Random Acts of Fantasy (16 page)

Was that the point? Trevor’s lips circled around my left nipple and I gasped as he stroked below while suckling above, making my pussy walls clamp hard around his finger. Finger
s
. Now there were two and his free hand cupped my ass and played lightly with the puckered pink skin of my anus, the thrill of the
zing!
making me want more.

Where Trevor was tall and broad and golden, Joe was olive-toned and tight, compact and dark, with brooding eyes focused solely on me. Turning me around, Trevor splayed my hands against the shower wall and leaned against my back, two-thirds of my body blanketed by the wall of his front, and he whispered, “No tie-dye sessions in here.”

My brain registered the tease as he slipped in me, my muscled walls clenching with the giggle, the whoop of a gasp from surprise choking my throat as I found the pulse of the shower spray, my wet hair, his hot mouth on my neck and thick cock in me all too much.

And then.

Joe appeared beneath me, slick and wet like a swimmer, his hands parting my legs, mouth seeking my clit. What? This wasn’t really happening, right? But oh—oh, that mouth confirmed that this was very much true as he teased my clit with tight, light strokes that lapped at my need, my building climax at the ready as Trevor impaled me with long, deep strokes from behind, one hand pinching a nipple with just the right calibrated perfection to make my entire body shimmer and shake.

They knew me
soooo
well.

“Oh, God, you’re so hot,” I murmured, Trevor’s front slamming against my ass as his breathing shifted, and Joe’s tongue became more insistent, moving in wide circles punctuated by a hummingbird touch right on the center of my clit, each layer bringing me closer and closer.

Trevor’s body went taut and he leaned down to bite my earlobe, the pressure and pain maddening, making me fuse and clamp instantly, bucking and screaming with the pleasure of a thousand climaxes. He pumped hard three or four more times and went tight, his own orgasm pouring into me, as Joe pulled back and used his fingers to stroke me to a second wave that made my legs go weak, sliding down the shower wall into a loose pile of Darla, half covering a panting Joe, with Trevor removing the magic condom he always seemed to make materialize and returning in seconds.

We curled up into a little ball of perfect on the shower floor and let the water wash over us.

It was like a kind of baptism.

In Eden.

Joe

There is no problem that can’t be solved with shower sex.

None. If I could fuck all the professors who give me Bs and have a shower sex session I’m sure I’d make law review editor.

I just…Darla. Trevor. Us. The three of us, here on Eden, in this freaky automated, antiquated building being paid gobs of money to—

Have shower sex.

See? Perfection.

But I don’t believe in perfection. Perfection is what you get when you over-plan. Overanalyze. Over-function. It’s a feature of being ambitious and on top of every detail. Perfection doesn’t just happen.

It’s a result. Not a state.

So my radar was way, way on high about this place, even now, sitting in the bottom of a shower that looked like something from a sheik’s mistress’s cottage in Abu Dhabi.

Perfect situations have to be orchestrated by someone. So who was the someone who thought that inviting the band, and Darla and Amy, to perform here was a good idea?

And then there was Suzy.

That was a big fucking wrench to throw in the works. Pardon me if my hackles were up, even as our asses were indented by the shower tiles as water flowed through faucets that looked like pure gold and we rested like something out of…

Eden.

Okay. I get it. The island is some sort of haven from real life. But real life is nice and pragmatic. You get surprises but there’s a baseline of a game, a finite game, that you can play if you’re smart enough to figure out the rules.

What were the rules here?

Darla peeled her nice, full breasts off my thigh. I missed her heat, her softness, and as she stood she yawned, giving a display of Rubenesque beauty that made my cock twitch to life. It had only been a few hours since the airplane sex, so
what the fuck
?

I was in rare form.

“I’m going to get us something to drink,” she announced, padding out, her hips swishing in that go-to way that didn’t need five-inch heels, didn’t need a well-trained runway walk. She had the gait of someone who knew herself and who greeted real life with passion and—

Goddammit.

Why hadn’t she said “I love you” back? At the gate, before we boarded the plane? Suzy had distracted the fuck out of me until this point, when the thought bombarded me. Her nasty crack about sex and Trevor hadn’t rolled off me like I’d pretended. Faking my emotions was my default, so I’d been able to see she was scared and brushed it off.

But now? I sat up and put my head between my knees, letting the hot water pour over the back of my neck. Something welled up in me, not quite tears—fuck that noise, I don’t cry—but a feeling that hurt.

She didn’t feel it back. Darla would have said it if she did. That was her way.

Instead, she left me hanging, and that was what hurt so much. The not knowing had been bad enough, the months of torture where I tried to figure out who I was in this bizarre little club we’d created, and then the slow unraveling of my feelings.

And I’d taken that shot. Gone for it. Let it come out, and maybe I had lousy timing, but it still counted.

It still fucking counted.

She came back with three bottles of sparkling water and handed them off, one eyebrow turning down as she caught my eye. Darla could read me. I didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think. We’d just had a fantastic, amazing, fucking awesome sexual experience, and now I was a little wimp sitting here nursing my
feewings
.

Because I’d let myself have some for her. And, worse, told her.

That little tendril of hope that I’d nursed all these months against my better judgment turned out to be a rope.

And I’d just hung myself with it.

Fuck.

Chapter Eight

Trevor

Day two on the island was turning out to be about as boring as any gig. I’d spent most of the morning with Joe, Sam, and Liam doing nothing but staring at the un-windowed walls of the recording studio/practice room in my suite, nailing down sound equipment, rhythms, new songs, and getting our instruments used to the Caribbean ocean air.

