But then she bolstered herself, remembering: Other women hadn’t been given a sexy male guide, asked to confide in him and trust in him in such an intimate way. So maybe this wasn’t her fault at all—maybe the blame fell on Brent.

Not that it made her any less crazy about him. No, instead she was just hurt and upset.

Did his refusal to be with her this afternoon mean her future fantasies wouldn’t include him, either? Or that he’d take part only as a spectator? Well, if that was the case, then . . . maybe she didn’t want any more fantasies. And she’d tell him that the next time she saw him. She’d use her safeword if that’s what it took. She knew they didn’t have a real relationship—she knew this would go nowhere . . . but for now, here, it was what she needed: sex with a man she was completely crazy about.

She was jarred from her despair by a knock on the door. God—what now?

Rising cautiously—because she’d learned surprises lay behind every door, sometimes even her own, at the Hotel Erotique—she twisted the knob and opened it to find no one there; yet another gift box rested at her feet. This one looked more innocent than some of the others she’d received—it was a simple white box tied with a thick lavender ribbon.

Of course, she hurriedly brought it inside and opened it up.

She discovered, nestled in lavender tissue paper, a lovely yet surprisingly old-fashioned peignoir set—a long white nightgown of silk and lace, and a matching robe that tied under the bust and possessed lace-festooned sleeves much like the dress she’d worn today. The set also came with a pair of white lace string bikini panties—certainly the most modern part of the ensemble.

A card lay in the box as well—another written in Brent’s jagged handwriting:

That was it. Not even a signature this time.

Jenna pulled in her breath, wondering what this meant.

But as it was already fairly late—after ten—she quickly decided to quit wasting time and just do what the note said. She only hoped that whatever was happening here, it would include the man she craved. If not, she wasn’t going to play these games anymore.

Ten minutes later, Jenna left her room in the dainty, antique nightgown and robe, her heart beating in her throat. In one way, it felt odd to be going out like this, but on the other hand, it was demure nightwear to say the least, especially with the robe—and as she often had to remind herself, this was the Hotel Erotique, so she’d have to be seen in a lot less to make a passerby even blink.

Still, she was relieved not to encounter anyone as she followed the main path, barefoot, across well-manicured grounds lit by tiki torches. Crossing a wooden boardwalk that spanned the dunes, she stepped down into the cool sand and into another world.

The beach was empty, stark yet peaceful tonight, and it was easy to forget a trendy sex resort lay just behind her. A bright crescent moon guided her toward the shoreline, casting a ribbon of light across dark water. For a moment she forgot to wonder why she was here and simply soaked up the soft, salty breeze as it blew her satin gown up around her thighs, making her skin ripple lightly.

Leaning her head back, she took in the stars above—countless millions of them twinkling in an inky black sky. Would she see people fucking out here, experiencing their fantasies? Somehow, tonight, the very thought seemed ludicrous—because since reaching the beach, it did feel as if she’d been transported someplace else, someplace . . . simpler, quieter, more remote.

A glance to the sea at her right revealed . . . hmm, a few lights. Did this mean—was the pirate ship still anchored offshore? Like this afternoon, the sight whisked her back to another time.

It was at that very moment that she saw the vague shapes of people running toward her . . . a white shirt . . . a man . . . two men. She tensed automatically, but before she could think, one of them grabbed on to her arm, almost hurting her. She gasped, pulling back, but it was too late—the other man held her opposite wrist now and was soon jerking her hands together in front of her. The harsh scrape of rope tightened on her skin.

Looking up, she found herself gazing into the shadowy stare of someone familiar—Zack. Her first thought: Oh God, I can’t believe I’ve had sex with this guy twice but barely exchanged a word with him. Her second: Damn it, I’m being tied up.

“Thought you could get away, did you, wench?”

Except . . . maybe part of her still fit that description—the guilelessly honest part, the openly inquisitive part. And maybe it was the combination that was getting to him, and the way she’d yielded to him sexually . . . so very deeply.

