Her heart pounded against her ribs as she trudged through the hot sand toward his house. When she reached the bungalow, she didn’t bother knocking; instead, she yanked open the door and barged right in.

She found him standing in his living room, cell phone pressed to his ear. He looked fairly frantic. “I’ve been trying to call you back—why did you hang up on me?”

She didn’t answer, though. Instead, she said, “Susan B. Anthony! Marie Antoinette! Cleopatra!”

“What?” he asked, shaking his head in confusion.

“Oprah Winfrey!” she continued. “Amelia Earhart!”

Then he stood up a bit straighter, his expression telling her he suddenly understood.

“That’s right,” she confirmed. “I want out of this—now!”

He simply met her gaze for a moment, and she kind of wanted to cry—because seeing him again made her chest contract, because she was so crazy about him and only wished he hadn’t misled her. “Tell me why,” he finally said, his voice gentle.

“You know why. I just engaged in a sexual act under false pretenses.”

“How false could it have been if you came?” he protested.

“I only came because I thought you were watching me. If I’d known you weren’t, I would have declined everything beyond the regular massage. I was only into it because . . . I thought I was sharing it with you.”

Brent pulled in his breath, let it back out. She couldn’t read his face. “It’s my responsibility, at this point, Jenna, to . . . prepare you for sex without me. Surely you can see the logic in that.”

Jenna blinked, sighed, feeling sad. Sure, she could see the logic. But what she mainly saw was that nothing had really changed for her here, after all—she still couldn’t have casual sex. Somehow Brent had made everything feel intimate, like a connection, something deep and emotional as well as physical.

When she didn’t reply, he went on. “You’ve had sex with lots of people here. Why is what happened today so different?”

But Jenna simply shook her head in response. “No, I haven’t,” she explained. “I haven’t really had sex with anyone but you.”

“What?” He didn’t get it.

And she was determined to make him understand. “I’ve had sex you’ve ordained. I’ve had sex you’ve orchestrated and demanded and urged and encouraged. I’ve had sex with you physically, and sex with you mentally when you were there watching. It all felt like having sex with you. All of it. But today was the first time I really had sex here without you.”

Brent sat down on the leather sofa, ran his hands back through his hair. It was small comfort that his reply came out sounding guilty. “Jenna, I thought you needed today’s fantasy. I’m sorry, but it’s what seemed best to me.”

“I’m so tired of hearing what you think I need,” she told him, not so much angry now as exasperated, weary. “The fact is, you needed this fantasy—not me. You needed to . . . start erecting walls between us. So you wouldn’t care so much about me. So you won’t miss me when I’m gone.”

“I just did what I thought made sense,” he replied calmly.

The non-response sliced through Jenna’s chest like a knife. “Well, screw you,” she said, full-blown anger returning. “I don’t want any more of your stupid fantasies! I’m done with this place—I’m going home!”

She turned to go, only to hear him say, “Wait.”

Looking back, she saw that he’d pushed to his feet and moved toward her.

“You have the power now,” he said gently.

“What?”

“No more submission for you—now you’re the powerful woman in control.”

“Damn right I am—and I choose to go home.”

“No, Jenna,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you want more mind-opening experiences here? What happened just now was only one fantasy—I wasn’t planning on backing out of your fantasies for good. Don’t you want to know what else I’ve got planned for you?”

Oh God, did he think it was that easy? That he could lure her back under his spell with offers of more sex? “No,” she answered simply.

“I wanted to make you into a powerful Tudor noblewoman,” he went on, “who chooses which of her peasants must pleasure her. I wanted to take you to the Wild West and make you a powerful, in-demand saloon girl who can choose any man she wants. I wanted to take you back to the dungeon, Jenna, but this time you’d be the dominatrix, calling the shots.” He offered up a weak, pleading smile. “You can punish me this time, and I’m guessing right about now that sounds good to you.”

“No,” she said again, adding some bite to the word.

“Then what about a beach fantasy?” he asked, speaking more softly. “Something sexy, simple, like you put on your questionnaire. I’d love to give that to you, Jenna.”

Oh, hell. But . . . “No,” she said once more, even if that one held an enormous amount of appeal.

And yet he still didn’t give up. “Jenna,” he whispered, reaching out to take her hand, “why don’t you tell me about the massage fantasy—tell me everything that happened. Then it’ll be like I was there with you. I would love for you to tell me.”

