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“Oh I am nice,” Krista said. Her lids fluttered opened, then she finally turned her head and looked over at LaQuandra as she pushed her shades down to the tip of her nose. “But if I need to forget my religion for a moment, I will.” She stared at LaQuandra a bit longer than she wanted, then pushed her sunglasses back up over her eyes, and stared down at the smooth-faced man as he placed her foot back in the bath and then pulled out her other foot and began scrubbing it.
Krista nearly moaned out as he handled her callouses. She didn’t have the most attractive feet—they were wide and flat and her toes looked like thick little sausages, but she loved keeping them pampered.
LaQuandra laughed. “Krissy, you a mess. Let me find out you’re a fake Christian.”
Brenda opened her eyes and looked over at the two women. “Krista, girl, don’t pay LaQuandra’s ass no mind. You know she’s special, right?”
Krista shrugged. “She adds no value to my life, so trust me. I’m not paying her messy-ass any mind.”
LaQuandra laughed again. “Girl, bye. Messy isn’t me. You need a drink to relax.”
“And you obviously need a hard dick,” Krista snapped. Lord, forgive me. This bitch is tryna take me there.
“Ooh, girl, you got me there,” LaQuandra said sarcastically. “I confess—I need some dick.” Three weeks on this island and Isaiah had still not fucked her. She glanced down at Mr. Curly Hair who pretended to be more focused on polishing her right pinky toe than paying attention to her. “Isaiah and I haven’t been intimate in months. But guess what? At least I can be honest about it. I’m transparent, boo. Can you say the same?”
Krista scoffed. “I have nothing to hide, sweetie. I have a good man. And I’m not the one being deprived of—”
Brenda’s head jerked over at LaQuandra. “Wait a minute,” she said, cutting Krista off. “Did I hear you right, girl? You haven’t had a dick-down in months?”
LaQuandra reached for her drink, then took a long sip. She swished the potent fruity elixir around in her mouth, allowing it to soak her tongue, before she slowly swallowed.
And then she finally answered, “It feels like years.”
Brenda’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Girrrrrrl, say it ain’t so.” She shook her head. “Ohmygod. I wish Roselle would try some shit like that with me. His ass would be put out. No damn way I’ma have a husband, laying up in the same bed with me, and his ass isn’t putting it down in them sheets.”
LaQuandra sighed, and then took another sip of her drink, only this time the concoction felt too thick to swallow. She spat it back into her glass, then set it back down in its holder. “Well, welcome to my world. Now enough about me and my honey-hole.” LaQuandra looked back over at Krista. “Back to you, Krissy. How about you tell us, why you ran up outta the club the other night?”
“No—no, sweetie.” Krista turned her head in LaQuandra’s direction again, peering at her over the rim of her shades. “How about you tell us who your husband’s screwing, since he isn’t screwing you.”
Brenda nearly choked on her tongue.
Work, bitch, work!
Thirty-Six
Krista couldn’t stop looking. No matter how many times she dragged her stare away, her eyes landed right back on Nairobia perched on the lap of a caramel-coated man with a neatly trimmed goatee and a beautiful bald head. He’d been on the plane ride over—one of the flight attendants, but Krista couldn’t remember his name. Darn. It was going to annoy her that she couldn’t remember it.
But she remembered that handsomely rugged face. She never forgot a face, even if she couldn’t remember a name. And now she sat here wondering why she’d taken this particular seat. Why hadn’t she chosen the seat on the other side of the table? No, no. Everything happened for a reason. Had she’d not taken this chair, Kendall would have been sitting here instead, ensnared by temptation in a see-through dress and heels. It was in this chair, from this vantage point, that Krista could see her—salaciously luring her prey into her web of seduction.
Nairobia stroked the bald man’s head while conversing with him and . . . Sin (of course Krista would never forget a name like that when that was all she was surrounded by.) Sin. He sat on the same love seat next to the other man. What in the world was his name?
Saint. Yes, yes. That was it.
Saint.
But there was nothing saintly about the way he was caressing the side of Nairobia’s right breast over the flimsy fabric of her tangerine gown. And there was nothing saintly about the way he was nibbling on her neck. Krista shuddered. The porn-star whore was holding court right out in the open—well, partially open, since she was the only one able to see them—without a care in the world.
The couples were dining on seaweed salad, oysters, caviar, shrimp, lobster tails, calamari, coconut chicken, and curried pork. Then various fish dishes followed. And while everyone else made sounds of delight over their chattering as they ate their meals, Krista’s gaze was riveted back to the scene playing right in front of her eyes. Saint now had Nairobia’s left breast out, rolling her nipple between his fingers, while Sin’s hand slowly eased up the slit of her gown.
The shameless hussy was turning the star-lit evening out on the roofed platform, overlooking the ocean, into her own sexual playground. Nairobia threw her head back when Sin’s hand reached between her legs, and he cupped her there, his fingers finding her clit. Krista watched on as his hand moved methodically beneath Nairobia’s gown, and then she jerked her eyes away.
Dr. Dangerfield caught the direction of Krista’s roaming eye, and smiled over the rim of her martini glass, before taking a sip.
“Mrs. Evans,” Dr. Dangerfield said, “how’s your meal?”
Krista cast her a quick look. “Fine. Everything’s good.” And it was, if only she could focus on her plate instead of Nairobia. She was over there, partially hidden, in the throes of passion as Sin fingered her and Saint caressed her exposed breasts—together, bringing her to orgasm, while the rest of the couples engaged in laughter and chatter.
Krista’s gaze drifted back over to the devil in heels and her two playmates.
