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Out.
Push.
Pull.
Deep.
Deeper.
The exotic beauty’s eyes finally flashed open on the monitors.
And staring out into the audience were gray eyes.
Sultry.
Alluring.
Every man’s wet dream.
Seventeen
Eleven a.m.
The three couples were down on the beach, sitting across from their respective partners on extra-large white leather pillows—its cushions covered with red rose petals.
Beside each cushion was a huge gift basket. Inside the respective baskets were a collection of male and female sex toys, edible creams and lubes, and an autographed hardcopy of Good Pussy.
Champagne sat on ice in metal buckets. Silver platters of strawberries, mangoes, grapes, and kiwi were picked over.
Each couple had been tasked with feeding the other.
With the exception of LaQuandra and Isaiah (he struggled with pretending), everyone else had rose to the occasion, happily licking one another’s fingers clean. Surprisingly, even Krista—although she’d held back some—had enjoyed being fed by Kendall.
Now Dr. Dangerfield was greeting the couples.
“Good morning,” she said. The morning breeze coming from off the ocean blew strands of her hair every which way. She swiped her bang from her eye and then placed the large white floppy hat she’d been holding in her hand on top her head.
“I hope everyone has enjoyed the shows and nightlife the island has to offer.”
“Yes, girl, yes,” Brenda said, waving a hand up in the air. She leaned in and planted a soft kiss on Roselle’s lips and then added, “My baby and I love it.”
Of course they did. They’d gone back to their villa after The Aquarium show and practically tore the sheets off their mattress.
Sex—or the lack of it—would never be their issue.
Roselle had ravished her body. And she had given it back as roughly as she had taken it.
She still felt the throb between her thighs.
Krista pursed her lips. That so-called show was nothing short of a damn porn video. Tastefully done or not, it was simply too damn much. And then that damn night—no, sex—club. There hadn’t been an electric slide in sight. And the only thing wobbling were the men and women who’d been getting fucked.
Why was everything on this island tied to sex in some form or fashion?
She hadn’t come way out here for all that.
Her gaze snared on Dr. Dangerfield’s body beneath the sheer white cover-up she wore over her white halter-top jumper. It clung to her body in all the right places. The gap between her legs gave anyone who was at eye-level a sneak peek of her twat print.
She was classy, sure. But something about Dr. Dangerfield made Krista think she was a bit . . . hoish. She didn’t want to judge her. Lord knew she was anything but judgmental. Or at least she tried not to be. Still, her God wasn’t through with he