Wow, part of Jenna was tempted. She knew it would excite him to hear about her encounter with Courtney. And they would start kissing, and touching—and she’d get to have him inside her again, the most glorious feeling she could imagine.

Maybe he’d finally admit he had feelings for her.

Maybe she’d find a way to feel good about letting this continue.

Maybe he’d promise to be with her every step of the way from now on, and she’d believe him.

But conservative Jenna tended to protect herself. She’d always been a once-bitten-twice-shy kind of girl—once someone hurt her, let her down, she never gave them a chance to do it again. She just wasn’t capable of feeling the same level of trust once it was breached.

So no matter how nice it sounded to let Brent fuck her on the beach or how hot it sounded to turn him on by telling him about the massage, Jenna knew it would never feel the same to her, never feel right to her, again.

Taking a deep breath, she drew her hand away from his. “No, Brent, I can’t. It’s time for me to go.”

Then she turned around to walk out of his house, and out of his life, heading up the beach feeling stalwart and strong. She even managed to get halfway back to the resort before she started to cry.

Every time she thought of Brent, her stomach hurt. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her here. Was she truly stronger, freer, more in charge of her sexuality? Or was having fallen in love with her guide going to leave her weaker than ever?

As she sat on her balcony trying to read—clearly, she’d have to immerse herself in the Civil War memoir somewhere else, since it just wasn’t working for her at the Hotel Erotique—she felt almost . . . conquered somehow. And she didn’t like it one bit. In fact, she had no intention of leaving here feeling worse off than when she’d arrived.

So she needed to perk herself up. And she decided a pretty sundress and a late dinner at the Paradise Grill—one of the few normal things she’d done here—would be a good start.

As she tied a yellow and orange multiprint halter dress behind her neck, she hoped like hell Brent wouldn’t show up there as he had the last time, but if so, she could always leave. And it was far past most people’s normal dinnertime, so maybe he’d already be in for the evening.

Since she hadn’t heard from him in the hours since she’d left his house, maybe that meant he’d accepted her decision to go. Or—hell, for all she knew, he was deeply immersed in some other guest’s sex fantasy right now, fucking someone else the same way he’d fucked her, and she was the last thing on his mind.

Upon being shown to a table not far from the stage, she looked up to see her calypso singer just about to break into song—but he gave her a smile, punctuated with a sexy wink, before he began.

As usual, she enjoyed the island music, the warm night air, and the tiki torches burning in the darkness. Heartbreak kept her appetite light—she ordered only a salad and fruit cup—but the meal and everything around her provided a nice distraction from what had happened today. This was much better than moping in her room.

When the band took a break, her debonair Jamaican singer made his way to her table. “I was pleased to see the pretty lady had returned.”

“I . . . needed a pleasant evening with some good music,” she informed him with a slightly strained smile.

“I hope you’re getting what you came for, then,” he said, the sentiment somehow holding an air of sensuality.

“Very much so,” she assured him.

He gazed down at her, looking speculative, maybe hopeful—until finally he spoke. “I’m soon done for the night, so . . . I wonder if the pretty lady would consent to a walk on the beach with me.”

The request caught Jenna off guard. It was one thing for a singer to flirt with someone in the audience, another to suggest more. Her first impulse was to decline—but . . . why? He’d been so respectful of her each time they’d met, and he’d made her feel attractive, and special. Why not let him do it some more? And . . . well, if she couldn’t even take a walk with a handsome man when invited, she definitely hadn’t gained any freedom here. She needed to find out she was wrong about that—she needed to prove to herself she could be more carefree than when she’d arrived.

“That sounds lovely,” she finally replied, and he smiled.

“Jenna,” she said.

“Ah, I should have known—a pretty name for the pretty lady.” He cast a gentle smile in her direction. “I’m Andre.”

As they reached the shoreline, the tide washing up over their toes as they walked, she returned the smile, then asked politely, “So, do you do this often, Andre? Invite women here for walks on the beach?”

“No. This is, in fact, the first time.”

She found herself casting him a look of doubt, teasing—yet wanting to protect herself again.

