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Dr. Dangerfield’s breath nearly hitched as she eyed him crossing the white sand. He stopped and lowered her to the sand, and then led her the rest of the way by the arm toward the group.
Donned in a white ankle-length dress, her cleavage on full display—thanks to a devilishly low neckline, her side slits daringly high up to her curvaceous hips, she glided over the sand.
Her porn star body was mouthwatering.
Dr. Dangerfield couldn’t help but notice her areolas and thick nipples peeking through the sheer fabric of her dress, taunting, teasing.
Work, girl, weeerk!
LaQuandra spotted Sin and the woman walking toward them, but pretended not to see them, since no one else seemed to have noticed them approaching. She brushed the back of her bathing suit—a red strapless one-piece—and then took her seat.
And stared over at Brenda and Roselle.
Brenda had boldly worn an orange two-piece bikini, her thick body smooth and glowing from her recent tan. Roselle had topped that wearing what looked like a jockstrap, his muscular ass out, the thick bulge of his dick all on display.
And here was Krista, face twisted in disgust. She nearly threw up in the back of her mouth at the sight of Roselle. What in the hell? Men in thongs? A hot damn mess.
However, LaQuandra couldn’t stop staring at the couple.
Oooh, they some freaky-asses, she thought. But if she had been blessed with an ass like Brenda’s, she probably would have had hers hanging all out too. But, ooh, her man—mm, yes—that pretty motherfucker . . . he was too many things.
Behind her designer Bumblebee shades, even Dr. Dangerfield allowed her gaze to creep over Roselle’s body, then linger over his very impressive dick print.
She cleared her throat. “Now that everyone has gotten comfortable, I’d like to turn the rest of the morning over to the woman of the hour . . .”
And there she appeared—the woman from last night, her gray eyes staring into the faces of the couples.
She prowled closer.
Known for her exquisite beauty and hedonistic lifestyle, she was an icon, a sex goddess. Once known to her legions of fans as Pleasure, she was an author, a model and the recipient of a slew of awards. She was a woman who’d graced the covers of Playboy and Penthouse. She owned two very successful upscale For Adults Only clubs, one on Passion Island and the other back in New York, with a third opening in Vegas soon—The Pleasure Chest. She was the CEO of her own production company, and had built a multimillion-dollar empire with her exclusive adult toy line.
“Without further ado,” Dr. Dangerfield said over a smile. “I introduce to you, my soror, my friend, and the owner of this beautiful island, Nairobia Jansen . . .”
The two women hugged, and then air-kissed.
“Thank you, my darling,” Nairobia said in her sultry voice, a hint of her Dutch and Nigerian ancestry lingering over her words. She faced the couples, one foot in front of the other; a hip thrust forward, a hand on her hip. At five feet ten, she commanded attention wherever she went.
“I welcome you to my island, my darlings. And I do hope you will find your stay full of sensual adventure. Passion Island is more than sordid sex, my loves. It is a journey into the unknown, a voyage to toe-curling pleasure. It is, my darlings, testing your limits and pushing you to complete surrender.”
The wind blew the slits of her dress up, exposing the sides of her luscious ass cheeks, and a flash of her sweet pussy. She was beautifully flawless, that’s what she was.
Sweet seduction.
Nairobia licked over her perfectly painted lips. She was known for being shameless, fearlessly exploring her sexuality and expressing her sensuality through her scandalous dress. And she lived to make the world around her uncomfortable in all that she was.
God, she was mesmerizing.
“Today, my darlings, we touch. We explore . . .”
Brenda and Roselle both licked their lips. They’d watched all of her porn videos, even reenacted many of the sex scenes.
Kendall and Isaiah found it nearly impossible to keep from staring at her, her nipples, the treacherous curves of her hips, and the silhouette of her body beneath the sheer fabric of her dress enticing them. Both men had masturbated to many of her videos.
Kendall’s favorite—Ass Licker—was still in his browser on his iPad.
LaQuandra feigned not knowing who the seductress was, but she’d bought her book, Good Pussy, on release day two years ago and had read it cover to cover the same day. She kept it hidden in her lingerie drawer, under silk thongs, boy shorts, and garter belts. Shit she’d not worn in months.
Krista, on the other hand, sat tight-lipped, feeling the urge to reach down into her straw beach bag and pull out her scriptures. All she saw, while looking at Nairobia, was immorality. She was sin in its highest form. Temptation. Forbidden fruit. She could be nothing but trouble.
