What She Needs (38 page)

He sucked harder, deeper. Felt dirty, dirty, dirty—all for sweet Jenna,
with
her, in
response
to her. She moaned, clearly entranced and on the edge herself. While, above him, Zack began to emit a low groan, murmuring, “Shit, yeah, almost, almost,” and Brent reached up to gently squeeze his balls.

“Hell yeah,” Zack bit off—then shot his come to the back of Brent’s mouth. Brent swallowed, again, again, taking it all in, his eyes shutting in the heat of the moment—after which he heard Jenna sobbing and knew she was coming on him, too.

Oh God, oh fuck—he couldn’t hold it in anymore, either, and just as Zack fired a last arc of semen into his throat, Brent erupted inside Jenna’s body, moaning around the erection filling his mouth.

Jenna could barely process all that had just happened. As Zack pulled his wet shaft away, she stared at Brent, thinking—
Oh my God, I’ve never experienced anything so intense in my life.
And she’d done it with
him
, and she knew, whether or not he’d admit it, he felt the same way. She’d seen it in his eyes, felt it in his kiss.

“Doing okay, honey?” he asked softly.

And that’s when it hit her—
Oh Lord, I’ve just taken part in an orgy. A real, true-life, freaking orgy!
But she had no regrets, because she’d been with Brent. And somehow that made everything—
anything
—okay. “Yeah, I am. I can’t believe it, but I really am.”

Yet she suddenly didn’t want to be here anymore. The rest of the room writhed in raucous abandon, but she felt . . . well, that she’d experienced the full measure of what she could here. “Can we take off, though? Go to your place or something?”

To her relief, he didn’t show the slightest reluctance. “Yeah, let’s go.” And a moment later, he was taking her hand, whisking her past the pulsing mass of bodies toward the door.

Once outside in the warm tropical air, they made their way to the nearby beach, where Jenna stopped to shed her period shoes. They walked hand in hand, Brent holding both their masks, until Jenna looked up at him to say, “Is it all right for Lord Sexingham to leave his own party?”

He let out a light laugh, looking as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him until now. “Not really, but they’ll get by without me.”

“I’m sorry to make you break so many rules,” she said.

He grinned down at her in the moonlight. “No you’re not,” he scolded. Then he stopped, dropped the masks to the sand, lifted his hands to her face, and kissed her for a very long time.

 

 

They lay in Brent’s bed, snuggling. Upon reaching his bungalow, they’d said little—both tired, she guessed—but they’d undressed each other very slowly, then wordlessly crawled beneath his sheets. She still wore her stockings, though, and she sensed that Brent especially liked them.

“Did I do okay at the masquerade?” she asked against his broad chest.

Above her, he let out a deep, throaty chuckle. “You have to ask, sunshine? You were fucking phenomenal.” Then he used one bent finger to lift her chin so that she met his gaze. “But this fantasy was about doing what
you
wanted, not what
I
wanted you to do. It was about total freedom.”

“Then it worked, because that’s exactly what I felt.”

As was so often the case, he looked pleased. “Good.”

“That said,” she reasoned, now that the excitement was over, “I’m not sure how this is going to translate into my real life. I don’t see many more orgies in my future.”

The corners of his mouth turned up in just a hint of a smile. “I’m not suggesting that this would even be
wise
in real life. But I wanted you to experience it, to know that you can. And I . . . wanted to see you that way,” he admitted. “That part was selfish.”

“I don’t mind,” she whispered.

Cuddling back up to his warm body, she noticed the initials on his arm once more. And the closer she felt to him, it seemed, the more she longed to know about the one woman Brent Powers had ever fallen in love with. Biting her lip, she reached out to gently run her fingertips over the tattoo. “What happened with Deena?” she asked.

But he didn’t respond.

She waited for a long moment, yet he still remained quiet, eyes on the ceiling, as if she’d never asked.

Given that the two of them
had
grown close, whether he liked it or not, she didn’t hide her disappointment. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

“She died,” he said.