But it was the anger that surfaced when the wooden door to the captain’s quarters banged open. He lay across the bed watching with a strange mix of desire and resentment as Zack and Rico brought her inside, her wrists bound before her in thick rope.

The rear of the Spanish galleon reproduction was small and dimly lit by kerosene lamps, and for a moment, it was almost easy to believe he was his character—a ruthless pirate ready to slake his need between the legs of the nearest wench. Except the girl in front of him, looking lovely and innocent in white satin and lace, wasn’t just any wench. And despite himself, he liked that she appeared just a little frightened when she saw the look in his eyes.

“The wench, captain,” Rico reported.

“Leave us,” he said, shooing the other men away. He liked the darkness surrounding them, liked knowing that as soon as Zack and Rico took one of the rowboats back to shore, he and Jenna would be all alone, floating isolated, away from anything and anyone. Tonight, he needed to believe the Hotel Erotique didn’t even exist. Tonight he needed to fuck her—man to woman, not guide to guest or teacher to student. If he was going to surrender to his needs, he was going to surrender hard.

And he wasn’t inclined to make it remotely soft for Jenna, either. He knew none of this was her fault—but his anger toward her right now was real. No one weakened him this way—no one. Well, once, maybe, but that had been different, and sex had . . . sex had saved him in a way then. And no one had ever made him feel sexually out of control—until now. He couldn’t help it—he wanted to punish her for that. If she wanted him so damn bad, well, she would have him, all right. She would have every inch of him, every way he wanted to give it to her.

He wore a white, billowing pirate’s shirt now and the same breeches and boots from earlier. Rising slowly to his feet, he reached in the scabbard at his waist and drew out his dagger.

Damn, she truly did look pretty—so very innocent. Somehow it made him want to conquer her even more. Despite everything he’d told her today about why this couldn’t happen, he’d given in to his own desires and now here they were, both about to pay for it.

Stepping close to her, he curled his hand over her bound fists and lifted them firmly up over her head. Then he slid the dagger down inside the front of her nightgown and robe, aware that she was beginning to tremble, and—cruelly—liking it. She’d clearly picked up on the fact that the blades on the beach today weren’t real—and had now realized this one was. Carefully, he pressed the curved dagger flat between her breasts. “Does the blade feel cold against your skin, my lady?” he leaned nearer to ask.

Her answer sounded shaky. “Yes.”

He was hard as a rock, had been that way all afternoon, even after getting himself off in the shower, and now he pressed his aching hard-on against her hip. “And does my big cock feel ready to impale you?”

She lifted her gaze to him and he saw the stark desire residing there as she responded breathily. “Oh, yes.”

With care, he turned the dagger so that the sharp edge pointed outward—then he sliced through the fabric, all the way down, until both the gown and jacket fell open across her breasts and torso. She gasped, and he groaned—because he’d just gotten a little stiffer, damn it. He couldn’t wait much longer.

So he wasted no more time. Slipping the dagger carefully into the side of her pretty lace panties, he cut those, too, leaving them to fall about one thigh. She let out another gasp and he whispered hotly, “Do I frighten you, wench?”

“Kind of,” she replied softly. And it moved all through him like liquid—her voice, her fear.

“Good,” he said, low and dark. “Because right now, sunshine, I’m scaring myself a little, too.”

And with that, he tossed the dagger aside, picked her up, and threw her to her back on the bed.

She landed with a small cry of surprise and struggled lightly against her ropes. Meanwhile, he briskly undid his pants, reached in to free his aching cock, and promptly nailed her to the bed with it. It happened that quick—one fluid set of moves and he was in her, deep, hard, and she was crying out at the entry. He felt it low in his belly, that hot little cry—in it he heard her fear, her surrender, her pleasure, her need, and he loved all of it, more than he could understand; he loved being the man who made her feel so many things, so very profoundly. Feel me, sunshine, he thought as he began to drive into her warm, tight cunt. Feel me, feel me, feel me.

