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retchen Dangerfield loved her work on Passion Island.
And she was already anticipating the next cycle of dysfunctional couples in search of truth and light and long-lost passion.
And she’d welcome the drama, the lies, and their dirty, dark secrets with baited breath. She always did.
And she always would.
Epilogue
SIX MONTHS LATER . . .
Sexual energy crackled around them. It was a tangible aura that thickened the air and warmed over Brenda’s skin. Her hair was sexily mussed and her lips were deliciously swollen from the kisses and from having them wrapped around hard dick. Two dicks.
Roselle’s and—
God, what was this fine motherfucker’s name?
Or had he even shared his name?
Brenda was too inebriated from lust and from the four cosmopolitans she’d drunk to even remember.
Or should his name have mattered?
Probably not.
Roselle preferred their sexual mates to remain nameless, anonymous—and not from the same area or state as them. It was the only way he would allow her the pleasure of having two—or three (and one time four)—men in the same bed with her.
And so she expected, required the same, when it came to the other woman who shared her husband’s dick with her.
Of course these were amendments made to her original checklist of tenets when Roselle had first suggested an open marriage. Thus far, it had been working. The parameters set had been respected.
But this one— “Oh, God . . .” Brenda gasped and started to come. She wanted to break the rules, just this once, and keep him in her contacts.
They were enjoying their seven-day, all-expense-paid trip to the French Riviera, and Brenda knew she wouldn’t see this delectable man again. She wanted to—God, knew she did—and, yes, most likely, behind Roselle’s back.
He wasn’t as long as Roselle, but he was dangerously thicker. His beer-can thick dick was no more than six-and-a-half or seven inches, but the stretch of her pussy around his shaft burned in exquisite pleasure as he stroked inside of her.
Ooh.
He was so thick.
So heavy.
So good.
So, so, so delicious.
And she was so fucking wet.
“That’s right, baby,” Roselle said in a husky voice as he bent and sucked her nipple between his teeth. He gave it a sharp nip and then slid his hand down over her quivering belly and then to her engorged clit.
Brenda gasped, and the flush of pleasure radiated over her skin.
“Yeah, he’s fucking my sweet baby’s pussy,” Roselle murmured as he stroked her clit as Beer Can Dick held her legs open, his palms flat on the inside of her thighs, as his dick scraped over her walls, causing heat to curl in her veins and dart through her body.
Brenda moaned. And then she cried out when Roselle pinched the wet nub.
“Is her pussy good, man?” Roselle asked low and husky.