Oh no. “Oh. God. I’m sorry, Brent.” Then she whispered, “How?”

This time, when he hesitated, she didn’t dare press him—she could see how hard it was for him to share this, but that he was trying now. “An accident. On the highway. A semi lost control.”

Jenna’s heart constricted. “God, that’s awful.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “They say it was quick, though—no pain.” Yet then his eyebrows knit.

“What?” she asked.

He gave his head a short shake—but then he confided in her further. “We’d fought that day. About sex. She was . . . kind of like you.”

“Like
me
?”

He met her gaze briefly. “She’d had some bad experiences growing up, and she wasn’t very comfortable with sex. But I wasn’t mature enough to get it at the time—and I was mad she was always rejecting my advances, always acting turned off.” He stopped, sighed. “So we argued. And so I’ve always known she was mad at me—
hurt
by me—when she died. And worse, she had every right to be, because I was acting like an asshole.”

Jenna blinked, shocked, putting pieces together. At the risk of overestimating her importance to Brent, she whispered, “Is that why? Why you insisted on fixing my problems?”

His face changed then, going dark, looking even sadder somehow. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.” Then he let out a rough breath, appearing disgusted with himself. “Shit—I kind of wondered why it was so damn important to me, so . . . hell. Maybe.”

“Maybe you wanted to . . . give me what you weren’t able to give
her
?” Jenna suggested cautiously.

Brent’s only response was to close his eyes—and then she saw a tear leak free, rolling down his cheek.

Oh God. Oh God, her heart broke for him. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

Yet then he seemed to shake off the more brutal emotions. “No, it’s okay,” he said, reaching up to wipe the wetness from his face. “I just hadn’t realized it, but you’re probably right.”

Despite herself, Jenna still wanted to know more. She wasn’t sure she should keep prying at this point, yet . . . “When did Deena die?”

“The April before I graduated from college.”

Oh, wow. That explained a lot. Like why he’d looked so unhappy in those graduation pictures. And could it also explain . . . ? “That was . . . right before you came
here
. Right?”

He nodded against the pillow. “I came that summer.”

She simply looked at him, wondering if he truly couldn’t see what
she
suddenly saw. She raised on one elbow to peer down at him. “You came here to get away from her death,” she said.

Yet he only shrugged. “Sure I did. It was a good distraction. A different lifestyle, a different world.”

“But you never left, Brent. You came here to hide from it and you never stopped.”

This finally got his attention. He arched a brow and she felt his muscles tense. “Okay, who’s the psychology major here?”

Jenna wasn’t sure how to proceed. She didn’t want to be hard on him, but the fact was—his girlfriend had died a very long time ago. He should be over it by now. So she was as honest with
him
as he’d been with
her
about confronting her issues. “Maybe you should quit trying to dodge this, because I think I’m right. I think you’ve been . . . hiding here all this time.”

“Hiding from what?” he snapped.

She tilted her head and didn’t let his tone deter her. “I’m not sure. Love? The fear of loving somebody that much again and losing them? The fear of hurting somebody and never having the chance to fix it? The fear of living the life you’d planned with her—
without
her? Maybe
all
of that? Am I getting close?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, and she knew she’d pissed him off. He still held her in a loose embrace, but the tenderness of it had faded. Finally, he looked her in the eye and said, “I don’t hide from anything, Jenna. You should know that by now.”

“I should know that just because you’re all big and tough and sexy?” she asked, still feeling bold. “Talk about being in denial. All I can say is . . . sex doctor, heal thyself.”

Brent knew there was truth in her words. He’d always known it. He’d just chosen not to think about it. Now he had only himself to blame for getting so close to someone that they could see it.

“Jenna,” he quietly explained, “there are times when it’s possible to . . . recognize what you’re doing, and know why, and even realize that maybe it doesn’t seem like the best thing . . . but if you function fine that way, maybe you decide it
is
the best thing—for
you
. I’m happy here, so why would I change that—no matter what brought me here?” Maybe that would shut her up.

