What She Needs (34 page)

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.”

He glanced her way. “Once upon a time, I did. But you know how life goes—you fall in love and think it’ll last forever, but it doesn’t always. That simple.”

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.”

Jenna sat in her room, reading the invitation. Other than the historical aspects, she had no idea what to expect, but the fantasy’s content—hard to believe—was not her main concern.

Oh God, please let him be in this fantasy—please let him have given up the idea of my being with other people
without
him.

She just didn’t want that. And she saw it as her choice. She was the guest here and she’d played by most of his rules—but this was one time she would insist he do things her way. She didn’t much care if he knew how she felt—it was clear he knew she’d gotten too attached, and in some respects, yes, that made her feel vulnerable and even a little silly. But when he was fucking her, she didn’t feel silly. When she was screaming her way through the craziest orgasms of her life, she didn’t feel silly. And when he’d held her in his arms all night and indeed “tupped” her again this morning, she hadn’t felt silly.

After the morning sex—a hot but tamer liaison like the one on his couch a few days ago—Brent had called shore and had someone send out a light breakfast and another outfit from the gift shop for Jenna to wear back to her room. “I knew I was forgetting something when I put this plan together,” he’d told her teasingly when she’d pointed out that he’d sliced her other clothes to ribbons. She hoped he’d just been too caught up in heat to remember every detail.

After two full fantasies yesterday, Jenna was still tired and knew it would probably be wise to crawl under the covers of her own bed and get some extra sleep. After all, she had a masquerade to attend this evening and something told her it might require some stamina.

Yet her mind—or maybe it was closer to her soul—felt too energized right now. She didn’t feel like hiding away in her quiet room today. More than ever since her arrival here, she had the urge to be out among people, basking in the tropical beauty of the resort, enjoying her life to the fullest. She could only attribute the feeling to the astounding sex last night. It had left her feeling as if . . . she knew herself better. As if she knew the whole
world
better. It had left her feeling
alive
and like she didn’t want to waste another moment not soaking up that wondrous sensuality that floated in the air here. She’d never felt more fully aware of her body, her thoughts, her desires—and she’d never felt more
comfortable
with all those things, either.