She moaned at every hot, hard plunge—and he fucked her relentlessly, like a madman. He grabbed on to her ass, pulling her to him so he could thrust to the hilt, make her take it, make her take him. He grunted and growled as the dark delight of fucking her so roughly vibrated inside him.

What would happen after this? He didn’t know. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He only knew he couldn’t resist fulfilling her fantasy—even at the emotional peril of them both.

It took a few minutes to realize that despite how hard he was giving it to her, she was fucking him back—meeting his strokes, slamming her pelvis into his again and again. They groaned together, and her bound wrists circled his neck. Even afraid, she wasn’t fighting him.

Finally, he pulled out, pressed her body back to the bed, and moved to straddle her shoulders. Then he held his cock down to her mouth and said, “Suck me.”

She opened wide, willing and beautiful, and he fed her his length. And a part of him wanted to go just as hard there, be just as brutal, but . . . he couldn’t. She looked too defenseless with her bound arms stretched over her head, giving in to him so fully.

And—damn, it felt good to go slow anyway. Her warm mouth hugged his erection, snug and wet, making him curse under his breath as he tried to keep from coming. Shit—when had he lost control with her? He didn’t even know. He only felt himself succumbing more and more.

“Dirty girl,” he whispered down to her. “With such a hot, dirty little mouth. That’s so good, honey—suck my cock. Keep sucking it, dirty girl.” He’d never thought a woman looked exactly beautiful doing this—he’d thought they looked hot, nasty, obscene, and a host of other descriptors—but despite himself, he thought Jenna somehow indeed looked beautiful, even if in a really naughty way, taking his cock deep into her throat.

But when he again feared he would come, he withdrew. He wasn’t done here yet—no way. Not even close.

Catching his breath, he began to back slowly over the length of her body, letting his erection glide over her chest, between her breasts, onto her slender belly, and when he lifted his gaze back to hers, right below his now—hell, he had to kiss her. Just had to.

His hands cupped her face and his mouth sank over prettily swollen lips. He didn’t kiss her gently, though—he kissed her like a man who was starving for her. Still tied, she kissed him just as ravenously and it made his heart beat harder, his cock pulsing madly.

Needing still more, he kissed his way briskly down her body—raining kisses over her breasts and tummy, placing one next to her belly button, and then pressing his mouth into her open slit.

Damn, she tasted good—the sweet, salty, feminine taste of her instantly permeated his senses. And as he licked at her folds and delivered openmouthed kisses to her beautifully engorged clit, she let out the hot little whimpers and cries he adored. She appeared lost in abandon—eyes shut, lips parted—except for when her teeth clenched in sweet agony each time he focused tightly on her turgid little nub. He found himself licking at it harder, wanting to drive her toward climax, loving the way she began to fuck his mouth then, loving the sex-hungry woman Jenna became in his arms.

And that’s when he realized he needed to give her more right now, something extra, something new. No normal orgasm seemed good enough for her at the moment. So, still licking at the top of her pussy, he smoothly inserted two fingers where his dick had been a few minutes ago. A ragged sigh left her at the small intrusion, after which he began to stroke his fingertips deliberately along the upper wall of her vagina.

This didn’t work for every woman, but it did for most, given that he knew what he was doing. He found the spot he was seeking easily, where the surface of the flesh was just a little softer, smoother—then he stroked some more, curling his fingers toward him, like one might scratch a cat’s chin.

Above, her breath began to catch and his whole body turned hot at the gentle yet unsettled sounds of pleasure as he returned to suckling her clit in earnest. She began to tremble amid her whimpers so that they came out shaky, uncontrolled. “Oh . . . Ohhh,” she began to moan.

He stroked the inner wall of her cunt more intensely, faster now, as he sucked her clit deeper between his lips—and at the moment he felt her climax start to break, he closed his teeth over her distended nub and rubbed her wildly inside.

“Oh! Oh God! Oh God!” she cried. And then she began to yowl like a wild animal, her pelvis bucking against his face in a jagged response he could tell was involuntarily—her body was jerking the powerful orgasm out of her with or without her consent. It went on a long while, pleasing him deeply, making his cock harden further.

