What She Needs (29 page)

He’d felt much more in control of the whole situation after managing to keep his cock in his pants today at the Grotto, but then—shit—he’d had to go writing that note, telling her he’d imagine her using the toy. If she’d simply used it by herself, on her own, he’d have felt one step closer to making her newfound naughtiness independent of him—but as it was, just the opposite had happened.

Well, he’d have to think about how to change that—but for now, the horny guy in him just played the video again and got a monster hard-on as he watched it a second time.

After which he finally returned to Danny and cold barbeque with an apology—but no matter what he did after that, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jenna.

 

 

Hours later, Brent lay in the hammock next to his bungalow, listening to the waves crash on the shore and watching as Jenna fucked herself over and over again with the toy he’d sent her. He felt like an eighteen-year-old kid seeing his first porn movie—for some reason, he couldn’t get enough. She was so . . . innocent. And yet not. She somehow straddled both ends of the spectrum.

The truth was, he wanted to call her, or just go to her room. He wanted to fuck her brains out. He wanted to give her what she’d begged for today.
Begged
.
Jenna
. She’d gotten so good, so fast, at expressing her desires. “My dirty, dirty girl,” he whispered toward the tiny screen on his phone.

He wanted to fuck her tonight—but he couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

Tomorrow she’d have another fantasy. And he’d be involved—yet so would others, so at least it wouldn’t be . . . intimate.

Then again, somehow the harem fantasy had turned intimate between them, and even the dungeon fantasy, by the time it was over, had felt very much like they were the only two in the room. But he’d at least
try
to make tomorrow’s fantasy different. He was giving her something he thought would appeal to everything inside her—but in the end, this time, he wouldn’t give her . . . him. He’d just decided that part, right now. He wouldn’t fuck her tomorrow. He’d keep reinforcing that this wasn’t about
him
—it was only about
her
. Even if it killed him.

And it might, he decided as he finally unzipped his pants and took out his straining cock.

Dick in hand, he watched her again, fucking herself to ecstasy—the only difference now being that he came
with
her this time.

And then—hell, he knew he shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t respond at all, but she
had
opened herself to him,
so
much,
so
completely. She’d put herself out there in a way that . . . well, it had to be scary for her, and he was so enormously proud of her for pushing her fears aside time after time. So he sent her a simple text message:

But this had to be the end of the personal stuff between them. It had to.

Jenna sat on the isolated beach at the far end of the island, her pussy humming with anticipation. Wearing the emerald green colonial-style dress she’d found in the trunk, she pulled up the skirt to keep from getting too hot, then glanced back down at the invitation she’d received earlier. She wasn’t exactly sure what would happen here, but she was already entranced. This was the first fantasy she’d faced without fear—only excitement. The eighteenth-century was one of her favorite time periods, and she was particularly immersed in the era right now—back in real life—while she penned her pirate anthology. Had Brent planned something piratical for her? She didn’t know—but couldn’t wait to find out.

And she also just plain couldn’t wait to see him. For hours last night she’d worried he wasn’t going to respond to her naughty video and she’d even begun to regret how audacious she’d been. But then her phone had finally rung, and she’d gotten that delicious text that had made her hot and wet all over again.

She really felt a bit like a colonial castaway in her fancy frock. Although no underwear other than a corset had been provided, she was well able to imagine that if she were shipwrecked, she’d quickly abandon most of the heavy undergarments of the period anyway. The antique-looking corset shoved her breasts upward, but didn’t cover them, leaving deep cleavage atop the dress’s low-cut bodice. Trimmed in white lace, the dress wasn’t completely accurate for the time, but close enough, with a black ribbon crisscrossing down the front. Buttons spanned the back seam of the dress and she’d been unable to do them all the way up, but the dress still held together well enough, albeit loosely at the shoulders. Narrow sleeves extended just past her elbows, from which several inches of white lace drooped prettily.

It felt odd but somehow exotic to be wearing such a formal gown while barefoot, digging her toes into the sand. Sitting in the shade of a large banyan tree, she reached for a banana from the pile of fruit next to the trunk, also containing plums, mangoes, and oranges, along with a knife—which made her grin, wondering if she’d also been so fortunate to have
that
wash up onto shore with her. Her convenient shipwreck luck had also provided an open, corked bottle of wine, so she washed down her banana with it.

It was as she took a last sip that she glanced up to see the most amazing vision—a dark wooden pirate ship had just come into view in the distance, complete with the Jolly Roger flying high! The sight sent chills skittering up her arms and down her spine—this suddenly felt much more real, as if she’d truly stepped back in time.

As the pirate ship slowly neared the shore, her heartbeat kicked up—she wasn’t sure if it was due to seeing pirates or . . . seeing Brent. Not being with him—
really
being with him—for two days had felt like an eternity. Even if last night had helped. She bit her lip, remembering his message and picturing him getting himself off while watching her. The emotions that had rushed through her had run so much deeper than a mere physical attraction.

