What She Needs (25 page)

Despite that, when the band eased into some soft reggae—“Is This Love,” a Bob Marley song she knew only because Shannon had gone through a Rasta phase in college—she couldn’t have been more surprised when the singer strolled slowly between the tables until he was crooning directly to her, the lyrics informing her he wanted to love her and treat her right. Her whole body went warm—partially with embarrassment, but the heat reached between her legs, too. When he lifted her hand for a kiss, her skin prickled, and the sensation skittered all the way down her arm and into her breasts. Oh my.

It was a relief when he moved on—even though she knew she had nothing to be self-conscious about. Sometimes it was hard to remember that everyone here had come for sex and was doing it with strangers—so having a handsome black man sing a romantic song to her was hardly a big deal.

Except that . . . well, this just shored up her fears. That she could be free and wild with Brent, but inside she remained the same old Jenna who shied away from sexual situations until she was deeply involved in a relationship. And now, after a few days and nights with Brent, she knew something else, too—what she’d thought was good sex for her entire adult life had actually been . . . pretty average. Even if, looking back, she could remember particular moments of glory, none held a candle to the level of pleasure she’d experienced here, with Brent Powers.

The band went on break when her food arrived, which bummed her out a little—her distraction was gone. Yet she’d already resumed being a little depressed, so she decided she’d just eat her chicken sandwich, then mope back to her room. Maybe she’d just be old Jenna tonight. Not that her old self moped—she never had, actually, because before coming here she’d truly been convinced she was happy with her sex life. But the old Jenna
was
content to spend an evening with a good book, and maybe that was the thing to do here. Quit pushing herself to stay “up” for every second of this. It was okay not to be immersed in sensuality every minute. In fact, it was probably
smart
. Soon life would go back to normal—so perhaps it was prudent to keep some aspects of it normal even while she was here, so the transition wouldn’t feel so shocking.

She’d just lifted her wineglass for a final sip when she looked up to see her sexy Jamaican heading her way. Oh boy. Her heart beat too fast, but she met his gaze and tried not to be nervous. She wished she felt as brave with him as when they’d danced together, but it seemed her most recent emotions with Brent colored her reactions to this man, too.

“I’m happy to see you back this evening, pretty lady,” he told her, his expressive brown eyes saying more. Sensing his honest admiration helped her relax a little.

Still, she tried to play it cool—since, in fact, she hadn’t returned because of him. “I enjoy your music,” she said, then gazed out over the setting sun and the blaze of colors it sent streaking across the sky. “And you can’t beat the view.”

When she looked back up, his eyes remained firmly planted on
her
. “The view is pleasant for me, too.”

Oh boy. His smooth-as-silk voice made her chest spasm lightly.

Just then, he glanced over his shoulder to where the other band members were reconvening on the deck’s small corner stage. “Ah, I waited too late to say hello—I must go, but you have a lovely night.”

“Well . . . thank you. For coming over,” she said, stuck for how to reply.

“The next song is for you,” he told her in parting, and she thought,
Wow—okay, yes, there are officially sexual vibes passing between us.
Which felt a little weird. She’d never been attracted to a man anything like this one before. He was a musician. He was Jamaican. She suspected she understood even less about
his
world than she did about Brent’s.

When the steel drums began again, she recognized the song—the reggae version of Peter Frampton’s “Baby, I Love Your Way.” Her calypso singer’s voice delivered the sensual lyrics with a sexy lilt she felt in her panties, especially when their eyes met.

Jenna remained at her table for a while longer, enjoying the music and the night, and all in all, by the time she departed, she felt better—about everything. So she was madly in love with Brent—big deal.

Well, all right, yes, it
was
a big deal. Because whether it was love or just infatuation, it could still totally consume her. But she had to be practical here. She’d known Brent a week—which meant that when she went home, she’d get over him. That simple. And maybe her fears about being able to get wild only with him were wrong—maybe she’d find out she could be sexually open with other men, too. After all, she was suddenly attracted to a Jamaican singer; so maybe she’d soon discover she was attracted to all
sorts
of new guys, and maybe they’d be guys who would inspire true sexual freedom in her and who would appreciate and understand if she shared with them the things she’d done here. Maybe, maybe, maybe. It was all uncertain—but for now it was . . . hope. Hope that she’d leave here with more than wild memories and a broken heart.

So that was it. While she was at the Hotel Erotique, she’d indulge in whatever Brent wanted—she’d give him all of herself. And when it was over, she’d be sad—but ready to move on with men, and sex, and life itself.

 

 

When she awoke the following morning to find an envelope under her door, she was eager to learn about her next fantasy. What she’d found, however, was another handwritten letter from Brent that had nothing to do with that.

Despite the thoughtful invitation, Jenna couldn’t help being disappointed. Having quickly gotten used to a steady diet of kinky fantasies, she was ready for the next one and didn’t want any more recovery time. She wanted to see her man, wanted to see what he’d planned next for her.

But at least the letter meant he was thinking about her, too. Which, despite the differences between them, made her heart flutter in her chest. So if he’d been considerate enough to plan a relaxing afternoon for her, she’d certainly show up for it.

And if it was as lush and beautiful as he said, maybe it would be just the thing to take her mind off her emotions. After all, hadn’t she come here to bask in the sun? Even if she’d ended up getting much more in the bargain, once she managed to clear her mind of sex and Brent for a moment, the Grotto actually sounded like a lovely place.