“I tell no lie, pretty lady,” he said. “My band has played here only a few weeks. We work in Miami, mostly. But this place pays well, so I find myself back on an island for a month—then we’ll see what happens.”

Hmm—so maybe he really was just as respectful as she’d thought. She couldn’t help wanting to know more about someone so different from her. “Tell me about your life, Andre. Are you . . . married or anything?”

He gave his head a quick shake. “No, I’m not the sort of man to cheat. I once had a wife, but . . . she didn’t feel the same way.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenna told him, sincerely.

Yet he only shrugged. “I married too young. It was after leaving her that I left Jamaica, too.”

“And have you been happy since then?”

Another shrug. “The world is a big place and it’s good to see much of it. Broadens the mind. But I miss home sometimes. I visit, but it’s not the same as living there.”

“Will you ever go home?”

He gazed at the moon shining down on the water. “Could be. I think of myself like a palm frond in the wind—I go where the sea breeze blows me. Right now it’s blown me here, to this beach, with a pretty woman named Jenna. So right now, I’m happy to be exactly where I am.” And with that, he gently slipped his hand into hers.

And she let him.

“What about you, Jenna? Married? Single? Someplace in between?”

“Very single,” she assured him.

“And adventurous.”

It was a statement, not a question, and at first she wondered why he assumed that—but then she realized, and the warmth of a blush blossomed in her cheeks. “Oh, you mean because I’m here, at the Hotel Erotique.”

She could see he was instantly sorry to have made her uncomfortable. “It’s not my business—don’t be embarrassed. I’m a great fan of freedom, and I admire the freedom I see in people here.”

“But . . . I’m not like other people here, and despite what I might wish, not all that free.” It felt important to make him understand she wasn’t the average Hotel Erotique guest, although she kept the explanation simple. “I won the trip—without really understanding what it was about.”

Andre turned toward her as they strolled, his eyes going wide. “A big mistake.”

“You can say that again,” she muttered, adding, “but I came anyway.”

“And are you glad?”

“I’m . . . undecided about that right now,” she admitted in complete honesty.

“Oh?”

And maybe she was a little freer than she thought, since right here, in this place and time, with this handsome Jamaican man on an island somewhere in the Caribbean, she saw no reason not to keep being honest. “I discovered that . . . it’s easy to get caught up in the mood of this place, easy to become someone you’re not. I’m not sure . . . who I’ll be now, when I go back home.”

“The way I see it,” he said, “is that wherever you go, you’re still you. Some places allow a person to . . . find new parts of themselves. Yet . . . new is not the right way to say it—no—because I believe all the parts were already there. So I should say that some places allow a person to . . . release parts of themselves.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, that’s better.”

Jenna was unsure if she agreed. “So you’re saying a place can’t change you?”

“Like I said, seeing new places expands the mind. It can only open you up, help you see some of yourself you maybe didn’t see before—but I don’t believe it can change you. Whatever you are, you are. People are complex, pretty lady—no? I think you’re complex, too.”

Hmm. “Maybe . . . more than I thought,” she confessed. “But I’m still not sure I’m happy about it.”

He smiled at her. “Ah, that is not wise. Celebrate what you are.” He gave her a solid once-over. “I see a lovely lady who turns sad, and I’m sorry if I made you that way.”

Jenna shook her head, quick to absolve him. “Oh, no, it’s not you. It’s something else. And I’m more than happy to walk on the beach and try to think of other things.”

“And I am happy to give you something else to think of.” He still held her hand, so when he stopped walking, she did, too. Then he took her other hand in his, his eyes sensual and suggestive in the moonlight—after which he leaned in to gently kiss her.

The kiss left her stunned at first—she’d never kissed a black man before, and she found the experience powerful, different, deep. Because it was new to her? Or was it simply the way Andre kissed?

She kissed him back, and soon he lifted one hand to her face. His mouth was firm yet tender, and she sensed confidence there, knew he was a man with experience seducing women. It felt easy to drift from one kiss into another . . . until he sank smoothly to his knees in the sand, pulling her down with him.

He’d just begun to kiss her again when she understood . . . oh God, she was entranced by the differences between them, by the exotic romance of making out with a Jamaican calypso singer, and she was charmed by his thoughtful personality—but she wasn’t . . . aroused. She wasn’t driven to kiss him.

