A slight bit of relief echoed through her when they approached a simple piece of furniture, the main surfaces padded in black leather. She was put on her knees on a small steplike platform approximately a foot off the floor and her torso bent forward over a larger slanted surface. Her bared breasts, complete with chain, protruded over the top.

Brent had said she was to be tied, so it didn’t surprise her when Zack and Decker pulled connected leather straps from beneath the padding where her stomach rested. One was stretched across the backs of her upper arms where they’d been pulled behind her, and another was drawn tight across her waist, under her tethered wrists but over her corset. Bondage, she thought. Maybe if she’d been a good slave, the only bondage she’d have suffered would have been the chains on the wall, but now she was learning about being restrained in a whole new, utterly subduing way.

Gathering the courage to look around her, she realized Serena and Gabe no longer occupied the nearby horse, and judging from the lack of moans and groans in the dungeon, she was back to being the main event.

As a large, warm body leaned over her from behind, Brent’s voice came low near her ear. “Unfortunately for you, now you must endure the rougher use of the flogger.” His erection nestled at her ass, and despite herself, she longed for it, inside her. Her clit ached maddeningly.

Then his warmth was gone—and the next sensation was a stinging blow on her bare ass that made her cry out. But it also vibrated through her breasts and cunt, like a harsh echo.

A second lash from the leather flogger delivered yet another stinging sensation—even while, oh God, somehow heightening the arousal in other parts of her body. It was like when Serena had pulled on the nipple chain, delivering pleasure and pain at once—but now it came on a much more consuming level.

She clenched her teeth, preparing for the next blow—which hurt but simultaneously dispensed that strange, permeating pleasure, a heat that moved all through her, stretching down through her fishnet-covered thighs and up through the small of her back. As she flinched against the bands strapping her to the kneeling rail, somehow even that brought a hint of unexpected excitement.

Again and again, Brent brought the leather flogger down on her flesh, allocating the snapping lashes to one side of her bottom for several blows, then switching to the other. As she suffered the nearly paralyzing sensations spreading through her being, she wondered if her skin there was turning red. She sobbed, as much from pleasure as from pain—all of it soon drowning out thoughts and leaving only reactions. “Oh!” she cried out. “Oh God! God!” And once she even heard herself yell, “Please!” but she didn’t even know what she was begging for: more, or less; to be fucked, or freed.

Just when she wondered how much more she could take—of any of the overwhelming sensations—they quit coming. And her body went limp within the ties that held her. Was it over? Her punishment done? And oh God, her clit still pulsed like mad, making her crazy inside.

“Bring me the glass dildo,” Brent said, and she let out a slight moan. The weirdest part was—even she couldn’t tell if it was a moan of dread or needful anticipation. She’d never been so emotionally torn, so confused about her own responses.

Then she remembered Brent saying her pussy wouldn’t be fucked—but maybe he thought the sex toy didn’t count. And just as she tried to puzzle through that in her depleted mind, she experienced the oddest sensation—then gasped. Oh Lord. He was pressing the glass knob at the fissure of her ass.

She sucked in her breath in disbelief—and fear. It had felt surprisingly good when he’d inserted his fingers during the schoolgirl fantasy, but the glass dildo was much larger—and so incredibly hard.

Yet . . . he didn’t push it in—he simply rested the round end against her and twisted it back and forth, almost as if teasing her. And—mmm, God—that felt good. Too good. She tried to be completely still within her bindings, lest she follow the urge to lift her ass against the toy and make him think she wanted it inserted.

“Lubricant,” Brent said—and she sensed, in her peripheral vision, someone going to get it. She swallowed nervously.

A moment later, something slippery was smeared at her anus, perhaps Vaseline. And then—again—came that same pressure from the round knob.

Almost in disbelief that he was going to do this, she found the strength to crane her neck, to look over her shoulder. The angle was difficult—and impossible to hold—but she was even more stunned by what she’d caught a glimpse of. He wasn’t preparing to fuck her ass exactly the way she’d thought—instead, he held what she’d thought of as the handle of the glass dildo toward her, with its row of smaller glass knobs, and suddenly the penis-shaped part had become the piece he held.

Part of her was relieved—the knobs were a lot smaller on this end, so getting them inside her ass didn’t seem as inconceivable. And yet—how would it feel? How deep would he go? It would surely be a much more extreme experience than when he’d used only his fingers.

“Arch your ass toward me, slave,” he said deeply, “and brace yourself.”

She could have ignored the command, but she didn’t. It was only smart to give him an easier angle.