Of course, she was aching for him by the time she picked up the carafe of erotic rum punch he’d suggested. It was hard to believe how fast she’d grown accustomed to naughty sex.

But she would drink her punch and luxuriate by the Grotto, and . . . maybe be bold enough to go topless and surprise them both. Well, if the other women he’d mentioned weren’t around, of course. She would love telling Brent later that she had, just to see the look on his face.

 

 

Brent waited patiently at the Grotto—although not out in the open. He’d dragged a lounge chair back into the bushes and wore a Hotel Erotique baseball cap, pulled low over his eyes.

A day had passed since he’d seen Jenna, but he was still reliving their most recent night together. The truth was—her dungeon fantasy had gotten out of hand. He’d gotten too caught up in the role, in the power struggle, and taken things too far. As a facilitator, he’d never lost control of a situation before,
ever
—so he wasn’t sure how to explain it to himself. But she’d handled it like a trouper—she’d turned out to be so much stronger than probably either of them could have guessed. There was a lot more to Jenna Banks than he’d expected.

As for taking her back to his house . . . that part of the night also left him shaking his head. What the fuck had
that
been about? He concluded that he’d just been brain-dead after the dungeon scene. He’d followed urges without thinking. He’d simply . . . wanted to keep being close to her, not ready for the night to end.

Which was stupid, stupid, stupid. And he was getting stupider with her all the time.

He couldn’t help wondering what the other facilitators had thought when there had obviously been more going on between the two of them than a normal dungeon fantasy. Would he lose their respect? Would everyone suddenly think it was okay to get involved with a guest?

So he was creating problems with her here, multiple ones. Damn it.

Of course, he kept telling himself he was getting too close, feeling too much, but did he manage to get it under control? Not very well.

Yet he’d decided there was only one way to look at this. She had another week of fantasies, so during that time, he’d try to make the relationship less personal. And if he kept fucking up—well, it was only a week. And then she’d be gone and things would get back to normal.

God, why had Mariel had to be called away
now
?

But then he drew in his breath at the thought. If Mariel’s father hadn’t suffered that heart attack, Brent wouldn’t know Jenna—she’d be just another girl by the pool. She’d have convinced Mariel she didn’t want any fantasies, so he wouldn’t even have encountered her as a facilitator. She wouldn’t be growing, freeing herself, replacing those old, unhealthy perceptions of sex with new, better ones.

And as for him—well, for him the effects of her stay wouldn’t be nearly as profound, but if things hadn’t happened this way, he would have missed out on knowing someone whose company he enjoyed very much, and on a woman who, it turned out, excited the hell out of him. And after fifteen years here, that was saying a lot.

In fact, he was excited right now, his dick making a tent in his cargo shorts. Because it was time for Jenna’s next fantasy—only she didn’t know it.

Unlike her previous fantasies, however, he was simply here to privately observe and see how she reacted—not to take part. And though the opportunity for this fantasy had come up only yesterday, he thought the timing was good. This was a great point for him to step back, to let her spread her sexual wings without him there to push her.

Just then, a striking blonde in a pink bikini entered the Grotto area—and he could see immediately that she was just as beautiful as her pictures, and sexy as hell. He hoped Jenna would feel the same way.

He knew from Roxanne—the only female guide on the premises this week, who’d been too overbooked to take Jenna—that Chrissy was a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer on a fast track to the DA’s chair who, despite being straight, had long fantasized about being with other girls. But her social circle didn’t offer the opportunity, nor did she feel she could risk her professional reputation at home where so many people knew her.

She’d come here strictly for girl play, and so far had done very well in her first two fantasies. In one, Kirsten had guided her through some soft experimentation on the beach; then yesterday she’d lived out a courtroom fantasy, being seduced by two powerful women, the opposing counsel on a pretend case she’d just won, getting it on atop the judge’s bench in the resort’s on-site courtroom.

Now it was Chrissy’s turn to seduce. She knew only that she was supposed to be at the Grotto in her bikini, that at least one of the other parties didn’t know a fantasy was taking place, and that this was her chance to try her hand at tempting another woman into sex. Also on hand a little later would be Natasha, a facilitator who would keep things on track for both guests if required and also partake if it worked out that way.

As for
Jenna’s
progress, there was no more discipline needed. She’d learned to give and to take when commanded, allowing Brent to acclimate her to wilder sex than she’d ever had, and teaching her to accept and follow her body’s desires.

Of course, inducing her to obey him, while being a necessary evil that he’d personally enjoyed, had also reinforced her tendencies to please people, particularly him. So this fantasy—other than the added benefit of getting him out of the picture—was about encouraging her to be bolder, on her own. To respond to pleasure with ease. To
choose
to give it in return.

If she indeed followed her impulses, he’d know his tutoring was succeeding. After which he could advance her further, giving her new types of fantasies based more on her personal tastes—even if the actual
content
of the fantasies would be designed to continue expanding her limits.

And if more discipline came into play later, so be it. At least one of Jenna’s future fantasies contained such elements because he’d been unsure where they’d stand at this point and he’d, frankly, underestimated how malleable she’d be. But for today, that didn’t matter. Today was all about hoping Little Mary Sunshine was ready for a full-blown lesbian encounter. Hell. His cock was as hard as the rock walls of the Grotto, stiffening almost painfully when he envisioned what he hoped was about to happen here. Ah well—that was apparently how things would be for him until Jenna’s stay was over. He was going to enjoy monitoring this fantasy far too much.