In fact, it felt wrong. Because he wasn’t Brent. And he wasn’t in a fantasy that Brent was watching or had even created. And only sensual acts sanctioned by Brent, it seemed, moved her now. Oh Lord, it was awful—but true.

The realization made her lift her hands to his chest and push him gently back. “I’m sorry. It was very nice kissing you, but I’m afraid I can’t.”

“No?” Andre sighed. “That is a disappointment, Jenna.”

“For me, too,” she confided, shaking her head lightly. “I mean, you’re so nice, so strong and sexy—I must be crazy.”

“You, crazy? No,” he said with certainty. “Just . . . perhaps this is the wrong place, the wrong time.”

She nodded. “That’s it.” And you’re the wrong guy. Oh God, she was doomed. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Rising to his feet and reaching down to help her up, he shook his head. “Please do not apologize. I got a lovely walk with an equally lovely lady. And a few kisses, too. Come, let me walk you back,” he said, motioning in the direction from which they’d come.

“You’re a good man,” she told him with all sincerity.

“And you’re a sweet woman. May I give you some advice?” he asked as they began heading toward the resort lights.

“All right.”

“Whatever happened here to upset you, don’t . . . let it change the way you view yourself. Because everything I see in front of me right now is good, all the way through. You’ve got a good heart, a good soul—I can feel that. So promise me you know just how good you are, Jenna.”

His kind words nearly took her breath away, and compelled her to more honesty. “I do know,” she promised him. “But I also think I’m . . . foolish. It’s not so much what I’ve done here that’s hurting me—it’s that I’ve . . . come to care for someone here who doesn’t care back. And I’m realizing it’s no one’s fault but my own.”

“Ah, a broken heart,” Andre said with consoling eyes. “Well, no wonder kisses weren’t enough to fix it. Hearts take time to heal. And it has to come from within—no one can do it for you.”

“Did your heart heal?” she wondered aloud. “After your wife?”

He seemed to be considering her question as they moved back up the beach, the tide still washing in around their feet, until he finally answered, “Very slowly. Now I am only sad to think what could have been. But I also appreciate what is. I take advantage of every goodness that comes my way—I appreciate every warm breeze, every sunny day, every smile, every walk on the beach with a pretty girl. Don’t let your heart stay broken for long, Jenna. Life is too short to spend it suffering. Instead, live it. Enjoy it.”

She let Andre’s words sink in as they walked; she tried to analyze what they meant to her, right now. Wouldn’t living life, taking advantage of it all, mean enjoying the last fantasies Brent offered her? Wouldn’t it mean enjoying her last times with him, despite the hurt?

And yet, she simply didn’t think she could do that. Sometimes it was best to cut your losses and move on.

Still . . . somehow coming home from this—from Brent and the Hotel Erotique—and getting back to real life, sounded impossible. She knew it was smart to move on from this—she just wasn’t sure how to.

On Hotel Erotique stationery, she found a handwritten note from Brent.

Jenna looked at the map of the grounds and found the indicated spot was labeled GARDEN OF EDEN. She’d never even noticed it on the map before and the very name made her suck in her breath. So Brent wanted to meet her in paradise, huh?

She had no idea what he could want at this point.

Maybe to apologize?

If that was his intention—God, it would be embarrassing in a way, since she’d laid herself so bare before him, both literally and figuratively. And what happened today had proven that even if he cared for her, he surely didn’t care as much as she did for him. And she really shouldn’t see him again—it would only increase the gnawing ache she suffered in her chest, stomach, and between her thighs, every time he came to mind.

Still, if he wanted to tell her he was sorry . . . maybe she should let him. It would begin . . . the closure. She’d gotten some closure by going to his beach house this afternoon, but not as much as she’d hoped. And letting him say whatever he wanted to would be better than running away from him and everything she’d let happen here.

And so she would go. Tomorrow. Ten a.m.

As she lay down to sleep a few minutes later, Jenna found herself thinking back over all her experiences at the Hotel Erotique. From nipple rings to shaving her pussy, from stripper shoes to vibrators to orgies, Brent had . . . stripped down every sexual idea she’d had about herself and replaced it with something shocking and new.