And then came the pressure—and the first knob entered the tiny opening. She sobbed lightly, but . . . it wasn’t from pain. God. Oh. It was . . . it was like before, with his fingers. It was a most odd but certain pleasure.

He pushed again and another glass knob slipped inside. Her breath came heavier as her ass began to feel more filled.

A few seconds later her asshole swallowed another of the knobs, and then another. She cried out, from pure amazement—and the consuming fullness. Her scalp tingled and began to pulse. Her nipples ached and her breasts heaved. Her clit felt huge—and abandoned, deeply in need.

And just when Jenna thought maybe that was it, all that would happen, Brent began to slowly fuck her ass with the toy, pulling it part of the way out, then pushing it back in.

She let out a long, low, “Ohhhhhhh.” that sprang from her gut as the smooth knobs moved through her. She could barely understand the overwhelming pleasure he delivered—she’d broken out into a sweat and, oh God, one touch to her poor clit and she knew she’d explode in orgasm, but there was still no way to stimulate it.

Oh God, oh God, oh God—she trembled, teeth clenched, as Brent fucked her ass with the glass balls. So much profound pleasure, as if the toy stretched through her whole body—and yet still so much need, too. Oh damn it, she needed that chain off her clit! How much more could she take?

Just then, the flogger came down on her ass again, making her flinch and yell—and then she sobbed more deeply as her own movement jarred the glass toy. She heard herself begin to whimper and couldn’t stop—she’d lost complete control of herself.

“Take over with these,” she heard Brent softly instruct, and she hardly even cared who he was handing his torture devices over to at this point—she only wondered what the hell would happen next.

Brent walked around in front of her, which brought his still stone-hard cock back to her eye level. Oh God, he was hot. Even now, amid everything else, she could comprehend that. He was hot and dirty and made her wild inside.

She watched as he stepped closer and without touching himself or her, he raised his erection behind her nipple chain and used it to pull slightly outward. She cried out yet again—oh God, more pleasure/pain, more insanely intense sensation. With each second, she grew more crazed. So much pleasure but no release, just that teasing clit chain—how was she supposed to stand it? Perspiration still poured from her skin as heat echoed through her with every smooth glide of the glass knobs in her ass, with every hot sting of the flogger.

In utter desperation, she leaned her head back, straining to look up at Brent. She had to find some way to relieve herself of the crushing frustration. “Can—can I ask you for something, tell you what I want?” She’d never heard herself sound so helpless, almost despairing.

She wanted—needed—for him to fuck her, the normal way, and to rub her clit, to let her come. She needed it like she needed air to breathe. Nothing else mattered but sweet release.

She peered up at him, not breaking eye contact even when the dildo plunged into that tiny opening and made her sob with hard pleasure.

She couldn’t read his expression. Clearly lust drove him, yet his eyes appeared pained as he leaned down close—and when he spoke, he sounded partly like her master but also like Brent. “Not tonight,” he whispered. “Tonight you have to obey. It’s the only way.”

She thought she would die. She found herself wriggling against her leather bindings, as if that would do any good. More whimpers left her throat.

Brent gently touched her face. “Open your mouth now,” he said, still low but soft, almost as if ignoring her pleas were as hard on him as on her. “And suck my cock.”

Jenna simply did as she was told. All choice had been taken from her. Brent was her master now. He pushed his erection slow and deep and she accepted it—even welcomed it, since at least it was another form of being fucked, and right now, she needed more, more, more, even if the “more” wasn’t what would make her come.

He moved gradual and steady between her lips, fucking her mouth fully, unapologetically. And Jenna closed her eyes and simply felt. Every sensation. Even the clawing, nagging pressure on her clit. Her face flushed with warmth even as she attempted to calm herself and just be a good slave, just serve him.

Finally, he placed his hands on her head and drew back, leaving her lips stretched and sore. “Have you had enough torture?” he asked, still sounding more like Brent than the angry, controlling master.

“Yes,” she breathed, aware that the glass toy had gone still in her ass and the leather strips of the flogger now rested unmoving on her flesh.

“Apologize,” Brent instructed her solemnly.

“I’m sorry, master.”

“More,” he insisted.

She didn’t hesitate. “I should have taken what you wanted me to have, master. Please forgive me. I’ll be good from now on.”

“Tell me that whatever I wish for you, you wish it, too.”

She took a breath. “Whatever you wish for me, I wish it, too.”

“Tell me you want to be fucked however I deem you should be fucked.”

“I want to be fucked however you deem I should be fucked.”

