantage of it all, mean enjoying the last fantasies Brent offered her? Wouldn’t it mean enjoying her last times with him, despite the hurt?
And yet, she simply didn’t think she could do that. Sometimes it was best to cut your losses and move on.
Still . . . somehow coming home from this—from Brent and the Hotel Erotique—and getting back to real life, sounded impossible. She knew it was smart to move on from this—she just wasn’t sure how to.
When Jenna returned to her room, she opened the door to find an envelope had been slid underneath. She leaned back her head with a sigh, then stooped to pick it up.
On Hotel Erotique stationery, she found a handwritten note from Brent.
Please don’t go yet. Come see me tomorrow. There will be no one else there, just you and I, Jenna. I just need to see you, talk to you. I’ll be waiting for you at 10 a.m. at the spot marked on the enclosed map. Please come.
Jenna looked at the map of the grounds and found the indicated spot was labeled GARDEN OF EDEN. She’d never even noticed it on the map before and the very name made her suck in her breath. So Brent wanted to meet her in paradise, huh?
She had no idea what he could want at this point.
Maybe to apologize?
If that was his intention—God, it would be embarrassing in a way, since she’d laid herself so bare before him, both literally and figuratively. And what happened today had proven that even if he cared for her, he surely didn’t care as much as she did for him. And she really shouldn’t see him again—it would only increase the gnawing ache she suffered in her chest, stomach, and between her thighs, every time he came to mind.
Still, if he wanted to tell her he was sorry . . . maybe she should let him. It would begin . . . the closure. She’d gotten some closure by going to his beach house this afternoon, but not as much as she’d hoped. And letting him say whatever he wanted to would be better than running away from him and everything she’d let happen here.
And so she would go. Tomorrow. Ten a.m.
As she lay down to sleep a few minutes later, Jenna found herself thinking back over all her experiences at the Hotel Erotique. From nipple rings to shaving her pussy, from stripper shoes to vibrators to orgies, Brent had . . . stripped down every sexual idea she’d had about herself and replaced it with something shocking and new.
And maybe Andre had been right—maybe such wildness had been hiding inside her all along. If it hadn’t, she surely couldn’t have done such things so easily, let herself go so completely. And despite her hurt, some of the encounters she’d had on this island had felt . . . glorious, at least at the time. And she had Brent to thank for that. So that was a reason to go see him tomorrow, too—another bit of closure.
Tomorrow she would say goodbye to him—then she would go home and begin finding out if this had changed her life for the better or the worse.
She barely slept. Too much had happened.
All that remained was recovering from it.
And seeing Brent one last time, of course.
The Garden of Eden appeared, on the map, to be at the far end of the island. So after a room service breakfast, Jenna dressed in the casual skirt and lace-edged tank she’d chosen to travel in and set off, following one of the many shrubbery-lined trails that seemed to crisscross the grounds.
Having seen only a handful of the Hotel Erotique’s fantasy settings, she could only imagine everything she’d missed, every other exotic or historic scenario the guides here created. No wonder Brent had retreated here from his heartbreak and never left. It was truly a fantasy world, where little was real. Despite knowing she wouldn’t want to live in a world this utterly kinky all the time, she could see the appeal of moving to an island where every day was a fantasy, where existence was about pleasure and nothing more.
Finally, she reached the end of the winding path she’d taken across the island’s interior to find an arched opening cutting through a tall hedge of bougainvillea, a sign labeling it as the entry to the Garden of Eden. Taking a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for whatever she was about to discover, she stepped inside.
Only . . . nothing could have prepared her.
She found herself on the edge of a pristine island meadow flourishing with lush flowers and enormous fruit trees. Colorful birds played among their branches, flying from one to another. Nearby lay a gorgeous natural island pool, a sizable waterfall tumbling into it from the hillier land
just beyond—and although the space felt enclosed and private, a soft breeze wafted through the air, cooling her after her long walk. She’d never been anywhere that, indeed, felt closer to paradise.
Yet it was only when her gaze traveled lower that what she saw stole her breath. In the shade of a large banyan tree, Brent lay naked and gloriously erect on a brass bed festooned with flowering vines and draped in white satin sheets. The moment her eyes met his, violins began to play.