And maybe Andre had been right—maybe such wildness had been hiding inside her all along. If it hadn’t, she surely couldn’t have done such things so easily, let herself go so completely. And despite her hurt, some of the encounters she’d had on this island had felt . . . glorious, at least at the time. And she had Brent to thank for that. So that was a reason to go see him tomorrow, too—another bit of closure.

Tomorrow she would say goodbye to him—then she would go home and begin finding out if this had changed her life for the better or the worse.

She barely slept. Too much had happened.

All that remained was recovering from it.

And seeing Brent one last time, of course.

The Garden of Eden appeared, on the map, to be at the far end of the island. So after a room service breakfast, Jenna dressed in the casual skirt and lace-edged tank she’d chosen to travel in and set off, following one of the many shrubbery-lined trails that seemed to crisscross the grounds.

Having seen only a handful of the Hotel Erotique’s fantasy settings, she could only imagine everything she’d missed, every other exotic or historic scenario the guides here created. No wonder Brent had retreated here from his heartbreak and never left. It was truly a fantasy world, where little was real. Despite knowing she wouldn’t want to live in a world this utterly kinky all the time, she could see the appeal of moving to an island where every day was a fantasy, where existence was about pleasure and nothing more.

Finally, she reached the end of the winding path she’d taken across the island’s interior to find an arched opening cutting through a tall hedge of bougainvillea, a sign labeling it as the entry to the Garden of Eden. Taking a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for whatever she was about to discover, she stepped inside.

Only . . . nothing could have prepared her.

She found herself on the edge of a pristine island meadow flourishing with lush flowers and enormous fruit trees. Colorful birds played among their branches, flying from one to another. Nearby lay a gorgeous natural island pool, a sizable waterfall tumbling into it from the hillier land just beyond—and although the space felt enclosed and private, a soft breeze wafted through the air, cooling her after her long walk. She’d never been anywhere that, indeed, felt closer to paradise.

Yet it was only when her gaze traveled lower that what she saw stole her breath. In the shade of a large banyan tree, Brent lay naked and gloriously erect on a brass bed festooned with flowering vines and draped in white satin sheets. The moment her eyes met his, violins began to play.

And tears came to Jenna’s eyes.

Brent had finally given her what she’d wanted all along—satin sheets and violins. But it meant so much more now than it could have then.

The logical, self-protecting part of her wanted to stand strong—to make him find a way to fix what had happened yesterday, or to at least admit he was wrong.

But the Jenna she’d discovered here at the Hotel Erotique, the Jenna who loved sex and got weak in the knees every time she saw Brent, the Jenna who couldn’t resist romance . . . simply went to him.

“Hey,” he said, soft and low, wearing a small, sexy smile as she approached the bed. The only other sounds were the distant waterfall and the soft violins playing . . . somewhere.

“Hi,” she gently replied.

He looked briefly like he might apologize to her or say something profound, but she could almost feel him thinking the same thing she was—that maybe none of that mattered right now in this moment that felt truly magical. Finally, he simply rasped, “Come to me, Jenna.”

She responded by removing her top over her head to reveal a lacy yellow bra underneath, then let her skirt fall to the grass, uncovering matching panties. Brent growled at the sight of her as she approached the bed.

Things could have gone fast then, yet they turned . . . painstakingly slow. Brent took his time, touching her face, kissing her lips, letting his hands glide over her body. Every caress skimmed across her skin like velvet.

She touched him, too, just as slowly, exploring his body more thoroughly than ever before. She slid her palms across his broad shoulders, the firm muscles of his arms. She curled her fingernails into the smattering of dark hair on his chest. She kissed him there—over and over—tasting the salt on his skin. They were no Adam and Eve, and this was far from being original sin—and yet, as they touched each other, it felt . . . new.

When Brent finally peeled away her bra and began to rain kisses onto her breasts, she basked in the soft pleasure. And as he kissed his way tenderly down her stomach, she ached for him in her very soul.

Watching Brent draw down her panties as violins played, Jenna tossed her head back in abandon, soaking up the island breeze, luxuriating in the moment. Then she met Brent’s dark gaze and parted her legs for him.

He kissed his way slowly up her inner thigh, and by the time he lowered his mouth gently to her clit, she thought she’d die from anticipation. She let out a moan, lifting, offering herself to him.

Brent met her gaze as he licked deeply into her, wanting to taste her, wanting to make her feel his tongue more intensely than ever. For him, this wasn’t fucking—it was making love. And maybe it had been that way for a while now with Jenna, but suddenly he understood.