Now Brent crouched down before her, looking her very closely in the eye. “Jenna, tell me you mean it. Tell me you’re truly prepared to take what I decide you need. Tell me you want it. Tell me it’s real.”

As she peered into his dark, beautiful eyes, something caught in her throat. He was . . . himself now. Brent. Still all-powerful, but also Brent. Asking her to truly trust him, and to truly choose to please him in a deeper way than she’d experienced thus far. And unable to break her gaze from his—so persuasive, full of emotion—oh God, it became real and profound. The deep need to do as he bid. To please him unconditionally, no matter what it required. Her words came out barely audible, but heartfelt and sincere. “It’s real. I mean it. I want it. Whatever you want for me, from me. If you want it, I want it. I’ll take it. For you.”

Their eyes stayed locked—and his softened. “That’s very good, baby,” he murmured, reaching to stroke his fingertips across her cheek. He raised his voice then, to be heard, but his gaze remained soft on her as he said, “Untie the slave. Strap her to the examination table.”

Jenna didn’t know what to think. Things were changing, but she didn’t yet know how. Would he relieve her frustration or just deal out more?

When the glass knobs exited her ass, it felt odd, uncomfortable, but she couldn’t concentrate on that for long since she realized she was being unbound—both the leather straps around her back and the tie around her wrists loosened. She didn’t even know who helped her up from her knees—she felt like a robot as two men escorted her to yet another apparatus, this one a simple table. Yet she could see more straps and chains attached to it.

She was laid on her back—and went willingly. She’d meant every word she said to Brent, so even as her pussy ached maddeningly, she let herself be guided.

From the bottom of the table, two extensions were drawn out—sort of like a doctor’s table, they supported her legs, yet left empty space between them. Thick leather buckles were fastened at her ankles, over her boots. Her arms were stretched over her head and she heard something—metal or steel—being fastened to the cuffs still on her wrists. She waited for more, but no further bindings came.

“Zack, fuck her,” Brent said, and though she sucked in her breath, this time it was no longer in fear or repulsion or moral concern. That was all gone now. Now it was a strange combination of numb obedience and anticipation. More. She would get more. More pleasure. More sensation. And it would please Brent. And that would please her.

Zack stepped between her legs, his erect cock already in hand. He wasn’t as big as Brent—but he rivaled the glass dildo. And she wanted him between her legs now.

Positioning himself, he closed his hands over her bare hips and pushed smoothly inside. He groaned and she sighed. He began to thrust—smooth, steady—and she found herself meeting his drives, excited to be fucked by a stranger now, for Brent, who stood at her side watching her cunt accept and respond.

“Serena,” Brent said—calling Jenna’s attention to the fact that Serena again stood nearby, “remove the clit chain and suck her there.”

Jenna made no attempt to hold in her sounds of joy at what he’d just commanded. Finally, finally, she would come! She couldn’t imagine needing to climax any worse than she did at this moment.

As Serena followed Brent’s instructions, soon closing her lips around Jenna’s swollen clitoris, she cried out. And Brent stepped closer, leaning over to cup her breasts and begin massaging them in the same rhythm as Zack’s strokes below. “Tell me when you’re gonna come,” Brent said.

And as she’d known, it didn’t take long—mere seconds, in fact—from Serena’s soft suckling. “Now,” she said, then louder. “Now.”

And as the powerful orgasm roared through her body like a tidal wave, Brent yanked the chain between her tits, pulling the rings from her nipples, and she yowled even louder, the move stretching the climax to what seemed an impossible length. The wild pulses in her cunt rolled on and on as she sobbed her release, eyes shut in an unbelievable ecstasy she couldn’t have anticipated. Oh God—yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Pleasure had never been wrenched from her body in such a profound and intense way.

After that, things went quiet in the dungeon; she sensed the other players leaving, and thank God—because it was as if her body simply shut down. It had been through too much. Part of her basked in elation at such an amazing orgasm, thrilled she’d survived this, and thrilled she’d done what Brent had wanted and that it hadn’t been so awful, after all—it had been undeniably pleasurable and she had to start accepting that, accepting that he truly knew what she needed. But she felt so physically spent that she nearly dropped into a deep sleep, just like guys often did after they came.

She forgot everything else and just rested—and though it briefly crossed her mind that Zack had not ejaculated, she didn’t belabor it, figuring he would get his satisfaction with someone else now.

Soon, the cuffs at her wrists were turned loose and she stretched her sore arms slowly down to her sides. She eased her eyes open to see Brent move to her feet, silently unbuckling the straps that held her ankles.

