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She noticed the gleam in his eyes as he grinned at LaLani. And suddenly the slow throb in her pussy went still. She bit her tongue from going off on him. She felt hurt and disrespected. Again. But right now wasn’t the time to dredge all that up. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to curse him the hell out, maybe even lay hands on him, for treating her so fucked up. That’s exactly what he needed, she reasoned. Her nails slicing open his goddamn skin.
She sighed.
Yes. Shit definitely needed to change between her and Isaiah or she was sure she’d be going to jail for murdering him in his sleep.
Frustrated, she pressed her legs shut and turned her attention back to the window. All she saw was miles and miles of clear blue water. And right in the center of it all was a heart-shaped island—three-thousand acres of languorously leaning palms and powder-soft sands, but she couldn’t even enjoy the view.
Her mind was on Isaiah.
And her aching cunt.
Seven
“Welcome to Passion Island,” said a long-lashed woman with doe-shaped eyes and skin the color of rich creamy fudge as she took the circular stage. She was dressed in a long, chic white dress with billowy sleeves and scalloped neckline. Her hair was cropped stylishly short a
nd framed her oval-shaped face perfectly.
Red lipstick made her sumptuous lips pop.
She was obnoxiously pretty. Effortlessly.
Her gaze swept over the couples. “I am Dr. Gretchen Dangerfield. And for the next six weeks, you will embark on a journey like no other. One that will, hopefully, tantalize your senses, tempt your libidos. Indulge your desires. And stretch your imaginations to newer heights.”
Brenda grinned. She was all for trying new things, and she was so looking forward to the experience.
“During your stay, you will be tested, challenged, and dared,” Dr. Dangerfield continued. “As your packets stated, you will be put through a series of relationship building exercises and be required to participate in individual, couples, and even group sessions.” She paused.
“Are there any questions so far?” Dr. Dangerfield asked the couples.
Roselle’s gaze roamed all over her body, trying to imagine what was underneath her dress. Thong or G-string? That was his question.
Yeah, baby, Roselle thought, can I kiss your pussy lips? He licked his lips as he imagined her sweet chocolate pussy opened, wet and ready for the taking. He could almost see its pretty pink center glistening. Fuck, yeah. He’d siphon the juices out of her cunt, swirl his tongue all up in her. I bet she tastes good as fuck. He felt his dick thicken and had to force himself to look away, before he ended up with a full erection.
As if on cue, Brenda glanced over at Roselle. He glanced back and winked, then placed his hand on the inside of her thigh.
Sneaky bastard was probably thinking about fucking her, Brenda thought, peering down at his lap. She thought to grab his crotch to verify if his dick was hard or not, but decided against it. Let him fantasize. Brenda had a few fantasies of her own. None of which included him or her.
Brenda turned her attention back to Dr. Dangerfield just as Krista raised her hand.
“Yes. I have a question.” Kendall looked over at his wife, and braced himself. “Why exactly do we need six weeks here? I mean, six weeks seems like an awful long time.”
Hadn’t this bitch read the pamphlets?
It clearly stated that it took about six weeks to strip down most couples’ defenses, to chip through their denial, make honest personal assessments of their relationships, and finally get to the crux of their marital discord. And, in doing so, it eventually raised many thorny questions. Should couples stay? Can trust be rebuilt? Can passion be reignited? Can they forgive and move on? Or should they throw in the towel and head for divorce court?
Although couples were removed from their families and careers and the daily routines of their lives, they gained so much more—a deeper understanding of themselves and their relationships with one another, while on a beautiful tropical island.
Oh. And lest she forgets . . . they would be paid a substantial lump sum of money (a hundred grand, to be exact!) once they successfully completed the six weeks.
The caveat was this: There was one flight in, and one flight out. In order to leave the island, unless it was an emergency, both partners had to be in agreement about leaving.
If not, they stayed.
Stuck.
Forced to make the best of a failed situation.
Dr. Dangerfield ran her tongue over her teeth, and then forced a smile.