And tears came to Jenna’s eyes.
Brent had finally given her what she’d wanted all along—satin sheets and violins. But it meant so much more now than it could have then.
The logical, self-protecting part of her wanted to stand strong—to make him find a way to fix what had happened yesterday, or to at least admit he was wrong.
But the Jenna she’d discovered here at the Hotel Erotique, the Jenna who loved sex and got weak in the knees every time she saw Brent, the Jenna who couldn’t resist romance . . . simply went to him.
“Hey,” he said, soft and low, wearing a small, sexy smile as she approached the bed. The only other sounds were the distant waterfall and the soft violins playing . . . somewhere.
“Hi,” she gently replied.
He looked briefly like he might apologize to her or say something profound, but she could almost feel him thinking the same thing she was—that maybe none of that mattered right now in this moment that felt truly magical. Finally, he simply rasped, “Come to me, Jenna.”
She responded by removing her top over her head to reveal a lacy yellow bra underneath, then let her skirt fall to the grass, uncovering matching panties. Brent growled at the sight of her as she approached the bed.
Things could have gone fast then, yet they turned . . . painstakingly slow. Brent took his time, touching her face, kissing her lips, letting his hands glide over her body. Every caress skimmed across her skin like velvet.
She touched him, too, just as slowly, exploring his body more thoroughly than ever before. She slid her palms across his broad shoulders, the firm muscles of his arms. She curled her fingernails into the smattering of dark hair on his chest. She kissed him there—over and over—tasting the salt on his skin. They were no Adam and Eve, and this was far from being original sin—and yet, as they touched each other, it felt . . . new.
When Brent finally peeled away her bra and began to rain kisses onto her breasts, she basked in the soft pleasure. And as he kissed his way tenderly down her stomach, she ached for him in her very soul.
Watching Brent draw down her panties as violins played, Jenna tossed her head back in abandon, soaking up the island breeze, luxuriating in the moment. Then she met Brent’s dark gaze and parted her legs for him.
He kissed his way slowly up her inner thigh, and by the time he lowered his mouth gently to her clit, she thought she’d die from anticipation. She let out a moan, lifting, offering herself to him.
Brent met her gaze as he licked deeply into her, wanting to taste her, wanting to make her feel his tongue more intensely than ever. For him, this wasn’t fucking—it was making love. And maybe it had been that way for a while now with Jenna, but suddenly he understood.
He understood that she’d been right about why he’d been so committed to freeing her this past week. He’d wanted to save her from what he’d never been able to save Deena from: a mediocre appreciation of sex.
But he also understood that it had quickly become much more than that. As he delivered passionate, openmouthed kisses to her glistening pink folds, he felt the same profound connection he’d experienced with her soon after that first night in the gazebo. The more time he spent with Jenna, the more that connection grew.
He understood that she was honest and outspoken, smart and funny, entrenched in history and her work, and extremely practical and logical—and he loved it all. But he loved just as much how cute and playful she could be, how hot and sexy she became when aroused, and how she’d learned to open herself up to daring new sex with him.
While he might have compared her to Deena in the back of his mind upon first meeting her, she’d turned out to be very different—and, he now had to admit to himself, so much more compatible with him than Deena had ever been. He’d genuinely loved Deena, but that was long in the past—and now he wondered if perhaps that hadn’t been more of a . . . youthful love. He knew sometimes that lasted and sometimes it didn’t, but either way, he found himself drawn to Jenna from a more secure position of experience and maturity.
He made love to her with his mouth, soon suckling on her beautifully engorged clit, enraptured in her sounds of pleasure—until he heard her moans growing deeper, more desperate, and just when he knew she would come soon, she did. She exploded into orgasm, sobbing her joy so emphatically that it made his aching cock even harder.
Rising up, he was just about to slide it inside her—when she surprised him by lifting onto her knees as well and playfully shoving him to his back on the bed. “Remember when you told me I was a woman in control?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m taking it—now.” And with that, she captured his stiff dick in her hand and went down on him, all in one swift move.