Finally, when she was freed, he raised his eyes to hers. “Are you pissed at me?”

He was totally Brent now. He’d even zipped up his pants, and though she had a horrible thought—he hadn’t finished either, and if they were done here, who would he come with?—she pushed it aside. There was far too much else to ponder right now.

She considered his question and bit her lip. “I’m not sure what I am right now. Besides overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding completely sincere, “that I had to put you through that—but I did. For you to really move forward. I know it seemed harsh, but with only two weeks and one of them nearly over, it felt necessary to make you take a big leap. And now you know some things you didn’t this morning. You know that being fucked by a total stranger can bring satisfying pleasure without any emotional connection, whether you wanted to believe that or not. I’m not saying that’s always the case, but it can happen, it can be enough—even for you. And now you know sex doesn’t have to be soft or sweet to be good. Sometimes really hard, rough sex can be fucking great, and you understand that now. And sometimes it can feel freaking fantastic to just let yourself be totally dirty—even though I’m sure you don’t like that idea, either. But it’s true, and there’s nothing wrong with it. You came an incredibly long way tonight if you’ll admit it to yourself.”

Jenna took a deep breath, let it back out. “As usual, everything you’re saying is true. And as things went on, I understood . . . about submission and obedience—I really did want what you wanted, no matter what it was. But at this moment, now that I’m no longer desperate to come, it’s all freaking me out a little. Even if I do know all these things I didn’t know this morning, I’m not sure . . . it’s me.”

He stepped up between her still-spread legs and rested his hands on her thighs, the move more comforting than sexual. “It doesn’t have to be you. It’s you tonight. It’s you for the coming week. It’s a hurdle you’re jumping, and on the other side you’re going to find yourself a lot more at ease in and in control of your normal sex life—whatever you choose to make it.”

She sighed and leaned her head back on the table. “It’s hard to imagine my sex life ever feeling normal again.”

When she met his gaze, he cast a small grin. “It will, sunshine—and all this will just seem like a dream, the dream you had to have to get where you needed to go.”

Then something hit her—something she hadn’t thought about before, and it felt important. “What if . . . what if I meet a guy and he’s the one? But . . . well, what if he’s a lot more like me than like you—what if it would change his opinion of me to know the things I did here?”

“Then maybe he needs to come here, too,” Brent replied with raised eyebrows, his look half teasing, half sincere.

She propped up on her elbows. “Not everyone who doesn’t indulge in kinky sex with multiple partners needs help, Brent.”

To her surprise, he actually appeared contrite—an expression she’d never seen on him before. “Fair enough, and very true. So . . . maybe when you find this Mr. Right, you just don’t tell him.”

“Then there’s a huge secret standing between us.”

“Not one he needs to know if it’ll fuck up your relationship. What you’re doing here has nothing to do with any future guy you’re going to meet and it’s no reflection on who you are as a person, Jenna. It’s just about making you enjoy the sex you choose to have to the fullest. In fact, Mr. Right should be glad you came here, because I guarantee it’ll make his sex life a lot better, too.”

Brent suddenly found himself trying to envision Jenna’s future Mr. Right—probably some Ivy League academic type, somebody who wouldn’t be nearly what she needed in a man. Maybe there was a reason no guy she’d ever dated had gotten her very excited about sex—she probably picked boring guys.

So he added, “Do me a favor. Don’t pick a boring guy.”

She grinned. “And exactly what kind of guy should I pick?”

He shrugged, then teased her. “Somebody more like me.”

She tilted her head, arched a brow. “Not likely. You have sex for a living.”

“Again, fair enough. So . . . somebody like me but who doesn’t have sex for a living.”

She flashed an expression he couldn’t quite read. “I’m afraid I’ve never met anybody quite like you before.” And he wondered how she meant that but didn’t ask. Maybe he didn’t really want to know. Maybe, after tonight, she was starting to think he was a pretty awful guy.

Not that he knew why he cared.

But he did need to retain her trust in him—now more than ever.

“You were fucking amazing tonight, Jenna,” he felt the need to tell her.

She looked surprised. “I . . . didn’t feel amazing. I felt like . . . a plebe. Ignorant, out of place. Silly.”

He lowered his chin in doubt. “You didn’t look too silly when you were excited and coming. You were . . . smokin’ hot, babe. I really need for you to know that.”

She appeared to be thinking back over the evening. “Okay, maybe I mostly felt like a silly plebe at the beginning. I was pretty scared.”