Which we weren’t experiencing ourselves, being trapped in the dimly lit room while our girlfriends wandered the island, probably on the beach in their bikinis (or—
drool
—in the clothing-optional section) drinking something sweet and intoxicating.

Like the taste of Darla.

Work was work, though. We weren’t being paid ten grand each to fuck women and get drunk.

That
was a gig we could all get behind, though.

A parade of assistants came through our suite, asking questions about our lineup, explaining our audience, and giving us the basics on how this would all work. One ninety-minute set. Outdoors. At about 10 p.m., so the crowd would be liquored up. Dance floor around a pool, so we could play a few faster-paced songs that would get people on their feet.

Other than that, a perfectly normal gig.

With one exception.

A lot of audience members might be in costume.

“Costume?” I’d asked one of the assistants, a man who seemed to be my dad’s age, but who looked more like he could be Joe’s dad. Dark and swarthy, with thick soccer legs and bushy eyebrows. Like Chris Pine’s dad, Greek style.

“Costume, yes.” A polite smile. “We ask that you not comment on any of the forms of dress, nor on the activities that take place on the island. Our guests are here expressly for freedom of movement and activity.”

Liam cocked an eyebrow and lowered it quickly, his face a careful mask. “You mean like dressing up at a ComiCon?” The way he asked the question told me Liam knew exactly what the guy meant, and it wasn’t a damn gamer’s convention.

“I mean that we have a sex-positive attitude on Eden, and you may see people exhibiting behaviors that would not be considered within the range of acceptability in other settings.”

Oh, he was smooth. In other words: this was a sex resort. I was right! Damn. Too bad I hadn’t said anything to the guys when I did my research and had my suspicions. Then again, if I had, would everyone had taken the gig? 

Of course we would have.

Joe opened his mouth to say something, then shut it fast, like a nutcracker popping a walnut.

The assistant—Stavros? I think that was his name—gave us each a long, searching look meant to communicate without words. And then his smile was broad and wide. “As you know, the contract you signed included a non-disclosure agreement. The master of the island selected Random Acts of Crazy for your…ability to fit in seamlessly here at Eden.”

Huh?

“Seamlessly?” Liam’s laughter was so close—his voice held back very little. I kicked his ankle, hard, and he stumbled back, grimacing. Good. Pain was better than fucking this gig up.

Stavros’s eyes went hard. “You’re here to entertain, but you are also here to participate and learn what you can about yourselves and others. That is what we do here. An invitation to Eden is an honor, and one that is rarely extended.” His eyes softened. “Your group caught the attention of someone who deemed you worthy of the master’s inclusion. It is for you to take full advantage of all that this means.”

And then he walked out without another word.

Joe turned slowly toward me, eyes narrowed. Sam looked like a fish on the beach, dying, his mouth moving up and down. Liam rubbed his ankle and swore under his breath, shooting me daggers with his eyes.

“What. The. Hell. Was. That?” Joe asked.

“I think we’ve just been schooled,” I said, sighing. “This is a sex resort. A pretty…interesting one.”

Sam began to laugh, hands on his hips, his chest heaving with the chuckling. “We…I’m…I brought my girlfriend…oh, God. Sex resort.” He couldn’t stop, bending over with a fit of the giggles.

Everyone had gone to bed early last night and had room service, so we hadn’t wandered much. Left that to Amy and Darla, actually. I checked my phone. 11:16 a.m. They’d been gone for about two hours.

“Amy and Darla!” Joe said, snickering. “They’re exploring the resort and—”

“Oh, God,” we all said in unison. Sam, Joe and I grabbed our phones and—

No service.

“No bars!” Joe called out.

No way to find them.

Liam laughed harder, still rubbing his ankle.

“Well, guys,” he declared. “We’re all about to get one hell of an education. And get paid some damn fine money to do it.” He clapped me on the back and looked at Joe and Sam. “Too bad you all have balls and chains.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Time for me to see what I can score at an ‘anything goes’ sex resort. Better get the mega-pack of condoms at the gift shop.”

The recording studio door clanged shut as Liam let himself out, leaving Joe, Sam, and me to stare at each other, a little burned by his comment. It’s not like we were here to fuck like bunnies, but being tied down, well…

Yeah.

Let’s just say we all probably wished we’d been invited to Eden a year ago or so.

“We need to find them. They have no idea what this place is,” Sam said ominously.

“They’re about to learn,” Joe said.

Darla

We’d woken up to paradise. Seriously.

The guys had gotten down to work (after a little morning delight that made the shower scene seem like a peck on the cheek) and left me and Amy to go off and learn more about Eden. A tiny espresso bar right at the end of our hallway had caught us off guard, as if it materialized because we wished it would, and the attendant gave us lattes that were head and shoulders above anything we could get at the better Cambridge coffeehouses.

Much less pencil-shaving gas station coffee.

“How was your room?” Amy murmured before sipping, then groaned with pleasure at the taste. I took a sip, because if I was holding something that tasted that good, I needed to get in on the action.

Chocolatey-nutty-creamy yumminess that was almost as good as my morning orgasm greeted my tongue. I was ruined.

My coffee center had just been reprogrammed and now I was an Eden coffee addict.

“We can never, ever leave,” I hissed to Amy, who nodded somberly. Tears almost filled our eyes at the thought of not being able to drink these lattes ever again.

“I would give up sex with Sam for—”

“Ever?” I gasped.

“—a week to have this.” She sniffed and cuddled her cup between her breasts, stroking the outside like a baby’s head. I think she even huffed it a little.