A startled, pleasured groan erupted from his throat as he watched her. Jesus God—she was shockingly good at sucking his cock. He let his eyes fall shut, lost in the hot delights her warm, wet mouth delivered. “So good, baby,” he breathed. “So damn good.”
And then she shocked him even more. Upon releasing him from her mouth, she ran the tip of his shaft over her prettily pointed nipples, wetting them that way, clearly lost in pleasures of her own, which thrilled him to the core. She used his cock to caress her ample breasts further, raking his length across the soft pillows of flesh, and then—mmm, yes—she let it rest in the valley between her tits, using her hands to wrap them around it.
“Jesus,” he growled—and then he couldn’t hold back; he fucked her tits.
And she responded by angling her mouth downward so that the head of his cock concluded each hot drive just within her lips.
God, she was astounding. He knew that already, but she kept proving it over and over. “So fucking hot, honey,” he rasped. “Such beautiful tits. Such a soft, wet mouth. Such a perfect lover.”
They moved together that way, Brent floating in a heavenly obscene bliss, until finally she released his shaft—but wasted no time straddling him, then impaling herself on it.
“Oh God,” Jenna groaned, taking him deeply up into her pussy. Like this, it always felt as if his majestic cock stretched through her whole body. “So big,” she purred. And then she began to ride him. She wasn’t sure what had come over her—but somehow Brent’s willingness to give her what she’d asked for today was inspiring her, making her wilder than ever.
They writhed together in a hot, grinding rhythm that made Jenna feel like the naughty girl Brent had taught her she could be. She didn’t hesitate to caress her own breasts when the urge struck, meeting his gaze to see the fire there. And she didn’t hesitate, moments later, to bend over him in the bed, dangling her tits in his face to say, “Suck them—hard.”
The moment he obeyed her breathy command, the pleasure blasted from her breasts straight to her cunt and she rocked against him, grinding harder, deeper—until, oh God, another bright, flashing climax overtook her. She cried out as the mind-numbing pulses radiated from her clit out through her arms and legs, fingers and toes.
“Mmm,” she moaned when it was done, letting herself rest on his chest, his erection inside her.
“Was it good, baby?” he asked low in her ear.
“So good,” she whispered—then she rested there for a long, idyllic moment, listening to the birds and the waterfall, and the violins. “Where are they?” she asked then. “The violins?”
“The quartet from the masquerade is on the other side of those bushes,” Brent said softly, pointing in the distance. And she smiled into his chest, thinking he truly was a man who knew how to make fantas
ies come true.
Once she got her strength back, she lifted her head from his chest and continued being this most aggressive version of herself—and loving the freedom Brent had given her to do so. “Now I want something you’ve taught me to appreciate far more than I ever did before.”
“Name it, sunshine.”
“Please fuck me hard, Brent,” she said. “Make me scream.”
As the words left her, she felt unashamed, simply joyful, cherishing the pleasure this man brought her. And then—wow—a more profound truth struck. Before Brent, feeling so free and unashamed had been something she could only fantasize about, or maybe wish for in a dark, hidden part of her mind. But Brent had made it real.
In response to her request, Brent turned her away from him, on her knees, instructing her to hold on to the curving brass headrails. When his hands molded to her hips, she braced herself, and then—yes—the hot, hard entry made her cry out. Mmm, God, he always felt especially big in this position, too, and as he began to fuck her, indeed making her sob with every pummeling stroke, she could barely stand the shocking joy of it.
Both of them moaned as he drove into her slickness, again, again, leaving Jenna replete with pleasure—full with it, as full as she could be—until Brent began to rub one fingertip over the fissure of her ass and she realized she was wrong; there was still more pleasure to be had.
Her face flushed and her whole body perspired as Brent slid his finger into her ass. Oh God, yes. She heard herself yowling, felt herself begin to tremble.
“I love to fuck you, baby,” Brent was murmuring, his voice deep and raspy. “I love to fuck this sweet little pussy. And I love to fuck this tight little ass.”
“Yes! Yes!” she was screaming. It was all too much. Too much sensation to bear. Every cell of her body throbbed, and she needed to come like she needed to breathe. “Rub me,” she begged. “Please, Brent, rub me!”
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