“But you still managed to go along with the fantasy. And I enjoyed every minute of it,” he assured her.

She sat up a bit more, leaning back on her hands, and bent her knees, her legs still spread before him. “What did you enjoy? In particular? It would help me to know.”

His cock still ached in his pants—he’d actually been through a lot of arousal himself tonight without getting off. And thinking back on it all made him begin to throb—but he still met her gaze as he answered. “The way you look in leather. Your tits, with the rings, and the chain. That you’re able to let a woman touch you now without flinching.” His voice deepened. “How you let yourself accept pleasure when you were chained to the wall. The way you looked . . . bound. The way your ass closed so tight around the glass. The way you whimpered and moaned.”

Her skin flushed and he tightened his hold on her thighs, squeezing lightly. He found himself watching her eyes, then her mouth—her lips pouty-looking from stretching around his dick for so long. He felt the urge to kiss her. But he resisted. It was best he start doing that more—resisting.

Remembering the period of time when she’d been strapped to the kneeling rail and how intense it had all gotten, he felt a little bad. But he wasn’t going to keep apologizing. Instead, he said, “What were you going to ask me for at the kneeling rail?”

“I was going to beg you to fuck me,” she said. Little Mary Sunshine no more. A perfect good girl gone perfectly bad. He wanted her like hell. “It turned out you were right, like always—what you wanted did bring me pleasure. I wasn’t repulsed by it—it was . . . more than I could have dreamed. But . . .” She lowered her eyes then, looking strangely bashful for a girl who wore a revealing corset and dominatrix boots. “I still find myself wanting now,” she went on softly, “what I wanted then.”

For him to fuck her. Him. No one else.

Brent lifted his hand from her fishnet-clad thigh, leaning over to touch her pretty face. He should resist. But he wasn’t going to. “Beg me now, sunshine.”

Looking beautifully needy but determined, she sat up fully and ran her hands through his hair, making his scalp tingle. “Please, Brent. Fuck me.” Her breath was shaky, audible. “Please, please, please—fuck me hard and deep. I’ll beg you all night if you want—I just need you inside me. Please.”

Damn. He’d begun to think she didn’t have it in her—the ability to let a lover know what she desired so honestly, so frankly. And this was another major step—a triumph—in her journey toward sexual freedom. But mainly, he heard it with his cock. And with his heart, which was beating way too rapidly. “I love hearing you say that, baby. Say it some more,” he rasped.

“Fuck me, Brent. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she pleaded in a hot, breathy voice that nearly buried him. “I want you to make me come. And I want to make you come, too. Please.”

A low groan left him as he kissed her. As he thrust his tongue into her mouth. As he molded his hands to her gorgeous tits, squeezing, massaging.

He loved it when she reached to undo his pants. Sweet Jenna, going for what she wanted. It made him even stiffer, if that was possible.

When his erection was freed, she moaned at the sight, then took him in her hand. Mmm, yeah—so good. He couldn’t hold in a low growl.

And then he was leaning in, letting her pull his dick toward her pussy, until he thrust inside. Aw, God. So fucking tight. Wet. Even after all she’d been through tonight, she was so hot for him. He curled his hands around her ass and let her set the pace, find her rhythm.

As she undulated against him, tits to chest, belly to belly, he let that rhythm move through him and soaked up everything hungry and wild and female about her. He ran his hands over her curves. He listened to her hot breath in his ear. Then he molded his hands tight to her ass, squeezing hard as she swayed and moaned, clearly getting close—beautifully close—then whimpering, “Now, Brent, now—oh God . . .”

Fuck yes. She looked and felt so beautiful coming in his arms that he could barely hold back. But he did—because this was her moment, to climax, to free herself a little more, to feel everything he wanted her to feel. He watched the orgasm wash over her, stealing her senses, and loved it more than he ever had. The way her eyes fell shut, her mouth dropped open, slack and lost to passion. The way she sighed, replete, when it had passed.

Then and only then did he take over, once again feeling the urge to dominate, because he needed release so fucking bad. He pressed her back to the table and climbed on. Then he plunged into her fiercely, unrelenting, loving the way her body jerked and her tits bounced with each drive, loving the way she held on to the table with both hands to better meet his cock with her sweet cunt.

“Beg me some more, baby,” he murmured against her breast, nibbling on the nipple. He’d had no idea how much it would excite him to hear that—Jenna begging.

“Fuck me,” she pleaded without hesitation. “Please, please fuck me!”