He lifted his head only when she went still, quiet. His Little Mary Sunshine looked utterly spent, her chest heaving, her arms still stretched over her head. When she opened her eyes, she tried to speak, but her lips still quivered. “Wh-what was . . . ?”

“It was your G-spot,” he whispered.

Her green eyes grew big and round. “That really exists?”

He tried to keep from chuckling. Still innocent in some ways, his sunshine. “Hell yeah, it exists. You just felt the proof.”

“Holy shit,” she murmured. Then let her eyes fall shut again.

Brent gave her a minute to recover—he knew she needed it—by rising from the bed and finding the dagger he’d tossed aside earlier, ready to free her wrists. When he returned, she looked much more feral than frightened now, even with her wrists bound, even with the cut remnants of her white nightgown still falling away from her otherwise naked body.

He carefully sliced through the rope between her fists. Then he gave her his pirate look again—the look that said, I’m going to take you rough and hard—even though he wasn’t thinking about being a pirate anymore. He was only thinking about the fierce urges still driving him.

Planting one palm on her bare hip, he rolled her to her stomach on the bed. Then, sweeping the white fabric aside to reveal her round ass, he gave it a slap and said, “On your hands and knees.”

She obeyed, looking at once pretty and obscene—and he decided he needed her all the way obscene. So without warning, he used the dagger still in hand to cut down the back of the gown and robe this time, letting it fall away in the other direction to leave her enticingly naked. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he breathed over her like a threat—but her only response was to arch her ass higher for him. “Good girl,” he said, low, deep.

Then he grabbed her ass with both hands and plunged his aching shaft back into her slick, enveloping pussy. She cried out, and he groaned, too—mmm, she was still so tight, even after a week of hot fucking. He rammed into her with all the power he possessed, as rough as he’d promised, making them both cry out at each stroke. And he smacked her ass, simply to provide another bit of sensation for them both. At some point, he bent his body over hers, anchoring his arm around her waist, to deliver shorter but still intense thrusts, and felt like a rutting animal.

Her sobs of pleasure fueled him and he knew he still hadn’t gotten enough of her. She was wet and willing and perfect, she was sexy and beautiful and dirty for him, she was everything a man could want—but tonight, he was driven to a point of needing still more.

Rising back upright, he continued to fuck her, drive after wild drive, now kneading her soft ass. His fingers dug into her flesh; so did his thumbs. Each time, his thumbs parted her bottom just a little, giving him a clear view of her tight, tiny asshole—which contracted, just slightly, with every stroke he delivered. Shit.

He knew what he wanted in an instant. He wanted in her ass.

But he also knew he was surely too big, even despite the glass toy she’d taken there the other night. That part of the toy was designed specifically for anal play, after all—his cock definitely was not. He’d fucked women in the ass before, but not many—and only girls who were well accustomed to that kind of sex.

Still, as he moved in Jenna’s moist passageway, relishing the hot slide, his thumbs moved farther inward, playing around the tiny fissure, soon stroking it in rhythm with his drives. The weak, lusty sighs that now came with her sobs told him she felt it, liked it. He couldn’t resist slipping the tip of his middle finger inside.

“Oh!” she cried, leaning her head back, arching invitingly.

Brent slid the rest of his finger inward, all the way, listening to the deep moan it tore from her throat. And he began fucking her ass with his finger as he fucked her cunt with his cock.

Her responses grew more wild and he felt strangely desperate to make her wilder still. And oddly compelled to get into her ass. More than just his finger. His cock. If her pussy was this tight, how compact would that sweet little ass feel around his erection?

He wouldn’t hurt her, of course—he couldn’t risk that. But he knew, in sex, when there was a will there was often a way. And if he prepared her well enough, and if her body wanted it the way his did, he might indeed get into that tiny opening.

