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“Yessss, yessss, yesssssss . . .”
She gasped for breath, her body arching, welcoming the rippling waves of ecstasy. She heard him growl, and then it dawned on her that she hadn’t heard him say one word the whole evening; only grunts, groans, and garbled sounds of pleasure.
“Ja, my love,” she heard the woman with the seductive drawl murmur near her ear. The thick accent warmed her skin, causing prickly heat to coat her flesh. “Let yourself go, my darling. Geven uw natte kut.” The woman’s native tongue whispering in her ear, urging her to give into her wet pussy made her walls clench. She moaned as she felt the fluttering of fingertips over her nipples. She’d never had another woman touch her breasts, her clit—or any other part of her body before and the sensation, the knowing, was startling. Her nipples suddenly became turgid, chocolate peaks of arousal, swollen and painfully tight.
Heat splintered through her.
Behind the blindfold, her eyeballs rolled around in their sockets, and her lids struggled to flutter open against the silky material. But there was nothing but a blanket of blackness over her eyes. More heat danced over her skin as her mystery lover’s dick—
“Oh God, oh God . . . ohhhh . . . unh . . .”
The curve of his dick swept around her cunt, brushing her walls causing vibrations to ricochet through her womb.
“Please God, yes, yes, yessss!” the woman cried out and grew wetter, her lips swelling between her legs.
The scent of sex and sin and unbridled lust filled her nose. She breathed in, and swallowed as her lover’s gaze dipped to the swell of the other woman’s own breasts, her nipples and chocolate-colored areolas visible through her sheer gown. He growled over the red gag ball strapped in his mouth at the erotic image.
Everything about the exotic beauty standing before them was breathtaking. She’d been one of his many fantasies. He’d fucked her in all of his fantasies, his dreams, many times over the years.
As he eyed the exotic goddess, he imagined it was her cunt his dick was in. He wanted nothing more than to feel his thick organ snuggled deeply inside her heated walls. He imagined her pussy being hot silk.
The striking enchantress licked her lips and slid a hand through the thigh-high slit of her dress and pulled it back like a curtain, unveiling her heavenly cunt. With eager fingers, she opened herself to him, pulling open her petals, giving him a glimpse of her glistening pink flesh.
Transfixed on the magnificent view of her cunt, her labia, her beautiful clit, he drew in a breath and slammed his dick in and out of his bounded lover’s quaking body; his dick knocking against her cervix with a ravening hunger.
His fantasy woman leaned forward and licked over the ball stuffed in his mouth, and—holy shit—he nearly came on the spot.
He grunted again, sweat dripping from his face, sliding down the center of his chest. He gripped the edge of an orgasm, and fought to contain himself.
The seductress watching him watch her undid him. She wet her lips again, the pink tip of her tongue seductively darting out, teasing him. He nearly groaned. And then she leaned forward. Her mouth brushed against the woman’s ear beneath him, and he felt her pussy quiver around his dick. “Je wilt je kut gevuld met lul, mijn liefde (You like your cunt stuffed with cock, my love)?”
His mystery lover had no idea what the sexy siren was saying, but it made her toes curl again. And she mewled out and writhed as her lover’s hips rocked forward, thrusting hard and urgently into her body—his dick sliding against the walls of her cunt.
The masked woman moaned. “Yes, yes, yessss . . .”
She felt herself being tossed around in a sea of sexual pleasure and emotional pain as sensual heat washed over her as she became swept up into the blaze of another orgasm.
“Welcome to Passion Island, my darling,” was all the woman heard before the room went blurry around her and she grew hotter, wetter, and then . . .
She felt herself getting swept up in the firestorm.
One
Brenda Woods stepped on the gas and ran through the red light, not caring about the posted speed limit or potentially getting a speeding ticket. She was going seventy in a forty-mile zone and still running late. She had a plane to catch. And she didn’t give a damn how fast she was going. She had no intentions of missing her flight.
The thick-hipped, curvy diva with the butterscotch complexion and almond-shaped eyes was on a mission. Come hell or high water, she would be boarding that plane. And nothing but death would stand in her way from climbing aboard the luxury private jet.
She needed this six-week, all-expense-paid getaway, like she needed the air she breathed. She needed her whole life back. And she needed it back, fast, before she became unglued.
Professionally, she had it going on. Her trendy hair salon, Scissor Happy, was finally pulling in the clientele and the coins that would set her apart from her competitors. No, no. She had no competition. She considered her salon one of the best.
Shit. Who was she kidding? She knew as did the rest of the hair industry that until she crushed out her only real rival—the highly successful Nappy No More hair salon—she would still be second best. The salon’s owner had several locations in Jersey, New York, and California. Now that bitch was getting paid. And Brenda wanted that same level of high-profile success. She’d never openly admit it, but she secretly admired, idolized, and envied its owner, Pasha.
Still, Nappy No More—aside from numerous locations—didn’t have anything that her salon, Scissor Happy, couldn’t have. It was in a class all by itself. And it had the potential to be one of the world’s premier hair salons. And it was well on its way to being just that. And she was happy. Finally living the good life.
Now her personal life . . . ugh. Well, it was part good, and part bad, with a mixture of bullshit stirred somewhere in the middle, thanks to her philandering husband. Roselle.
Simply put, she was tired of his cheating . . .