And that was all he needed. To ram into her still more powerfully, to make them both cry out with every pummeling stroke, and then to explode inside her.

“Damn—I’m coming, I’m coming!” he told her as a violent climax drained him. He groaned with every burst of come he shot inside her. Then he collapsed gently atop her soft body, amazed by the whole night.

She hadn’t been able to see much in the dark except the ocean—the small house rested high on the beach in a row with two or three others, all sharing sand and some palm trees for a yard. And to her surprise, the tiny community felt quite isolated from the rest of the resort.

Now she sat up in bed, peering out a window covered with sheer curtains to see a hammock stretched between two palm trees and another glimpse of the beach. She could hear the waves crashing from here.

Looking around, she found Brent’s home completely . . . normal. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but not this. The bedroom was bright and tidy, with a large teakwood bed and Spanish tile floors. The open bathroom door to the right revealed a large, modern shower and a wide vanity, with plush navy blue towels hanging from a bar in between. A glance in the other direction provided a glimpse of the living room, where she spied a leather sofa, expensive-looking end tables, and a large flat-screen TV.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep.

She gazed down at where he lay, not in the least embarrassed to be naked with him any longer. “Morning.”

“How are you? Still doing okay after last night?”

“Sore,” she said. The muscles in her arms and upper back ached, and in her thighs, too—maybe from walking so far in those ridiculously high-heeled boots.

“Sorry about that. But I scheduled a spa visit for you this afternoon with our best masseuse, Rhoda.”

She tilted her head, remembering where she was—not his bungalow, but the Hotel Erotique. “So—is a massage here a massage? Or is a massage here a sex thing?”

He grinned softly against his pillow, and she liked the way he looked with messy hair, needing a shave. “We do some massage fantasies, but most of the time, sunshine, a massage here is just a massage. Rhoda is a sweet, older woman who’ll give you the best massage of your life.”

She couldn’t help asking. “What is someone like her doing working here?”

“Her kids are grown and gone, she likes the beach, and we pay well,” he replied with a lazy wink—after which he looked a little more serious. “But back to the point—how are you, besides sore?”

She hadn’t yet thought about that. Mainly, she was focusing on the last round of sex, with Brent, and the fact that he’d whisked her back here as if it were the natural thing to do. “I think I’m okay,” she answered honestly. “I . . . don’t feel upset. I feel sort of like you said last night . . . like it was a dream or something.” Then she tilted her head. “Are the rest of my fantasies going to be . . .” But then she drifted off, not exactly sure what she was asking.

“Not quite as intense,” he replied, seeming to understand her concerns. “If your visit here is a hurdle in your sex life, then last night was the hurdle in your visit here. Now that you accept certain things and are less afraid, the rest should come easier.” Then he propped himself up on one elbow. “Don’t get me wrong, though. Don’t start expecting those silk sheets and violins of yours. You’ll still be experiencing new things and I’ll still be stretching you to new limits.”

“Okay,” she said with a light nod, pleased enough by his answer. Last night had ultimately brought her many new and intense kinds of pleasure, but she wasn’t sure she could do that again. “So . . . does this sleepover come with breakfast?”

He looked a little doubtful, then sheepish. “I’m, uh, not a big breakfast guy. I usually grab a muffin or something easy from one of the restaurants, on the way to my office. What did you have in mind?”

“Um, eggs? Bacon?”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Donuts? Pastries?” she suggested.

“Nada.”

“Cereal? Toast?”

His eyes widened happily. “Hey, that I’ve got. I can offer you a smorgasbord of Cheerios or Rice Krispies. And—don’t get too excited, but I just remembered I might even have some cinnamon raisin bagels.”

“A fine feast to restore my energy after last night,” she teased.

After getting up, Brent slipped into a pair of white boxer briefs from a drawer, leaving Jenna to admire the way they hugged his ass—and his bulge, when he turned around. “Want a T-shirt?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, and he opened another drawer, soon tossing a faded aqua Miami Dolphins tee across the bed.

“Ah, look what we have here,” he said as she followed him into the living room a moment later. Through the front door, which sported a long glass panel, she followed his eyes to a shopping bag on the front stoop bearing the Hotel Erotique logo.

“What is it?” she asked as he opened the door, admitting a salty sea breeze.

“I sent a text message to the front desk last night after we got here,” he replied, pulling the bag inside. She’d remembered him playing with his phone, but had assumed he was checking messages. “I asked the clerk on duty to open the gift shop and send a few things over.”

When Brent handed her the bag, she looked inside to find a cami, some cotton shorts, a Hotel Erotique thong with hot pink trim, and a pair of flip-flops.