He inserted a second finger without warning, making her howl in pleasure. Damn, she was hot. He still fucked her cunt, slowly, but concentrated more on her anus now, moving his fingers in small circles, trying to gradually expand the flesh there. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this deeply, hotly aroused, a sensation that grew in his gut. He wanted to possess her in a way no one ever had; he wanted to own her right now.

Withdrawing his fingers and cock, he whispered, “Rest a second, baby,” then retreated from the bed to a set of drawers built into the cabin. Given that this wasn’t a real pirate’s ship, he found an array of un piratelike articles: fur-lined handcuffs, real handcuffs, an enormous black vibrator, some condoms, a silver cock ring—and then, finally, yes, a nearly full tube of lubricant! Thank God.

Returning to the bed where Jenna leaned forward, resting with her shoulders on the mattress but her knees still tucked up under her, Brent smoothly reinserted his fingers in her ass. A strangled cry erupted from her, pleasing the dominant side of him.

He moved his fingers again in circles, gently stretching her, his arousal compounding at the sight of her widening asshole. “So hot, honey,” he murmured instinctively—and she only let out a weak, whimpering sigh in response.

Mmm, God, he was so ready for this. So ready to take her where no one else had. He’d done that many times already, of course, but this felt different from all the other fantasies—even more intense, more personal.

Upon withdrawing his fingers this time, he squeezed a generous portion of the lubricant into the slightly opened fissure. He knew, because it was the Hotel Erotique’s signature lube, that it would feel cool and tingly—and he heard her surprised gasp.

Feeling urgent now, he applied the lubricant to his cock, rubbing it over the whole length but concentrating on the head—and was forced to let out a small gasp of his own.

His gut clenched in anticipation as he leaned in from behind, then bent to whisper in her ear, “Your safeword is still Cleopatra.”

She turned her head to look at him, eyes questioning.

“In case this hurts,” he explained, low. “Don’t let me hurt you, Jenna.”

Too late for that, Jenna thought. But she had no time to think about that kind of hurt at the moment—the current threat felt much more immediate. And still, she wanted it. She wasn’t even sure why, but she yearned to have him inside her in this new way.

At her rear, the tip of his erection nestled in that oh-so-sensitive spot, and she shut her eyes, bracing herself, as he began to push.

Oh God. It hurt. He was too big—he’d never fit. She clenched her teeth, and her fists, wanting this to work.

“Relax,” he said gently. “Try to relax your muscles.”

She did, focusing on the task. And then it hurt less. It was still tight as hell, stretching her there, forcing her to bite her lip—but she never said Cleopatra. Because she didn’t want him to stop.

Behind her, Brent’s breath came labored and thready, and she knew he was partly inside her anus now. He massaged her ass as he worked, clearly trying to comfort her and stretch her more at the same time. She bit her lip and willed her body to open to him there.

“Aw . . . aw, fuck yes,” he muttered—and then she felt his thick cock make the painstakingly slow glide into her ass.

She sucked in her breath at the overpowering sensation. Although she was aware of being stretched to the max, it no longer hurt—exactly. Or maybe it did, but at the same time, it filled her with . . . gloriously overwhelming pleasure. “Oh God.” The words came straight from her core.

“Does it hurt?” He sounded barely able to talk.

Did it? Crazy as it sounded, she wasn’t sure. “Yes. And no. I . . . I . . .”

“Tell me, damn it—am I hurting you?”

“N-no. It’s . . . amazing.”

“You are,” he whispered deeply. “Fucking amazing.”

She could only sob in response. Because the sensations this position produced were growing, multiplying, spreading all through her body. It felt like his cock was everywhere, pervading her entire being. She’d never imagined any sexual experience could be this consuming. More than two cocks. More than surrendering to everything he’d inflicted on her in the dungeon. More than anything. It filled her. It saturated her. It owned her. Sweat began to pour from every part of her body as she clenched her teeth against the strange, hot pleasure, at once frightening and glorious.

And then he began to move.

Short, gentle thrusts in that tiny, narrow tunnel. And she lost all control.