He understood that she’d been right about why he’d been so committed to freeing her this past week. He’d wanted to save her from what he’d never been able to save Deena from: a mediocre appreciation of sex.

But he also understood that it had quickly become much more than that. As he delivered passionate, openmouthed kisses to her glistening pink folds, he felt the same profound connection he’d experienced with her soon after that first night in the gazebo. The more time he spent with Jenna, the more that connection grew.

He understood that she was honest and outspoken, smart and funny, entrenched in history and her work, and extremely practical and logical—and he loved it all. But he loved just as much how cute and playful she could be, how hot and sexy she became when aroused, and how she’d learned to open herself up to daring new sex with him.

While he might have compared her to Deena in the back of his mind upon first meeting her, she’d turned out to be very different—and, he now had to admit to himself, so much more compatible with him than Deena had ever been. He’d genuinely loved Deena, but that was long in the past—and now he wondered if perhaps that hadn’t been more of a . . . youthful love. He knew sometimes that lasted and sometimes it didn’t, but either way, he found himself drawn to Jenna from a more secure position of experience and maturity.

He made love to her with his mouth, soon suckling on her beautifully engorged clit, enraptured in her sounds of pleasure—until he heard her moans growing deeper, more desperate, and just when he knew she would come soon, she did. She exploded into orgasm, sobbing her joy so emphatically that it made his aching cock even harder.

Rising up, he was just about to slide it inside her—when she surprised him by lifting onto her knees as well and playfully shoving him to his back on the bed. “Remember when you told me I was a woman in control?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“Well, I’m taking it—now.” And with that, she captured his stiff dick in her hand and went down on him, all in one swift move.

A startled, pleasured groan erupted from his throat as he watched her. Jesus God—she was shockingly good at sucking his cock. He let his eyes fall shut, lost in the hot delights her warm, wet mouth delivered. “So good, baby,” he breathed. “So damn good.”

And then she shocked him even more. Upon releasing him from her mouth, she ran the tip of his shaft over her prettily pointed nipples, wetting them that way, clearly lost in pleasures of her own, which thrilled him to the core. She used his cock to caress her ample breasts further, raking his length across the soft pillows of flesh, and then—mmm, yes—she let it rest in the valley between her tits, using her hands to wrap them around it.

“Jesus,” he growled—and then he couldn’t hold back; he fucked her tits.

And she responded by angling her mouth downward so that the head of his cock concluded each hot drive just within her lips.

God, she was astounding. He knew that already, but she kept proving it over and over. “So fucking hot, honey,” he rasped. “Such beautiful tits. Such a soft, wet mouth. Such a perfect lover.”

They moved together that way, Brent floating in a heavenly obscene bliss, until finally she released his shaft—but wasted no time straddling him, then impaling herself on it.

“Oh God,” Jenna groaned, taking him deeply up into her pussy. Like this, it always felt as if his majestic cock stretched through her whole body. “So big,” she purred. And then she began to ride him. She wasn’t sure what had come over her—but somehow Brent’s willingness to give her what she’d asked for today was inspiring her, making her wilder than ever.

They writhed together in a hot, grinding rhythm that made Jenna feel like the naughty girl Brent had taught her she could be. She didn’t hesitate to caress her own breasts when the urge struck, meeting his gaze to see the fire there. And she didn’t hesitate, moments later, to bend over him in the bed, dangling her tits in his face to say, “Suck them—hard.”

The moment he obeyed her breathy command, the pleasure blasted from her breasts straight to her cunt and she rocked against him, grinding harder, deeper—until, oh God, another bright, flashing climax overtook her. She cried out as the mind-numbing pulses radiated from her clit out through her arms and legs, fingers and toes.

“Mmm,” she moaned when it was done, letting herself rest on his chest, his erection inside her.

“Was it good, baby?” he asked low in her ear.

“So good,” she whispered—then she rested there for a long, idyllic moment, listening to the birds and the waterfall, and the violins. “Where are they?” she asked then. “The violins?”

“The quartet from the masquerade is on the other side of those bushes,” Brent said softly, pointing in the distance. And she smiled into his chest, thinking he truly was a man who knew how to make fantasies come true.