“Just enough for you to get back to the room without feeling obvious this morning. No bra—but I figured you’re a big girl now and won’t freak out if anyone sees you without one between here and there,” he added with a wink.

She couldn’t help saying the obvious. “That was really thoughtful.” Then what was equally obvious. “But is, um, that sort of request normal? To have clothes sent to your place?”

“No,” he said simply.

“So, um, won’t that mean whoever handled the request will figure out you brought a guest here after a fantasy?”

“Probably.”

“Will you be in trouble for that?”

He gave a shrug, but she wasn’t sure if he was as relaxed about the question as he tried to act. “Other employees might be pissed since it is against the rules—but I guess that’s one perk of being an owner. They can be pissed without it really affecting me.”

As Brent found cereal bowls and toasted the bagels, Jenna took the opportunity to explore a little more. She wasn’t sure why—but this seemed like the best chance she’d get to see what made Brent tick, besides insatiable lust.

She perused the built-in shelves in the living room—which opened onto the kitchen—and other than some sexual psychology books, again found all typical stuff. Among the CDs, which ranged from the eighties to current music, she spotted some Stone Temple Pilots and a lot of Pearl Jam. Besides the sex books, she spied a few sports books, a world atlas, and several volumes on car repair—one specifically about classic Mustangs. “Do a lot of car repair here on the island, do you?” she joked.

Turning from the fridge with a small tub of margarine in his hand, he grinned. “I used to be into cars—before I came here.” So he’d given up cars for sex. She supposed when push came to shove, most guys would.

Then her eyes fell on an old photo album, the kind with sticky pages. Checking to make sure he wasn’t watching, she smoothly pulled it out and let it fall open.

Inside, she discovered snapshots of a younger Brent. She guessed him to be around twenty in most of them, and whereas he was a rugged, handsome man now, then he’d been a fresh-faced, just-as-good-looking boy. Quick glances told her he’d had a lot of friends—there were group pictures at parties, picnics, events she couldn’t identify. In one, he had his arm around a pretty yet plain sort of girl and she noted how comfortable they appeared together. Jenna might have thought it was a sister, except they looked nothing alike. She was struck by the girl’s simplicity—hardly the bombshell cheerleader type she would have expected Brent to hook up with at that age, or any age.

When she heard the toaster pop and Brent said, “Breakfast is served,” starting to butter the bagels with his back to her, she quickly returned the album to the shelf and made her way to the kitchen—she didn’t want to be caught snooping quite that much.

And as they ate and Brent started chatting about the other resort owners who were his neighbors, she was almost sorry she’d gotten this peek into his life, into how normal it all seemed.

Because being with him had been . . . well, easier when she’d thought he was so different from her. She was already in major lust with the guy, and she already felt way too much when she had sex with him. Or—hell—even when he watched her fool around with someone else. So she surely couldn’t start feeling attached in nonsexual ways, too.

She would be here for only another week, after all. And at heart . . . they were different. Very different. You have to remember that. He’s had sex with hundreds of women, maybe thousands. He’s happy living here on an island doing nothing but creating sexual fantasies for people and having still more sex. He’s no one to fall for. No matter how hot he is, no matter what crazily intimate things you’ve done with him—and for him.

So she resolved not to ask him about anything else in the house—not where he got the peaceful beach painting over the sofa, or where he’d traveled, or who the people in the album were, or anything. She had to do what Brent was so good at—keep this all about sex.

So when they both stood up a little while later to carry empty bowls and plates to the sink, she set hers back down, stepped close enough to him to feel his warmth, and said, “Fuck me again.”

He lowered his chin, looking somewhere between amused and aroused. “Who’s the master here, sunshine?”

“Maybe I am. Or would I be the mistress?” Then she slapped his ass through his underwear and tried to sound more dominating than playful. “Now do it.”

It didn’t work—she just wasn’t the bossy type—but that didn’t keep Brent from easing his strong arms around her, planting them on her bare ass, and lifting her onto the kitchen table. He stepped between her legs, kissing her—kisses she could easily get lost in—but she still managed to reach inside his underwear. He was only half hard, but still big in her hand, and stiffening rapidly.

He let out a hot sigh when she squeezed and began to massage the length in her fist. “Mmm, sunshine, that’s nice. You’re getting better at this all the time.”

She didn’t answer, simply took pride in the fact that his cock had just become a stone pillar in her hand. “God, you’re so big,” she murmured, always amazed by it.