As Brent slid into her, growling his pleasure with every stroke, Jenna found herself crying out through clenched teeth, pounding her fists on the bed, besieged with sensation. “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” she heard herself scream. All the blood drained from her face and her body grew weak trying to absorb it all. She heard the deep sobs and cries echoing uncontrolled from her throat and could barely fathom anything but the huge cock in her ass and her own incredible response—she’d never been this crazed.

And even after the most powerful orgasm she’d ever had—oh Lord, the G-spot was real!—she felt on the edge of another, wildly hungry to come again. Her clit ached—she craved friction there.

Behind her, Brent growled ferociously and she became aware of one more important thing—his pleasure. It felt as intense as hers, roaring through her almost as forcefully.

Soon, her limbs grew so shaky that she sank to the bed completely, flat on her stomach—still with Brent fucking that tiny fissure that felt so huge right now. And almost as soon as her clit touched the woven bedspread, the orgasm hit like an earthquake.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as it echoed violently through her—her body thrashed about and she screamed through the raging pleasure pumping from her cunt. And just when it ended—as mind-numbing and earth-shattering as the previous climax—Brent let out a deep groan, said, “Jesus, I’m coming in your ass, baby,” and thrust into her, spilling himself.

Then he sank on top of her and they both fell into an exhausted sleep within seconds.

Brent lay next to her, still in his sexy pirate clothes. Sexy, but she wanted them off now—especially since her own lay in shreds around her.

Just then, his eyes opened. “You okay, sunshine?” he asked softly.

She bit her lip, feeling sheepish about her reply. “More than okay,” she admitted. “I have been . . . thoroughly pleasured.” Then she let out a small sigh. “Although . . .”

“Yeah?” He lifted his head slightly to peer down at her.

“Well, my—um—anus feels kind of odd, like it’s . . . uh . . . sort of more open than usual right now. Which felt better, frankly, when there was something inside it.”

He cast an indulgent smile. “That’ll go away in a little while.”

He said it with such confidence that she wondered how he knew, but then remembered who she was talking to—he wasn’t just her lover. He’d likely been having this same discussion for years with other girls he’d fucked this way. Ugh—unpleasant thought, so she pushed it aside and tried to ignore the senseless jealousy pulsing through her veins.

As Brent scooted toward the head of the bed—they’d ended up sideways across it—he reached for her. “Come share a pillow with me,” he murmured, still sounding sleepy.

She replied by joining him but giving him a command, too. “Take your clothes off. The pirate thing is hot, but naked is hotter.”

Brent said nothing, just agreeably removed the white shirt over his head to reveal the muscular chest and arms underneath, then shed his boots and pants as well. Together, they wordlessly pushed down the covers and crawled underneath.

Then it hit her—what did this mean? Was she spending the night with him here? Or was this just a temporary rest period before they went their separate ways for the evening? Given his declarations this afternoon about not being able to get close to her anymore, she was pretty confused by this whole night.

So she propped up on one elbow and looked down at him. “I thought you said we were getting too involved.”

“We are,” he answered simply, without quite meeting her gaze.

“Then why . . .”

“Don’t ask me.”

“How come?”

Now he looked at her. “Because I don’t know the answer. I just did it. Because I wanted to. And because you wanted to.”

Hmm. Wow. He’d wanted her just like she’d wanted him. Enough to break more of his own rules. She couldn’t help it—she leaned down and kissed him, a move that left her scalp tingling. “You’ve . . . changed me so much. In such a short time.”

He nodded. “That’s my job, sunshine.”

And her stomach pinched lightly. But, deciding this was no time to start holding back, she asked what was on her mind. “When I leave here, Brent, will I . . . mean anything to you? At least be someone you remember fondly?”

“Honey, let’s not go there.”

Damn it. “I need to. Need, Brent.” She knew that was a word he well understood.

He sighed, looked slightly troubled, but then met her eyes once again, looking calmer, more acceptant. “Okay, yes,” he admitted. “I will remember you . . . very fondly.” He reached up to gently stroke her hair. “Today on the beach—my God, I loved your . . . recklessness. You’ve gotten to be amazing in bed, Jenna.”