Unfortunately not. “I could ask you the same question about
my
issues. I was fine, happy, content—but you insisted on fixing me anyway. And I feel better about myself inside than I have in years. I thought I was fine when I came here, and I could have lived that way forever without any real problems—but you made me
better
. Better than I knew I could be.”

“Apples and oranges,” he said decidedly.

“I disagree,” she replied. “I think . . . you’re afraid of the world beyond this island. I think you’re afraid of all the ways there are to hurt and get hurt if you indulge in a relationship that goes deeper than sex.”

Okay, that was it. He’d tried to be nice about this, but she’d just pushed him too far. Still, he tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “
I
think
you’re
butting into something that’s not your business, sunshine.”

“Maybe I care about you,” she shot back at him.

Shit. “Don’t go there, Jenna,” he warned.

“
What?
Why?”

So he’d have to explain this, too, huh? Fine. “Because that was my exact fear all along. It’s why a guide should
not
take part in your fantasies. And I fucked up a lot more by . . . by all this talking and getting to know you. You’re not
supposed
to care about me.”

She spoke more softly. “What if it’s too late for that?”

His chest tightened. He’d been trying to ignore the ramifications of getting close to her, trying to just ride it out like she’d said—and that’s exactly what he was going to keep doing now. “You need to push it aside,” he told her unequivocally. “Just like all the other emotions you’ve needed to push aside this week to free yourself sexually.”

She let out a sigh, pursed her lips, and said, “What if I . . . haven’t really pushed them aside very much?”

Hell. He had no choice. He had to lower the boom here, once and for all. He didn’t want to hurt her, so he spoke gently—but the words would still wound her. “Jenna, let me say this plainly. I’ve enjoyed being with you this week, and yeah, I’ve taken some special satisfaction in helping you overcome your issues. But I never should have talked so openly with you. And I shouldn’t have you in my bed right now. Because despite enjoying your company a great deal, this is still my job.”

She looked tougher than he might have expected—more challenged than hurt. “Right now?” she asked. “Having me in your bed is your job?”

“Kind of. Because you needed extra attention, extra prodding—you
know
that. Getting closer to you helped me find out what you needed.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice coming out too soft. It made his stomach pinch, but he had to ignore that and go on.

“And, if you recall, you would only consent to going through with the fantasies if I took part in them. So I didn’t exactly have a choice if I wanted to help you.”

Next to him, she bit her lip and looked down, clearly embarrassed to remember that part.

And shit—he felt like an ass. “Don’t be mad at me,” he said. “This doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”

“Friends,” she repeated, as if the word were ridiculous.

And she was right—it was. Hell.

So he flashed an irritated look of concession. “Okay, yes, damn it, I care for you, too—but . . . I can’t care in a way that goes beyond
this
, right here, this island. Because this is my world, my life, what I do. And in a few days, you’re going back to the world
you
know, the world where you belong. All this will, I hope,” he said gently, “be a pleasant memory, for us both.”

It relieved him when she nodded and said quietly, “Yes, it will be.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her then, “if everything I just said hurt you. I don’t mean to be harsh. I just needed you to know.”

“It’s all right,” she said, her voice soft but stronger now.

Good. Maybe they could get back to normal here. “Now—can we cut out all the damn psychoanalyzing for a while and just fuck?”

She blinked. “You still want to—after all this? You aren’t going to suddenly . . . push me away? Worry that I can’t handle it or something?”

He shook his head and spoke the truth. “I wouldn’t do that. I want this to be . . . what it’s been up to now—a good, satisfying thing for us both. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, come here,” he said, “and let me nibble on your pretty tits.”

And nibble he did, while she purred and sighed—but the whole while he knew with brand-new certainty that things
had
to change here. She’d left him no choice—she’d shown him there
was
no riding this out on its current course.

He’d meant what he said—he wouldn’t suddenly abandon her; he’d continue to be her guide
and
her lover. And he’d probably continue to feel way too much while he was doing it. But plain and simple, he’d have to make it so that her sexual world no longer revolved around him.