She knew it was true—because she felt both giddy and miserable when she thought about it.

But as she’d been telling herself for the past couple of days, now was not the time to brood over it. Now was the time to enjoy him—every inch of him.
Do not sulk. Instead, soak him up. Take him inside you, both physically and mentally.
She was simply in too deep here to run from the feelings or push them away now—her emotions were tied up intrinsically with everything else taking place at the Hotel Erotique.

Her heart was in her throat by the time anchors were dropped over the sides of the ship. And wow, it was just hitting her that the resort had its own real, full-size Spanish galleon! A moment later, a smaller rowboat was lowered to the water for bringing the passengers—in this case, her pirate!—to shore.

The galleon was anchored far enough away that she couldn’t clearly see the smaller vessel’s inhabitants until it came bounding over the waves breaking just off the beach. And then her heart
really
did flip-flops in her chest. Oh my. The boat held three hot, sexy men all in pirate garb, and one of them was indeed Brent. She rose to go meet them as the rowboat glided up onto the sand, and soon all three pirates marched toward her.

Brent wore a long navy blue captain’s coat, no shirt underneath, with historically accurate-looking breeches and leather knee boots. A strip of red cloth was tied around his head and he sported a day’s dark stubble on his chin; a long dagger hung from his belt as he strode up the beach with authority. And
mmm
, Brent did pirate very well.

She barely even looked at the two men flanking him, but as they grew close, she recognized the long-haired one as dangerous Zack from the dungeon and was pretty sure she’d seen the other—with dark, messy hair and a profusion of muscles—somewhere here, but she couldn’t quite place him.

Only once they got close enough to make eye contact, however, did Jenna remember that they were
pirates
and that, in terms of the fantasy, she probably shouldn’t be tramping so happily toward them. Unless . . . “Have you come to rescue me?” she asked hopefully, falling into her character with sudden and shocking ease.

Brent’s eyes narrowed on her darkly, and she sensed—with still more excitement—that she would soon be ravished. “What have we here?” he asked, looking downright predatory. “We come looking for treasure and get a comely wench in the bargain.” He spoke with a light pirate’s accent, and—oh boy—even that made her cunt weep with lust.

“A wench, sir?” she asked, acting offended. “I will thank you to remember you’re addressing a lady.”

Brent let out a hearty pirate’s laugh, but she could see in his eyes his true amusement over how she’d warmed to her role, even embellishing it. But the dress had told her she was surely a member of upper-class society.

“A lady, are you?” he asked, sounding insultingly skeptical.

She added more details to her persona. “Indeed, sir. I was sailing to meet my husband at his sugarcane plantation in Jamaica. He is very wealthy and will reward you handsomely for my safe delivery there.”

“Well,
my lady
,” he said, injecting sarcasm into the words, “be a good wench and we may consent to drop you in Jamaica, but I can’t promise you’ll be
safe
in our hands.”

She pressed a palm to her chest in faux shock. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

“We’ve been at sea a long while and there’s something we’re in far greater need of than gold or silver right now.”

She played dumb, but also began to act uneasy. “Well, whatever form of payment you desire, my husband will gladly give it. Name your price.”

“Our price, wench, rests between your creamy thighs.”

At this, Jenna’s pussy swelled and her breasts heaved lightly against the tight corset shoving them upward. Gasping, she feigned pure horror. “You—you cannot mean . . . to defile me.”

Brent’s gaze sparkled on her beneath the hot sun. “Depends on how you look at it, I suppose. What you call defiling we see as pleasuring. And we do indeed intend to pleasure you,
deeply
, my lady. With all the cock you can handle.”

When Jenna sucked in her breath this time, she wasn’t faking it. She’d just
had
to tell him yesterday how much she craved his cock, tossing around the word like it was light and casual, hadn’t she? In an instant, however, she understood that she was to get way more than just
his
cock in this fantasy—and that remained daunting.
Very
daunting. Her tight corset was making it difficult to breathe.

“What do you say to
that
, my lady?” he finally asked, his expression threatening. Even though she knew he was simply playing a role, her stomach churned lightly—because he’d been playing a role in the dungeon, too, but it had also seemed very real. She had to wonder—her trepidation returning, damn it—what her commanding guide had in store for her now.

When she didn’t reply, he went on. “My crew and I will gladly deliver you to your husband—all
you
need to do is spread your legs.”

“No,” she said, “I cannot.” Then she turned away. She didn’t exactly mean the words yet she wasn’t sure she wanted what he had planned for her here, either. Meaning . . . more than him—other guys, too. Inside her. And she’d ultimately reaped pleasure from that in the dungeon, but it hadn’t come easily. Perhaps it had been stupid of her to look so merrily forward to this—thinking only of Brent, Brent, Brent. She’d somehow forgotten to see the big picture here.