She lowered her gaze briefly, ready to make a confession of her own. It was obvious, but she felt the need to tell him. “I never could have done it without the freedom you’ve brought me. And . . . maybe I’m beginning to understand that those, um, occurrences in my youth did color my opinions of sex. So . . . thank you. For pushing me to do these things.”

Beside her, he used his elbow to raise slightly, as well, giving his head an inquisitive tilt. “So tell me, did you really not like being with girls?”

She shrugged, amused with the question. Guys were always so obsessed with that. “I kind of liked it. But I told you—I like it more when you’re there.” Then she smiled, teasing him. “Why do guys always think girls secretly want other girls? After all, have you ever been with other guys?”

“Yeah,” he said easily—and her jaw dropped.

“Oh.” His answer left her utterly stunned—and then, for some reason, it kind of aroused her. “Do you . . . like it?”

He lowered his head back to the pillow. “Sometimes. Does that turn you off?”

“No. I mean, I never thought about it, but . . . to tell you the truth, I don’t know why, but it’s kind of getting me hot right now.”

He grinned up at her. “Good.” Yet then his expression changed. “Though maybe it would have been better if it turned you off.”

“Why? Isn’t all this about me becoming more and more open about sex?”

“Yeah, but . . . it would be best if it stopped having to do with . . . me.”

Oh, hell. They both knew the situation, but hearing him say it made her feel like some “guide groupie.” So she simply chose not to reply. Instead she lowered her head to the pillow, too, bringing them face-to-face. “Tell me,” she said softly. “About being with other guys.”

The request hung in the air for a moment before he said, “What about it? I’ve been here for fifteen years—there’s not much I haven’t done, sunshine.”

Another harsh reminder, but since she was thinking of him with other guys instead of other girls right now, it didn’t sting so much as simply remind her that she was practically still a virgin compared to Brent Powers. “Tell me . . . what you like. With another guy,” she asked, cautiously. Because yes, she was weirdly turned on by the idea, but she wasn’t sure how much, or what she wanted to hear, or if his answers would transform her arousal to something else.

When he hesitated, she realized maybe she wasn’t the only one uneasy with the topic—maybe he was embarrassed to talk about it with her, afraid of her reaction. It was the first time she’d ever seen Brent uncomfortable with any aspect of sex—he was usually so confident and smooth. But maybe it was because of the weird divergence in current society—straight girls playing at bisexuality had somehow become socially acceptable, but straight guys experimenting with other guys? Not as much.

Finally, he replied, speaking more softly than normal. “Sometimes . . . I like that it’s harder than sex with a girl—I mean, I like feeling a harder body against me.”

His answer made her heart pound. Possibly because it meant he truly understood—through experience—something a woman liked about sex? Or perhaps just because it clearly wasn’t easy for him to say and yet he was telling her anyway.

“What else?” she asked, fascinated. “What else do you like about it?”

He met her gaze squarely, as if about to confide in her. “Honestly, sunshine,” he said on a slightly awkward laugh, “if I’m in the right mood, everything.”

Everything. Wow. Did he really mean that? “Sucking another guy’s cock?”

He nodded simply.

“Having yours sucked by another guy?”

Another nod.

Her chest tightened at the images forming in her mind. “Do you . . . you know, fuck them?”

“Yeah, honey, I do.” He looked a little less embarrassed now, like he was coming back to himself, to his normal confidence. In fact, he sounded much more amused than worried when he asked, “So, are you . . . not liking me yet?”

She shook her head. “I’m actually . . . amazed by you. This means you’re not all talk.”

He cast a typical Brent grin. “Nope, afraid I walk the walk, babe.”

“And you’ve . . . been fucked? By a guy? In your . . .”

“Ass?” he finished for her. “Yeah.”

Whoa. So that’s how he’d known the odd feeling would go away—and it had now, mostly.

“What are you thinking?” he asked when she said nothing.