Once she got her strength back, she lifted her head from his chest and continued being this most aggressive version of herself—and loving the freedom Brent had given her to do so. “Now I want something you’ve taught me to appreciate far more than I ever did before.”

“Name it, sunshine.”

“Please fuck me hard, Brent,” she said. “Make me scream.”

As the words left her, she felt unashamed, simply joyful, cherishing the pleasure this man brought her. And then—wow—a more profound truth struck. Before Brent, feeling so free and unashamed had been something she could only fantasize about, or maybe wish for in a dark, hidden part of her mind. But Brent had made it real.

In response to her request, Brent turned her away from him, on her knees, instructing her to hold on to the curving brass headrails. When his hands molded to her hips, she braced herself, and then—yes—the hot, hard entry made her cry out. Mmm, God, he always felt especially big in this position, too, and as he began to fuck her, indeed making her sob with every pummeling stroke, she could barely stand the shocking joy of it.

Both of them moaned as he drove into her slickness, again, again, leaving Jenna replete with pleasure—full with it, as full as she could be—until Brent began to rub one fingertip over the fissure of her ass and she realized she was wrong; there was still more pleasure to be had.

Her face flushed and her whole body perspired as Brent slid his finger into her ass. Oh God, yes. She heard herself yowling, felt herself begin to tremble.

“I love to fuck you, baby,” Brent was murmuring, his voice deep and raspy. “I love to fuck this sweet little pussy. And I love to fuck this tight little ass.”

“Yes! Yes!” she was screaming. It was all too much. Too much sensation to bear. Every cell of her body throbbed, and she needed to come like she needed to breathe. “Rub me,” she begged. “Please, Brent, rub me!”

“Aw, baby,” he growled at the request, and the next thing she knew, the fingers of his free hand pressed between her legs.

“Oh! Oh God!” That was all it took to send her into an explosive orgasm that utterly consumed her. After that, there was only screaming and thrashing and pulsations that stretched outward through every limb, the climax rivaling the one when Brent had found her G-spot. She couldn’t think, could barely breathe—her whole world in that moment was about coming.

It was as Jenna’s wild climax finally faded that Brent’s low groan met her ear. “Oh, fuck, honey—me, too.” Then he nearly nailed her to the brass rails with the ferocious drives of his cock, moaning and growling with each powerful thrust.

Jenna’s body went limp and she found herself in a tangled heap with Brent among the slick satin sheets. When she recovered enough to open her eyes, she found his head on the pillow next to hers, his dark gaze pinning her in place. “I love you, sunshine,” he said.

And Jenna’s heart nearly stopped. She’d adored what had just happened between them, but she’d had no idea it was leading to this.

“What?” she breathed.

“I love you,” he repeated, sounding amazingly sure, “and I’m an idiot because I tried to fight it.”

Jenna lay staring at him, aware that at some point her jaw had dropped. “I love you, too,” she said, still shaken.

“I know,” he said, reaching up to touch her face. Then he closed his eyes, tight, and Jenna realized he was—oh God—fighting back tears. He opened them again to say, “I know, and . . . I forgot how nice that feels. To be loved.”

“Oh, Brent,” she said, touching his face now, too.

“I don’t like admitting this,” he went on, “but . . . I have been hiding here. It was easy, simple. And I never expected anyone to come along and call me on it, or make me suddenly start wanting something more, needing something more.” His eyes filled with more emotion than she’d ever seen in them. “I need you in my life, Jenna.”

“So now,” she said, stopping to draw his hand away from her cheek and kiss it, “it’s not about what I need—it’s about what you need.”

He nodded, completely contrite. “That’s right, sunshine. With you, I have needs.”

“I’ll meet them,” she promised.

He blinked. “Just like that? It’s that easy? I mean, you know I’ve lived a very different sort of life than you, so . . . I’d understand if you want to take some time to figure this out.”

Yet Jenna simply shook her head. “We’ll figure it out together, but I already know—I want to give you whatever you need, Brent. Because you gave that to me when I didn’t even know I needed it.”

He hadn’t given her the freedom to have casual sex with strangers, like she might have been seeking in the beginning. No, he’d given her something much more important—the freedom to have wild, uninhibited sex with the man she loved. And now he’d given her that love in return, too. What more could a girl need?