“And you like it,” he teased with sexy, half-shut eyes.

Why bother lying? “I love it. It scared me at first, but now I crave it.”

“You’ve done very, very well, Little Mary Sunshine,” he growled, “so here’s a reward.” And with that, he plunged the object of her lust into her waiting pussy.

As usual, she cried out. Mmm, God—she wasn’t lying about his size or how incredible it felt inside her. She parted her legs as wide as possible to welcome his thrusts.

Soon, though, he wrapped his arms around her waist and she curled her legs around his hips, and he carried her to the couch while still inside her. He eased back onto the creamy brown leather, which left her straddling him. “Oh, Brent,” she purred as hot lust rushed through her veins, “you feel even bigger like this.”

He cast a cocky grin. “I know. That’s why I brought you over here.”

In fact, it was almost a challenge to ride him in this position, with all her weight on him. She grew used to it as she found her rhythm—but she couldn’t help moaning deeply with every undulation, feeling truly impaled on his magnificent shaft.

“Oh God,” she groaned as he filled her, as she moved on him. “Oh God, oh God.”

“Work that sweet pussy, honey,” he said low, his dirty talk intoxicating to her now.

Oh God, this was so good, so hot. Without kinky settings or special costumes or disciplinary roles. It was steamy and perfect just to fuck him, in a T-shirt, on his couch. Like normal people. Normal lovers. With that thought in mind, she shut her eyes, let her body guide her swaying movements, and came.

Moments later, he came, too, after which she sank against him—truly, utterly exhausted from so much sex in less than twelve hours. She still managed to smile into his eyes, though, to say, “This is the first time I’ve been on top with you.”

His warm hands gripped the curves of her waist, under her shirt. “You look good up there, baby. Confident. Like a woman who knows what she wants.”

“I do,” she teased him. “Your big, perfect cock.”

“Damn, I love to hear you talk sexy now. What a difference a few days make. You say ‘cock’ now like it’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s far from nothing,” she assured him. “It’s my favorite part of you.”

He grinned, kissed her, and she wanted to melt in his arms. They rested together like that, until finally Brent said, “I’m afraid if we don’t get up, I’m gonna fall back asleep, and I have work to do today.”

Coming out of a sleepy comfort of her own, Jenna smiled into his eyes. “More fantasies to plan for me?”

He tilted his head. “You’re not my only guest, you know.”

Actually, she’d sort of forgotten that. He’d made her feel so special. “But the others are guys, right?”

“Right.”

“And you don’t take part in their fantasies, right?”

“Right again.” Then his eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”

She tried to slough if off. “You don’t know by now that I’m nosy and inquisitive?”

“Crazy me—I forgot. And by the way, just so you know, no fantasy for you tonight.”

Still snuggling with him on the couch, she tried to hide her disappointment. “No?”

“Last night was a lot. You need some downtime. You have that spa appointment today at two, but the rest of your time is your own until you get new instructions tomorrow. Enjoy,” he said with a wink.

But she would have enjoyed it much more if her plans had included him.

They took turns in the shower, and while he was in the bathroom, she couldn’t help herself—she went back to that photo album. Able to look a bit more slowly now, she found pictures of young Brent at some sort of formal dance, with the same plain girl as before, although she looked prettier here in a blue gown with her hair piled on her head. She saw what appeared to be family pictures at Christmastime: Brent and a teenage sister—who did look like him—with his parents, opening presents; Brent wearing a Santa hat, making a silly face for the camera. She also stumbled upon college graduation pictures: Brent in a cap and gown. But he looked sullen in them compared to his friends.

As she climbed back on the golf cart with Brent a little while later, heading back into the wild world of the Hotel Erotique, she kept up the playful small talk, even grilling him for some hint about her next fantasy, but he didn’t budge. Yet when he let her off at her building with a kiss, as she walked away from him beneath the tropical sun, she began to feel . . . very worried.

Because yes, she’d come an amazingly long way. But . . . what if he was the only guy on the planet she could be this hot and wild with? What if she was healed . . . only with him?

And worse yet . . . despite her admonitions to herself this morning, she was beginning to think she’d made those resolutions far too late. Because parting with him just now had hurt, leaving her to feel ridiculously lonely. She still felt his kiss on her lips when she reached her room. And knowing she wouldn’t see him again until probably tomorrow night . . . well, it sounded like forever. And to think that after another week, she’d never see him again? Her heart physically ached.

The horrifying truth was—she’d fallen for Brent Powers. She’d fallen for him hard, and she had no idea how to save herself.