She didn’t respond immediately. There were too many new, impossible pictures in her head. But the answer, she realized to her surprise, was, “That I’d kind of like to see it. You with a guy.”

“Oh,” he said, back to sounding unsettled again.

“Can I?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“Well, because that doesn’t have much to do with my plans for you. And trust me, we’ve already sailed far enough off course without drifting farther.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “You’re talking like a pirate.”

He laughed softly and said, “No, if I was talking like a pirate, I’d be . . . asking if you want to see my yardarm or . . . saying you’ve got the nicest booty I’ve ever seen.”

She giggled in reply. “You were much smoother as Captain Powers.”

He shrugged, grinned. “I’m not in character right now, so you have to settle for the goofy stuff.”

Just then, her eyes fell on the tattoo on his arm. She noticed it often when they were together, but only now did she feel bold enough to bring it up. She reached to run her fingers over the initials. “Did pirates have tattoos?” she asked inquisitively.

“Probably.”

“So, who is D.L., anyway?”

“An old girlfriend,” he said with a slight shake of his head, as if it was nothing.

“I didn’t think a guy like you had girlfriends,” she said, half teasing, half serious.

He grinned in reply, but his eyes looked sad. “It was a long time ago.”

“She must have been special,” Jenna speculated. “I mean, to warrant a tattoo, a permanent reminder.”

He shrugged, still managing to sound totally blasé even as he said, “Yeah, she was.”

She couldn’t help wanting to dig more. “What was her name?”

“Deena,” he answered softly then, his voice sounding different, lower, as he said it. “Deena Little.”

She had been special. Very special. Jenna could tell. “Did you meet her here? Another guide or something?”

Brent shook his head. “It was back in college. We were in love.”

Oh. Wow. The girl in the photo album? The plain one. “But it ended?”

“Yep.” He rolled to his back, looking like he didn’t want to discuss it anymore.

“Did you ever get over her?” Jenna pressed anyway.

“Of course.” He peered toward the ceiling as he spoke now. “It was more than fifteen years ago. Why?”

Now it was Jenna’s turn to shrug. “Well, like I said, she warranted a tattoo. That just seems . . . important. Permanent. Like maybe you thought you and she would be permanent.”

He glanced her way. “Once upon a time, I did. But you know how life goes—you fall in love and think it’ll last forever, but it doesn’t always. That simple.”

Hmm—sure didn’t sound simple. “Have you ever been in love again?”

When he looked at her this time, he gave her a sexy grin. “No, Miss Inquisitive. Now go to sleep, my little pirate wench, and maybe I’ll tup you again in the morning.”

So they were spending the night here. On the pirate ship. Breaking rules. Already planning more forbidden guide-and-guest sex in the morning. It was, as he’d surely planned, enough to take Jenna’s mind off Deena Little and make her snuggle against him in the captain’s bed, back to feeling sexy and thinking about all the naughty pirate fun he’d given her. “Thank you, by the way,” she said. “For the whole pirate thing. I’m sure you knew how much I’d like that.”

Slipping his arm around her, he raised his eyebrows playfully. “I did, but I was still surprised to find out you were the wife of a wealthy planter.”

“I’m unpredictably quick on my feet sometimes.”

“And your husband would have been shocked, my lady, to see you getting your brains fucked out by two guys on the beach today.”

“And now, too. Don’t forget—I just let the captain fuck me in the ass.”

He chuckled and said, “I must be the luckiest buccaneer on all the seven seas to find such an accommodating wench.”

“Well, keep giving me orgasms like that and I’ll . . .” Oh crap, she’d started to say she’d forget the planter and become the captain’s wench for good. But under the circumstances—being a “guide groupie”—she stopped, and fumbled for a conclusion. “I’ll . . . let you . . . play in my treasure chest anytime.”

He laughed at her silly attempt at more pirate talk, then smoothly slid his free hand onto her ass. “Honey, I’ve got news for you—you couldn’t keep me out of your treasure chest if you tried.”