Knights and Kink Romance Boxed Set (26 page)

I spread Jacob’s cheeks touched the tip of the
Rabbit to the entrance of his back passage, just to test his
reaction. Instead of resisting, Jacob relaxed and rotated his hips
so the Rabbit could get a bit more leverage. I pressed it against
him softly, letting him enjoy the feeling of its vibrating tip
against the sweaty red rosette of his anus. Once the opening was
slick enough with my saliva and Jacob’s own secretions, I eased the
Rabbit’s tip inside.

I turned up the vibration setting on the Rabbit and
also switched on the Rabbit’s “ear” appendage, which I pressed
against Jacob’s prostate. He groaned with pleasure, and pressed
himself even harder against the whirring appliance. Meanwhile, the
Rhode Island Congressman had stepped up the intensity of his
tongue-lapping on Rebecca’s clit in time with his own increased
arousal. Rebecca was coming over and over again, bleating and
kicking and purring as her hips bucked and her legs vibrated with
her exploding orgasms. Jacob laughed heartily into Rebecca’s pussy
each time she came, thoroughly entertained at how wild she’d
become.

I took this as my cue to go full-throttle on
him.

I set the Rabbit on ‘MAX’ and pushed home.

The Congressman cried out—he hadn’t been expecting
it quite so soon. But he soon got used to the idea. Once his back
passage had stretched enough to accommodate the Rabbit comfortably,
Jacob set his own rhythm, bucking and grinding to the same beat as
the pulses that were already rocking Rebecca’s body. I barely had
to apply my own strokes at all—the Congressman was so eager to be
fucked, he practically fucked himself. The Rabbit was just along
for the ride.

The three of us together were moving as one giant
sexual being, our strokes and undulations a carefully conducted
sensual symphony. Our collective pleasure was almost complete—there
was just one thing missing.

Reginald pinpointed the exact note in the symphony
where he and his magnificent instrument should make their entrance.
Without asking my permission, he slid his giant cock into my sheath
on the downbeat, and reached around to finger my clit on the
upbeat. He filled me up fuller and tighter than I’d ever been
filled before, and likely would be ever again. Reginald’s cock was
truly one for the record books, and he knew exactly how to use it.
He banged me so long and hard that my entire body shook from each
thrust, and my cervix felt as if it were being attacked by
battering ram. It was rough sex in the fullest sense of the
term—and I couldn’t get enough of it. I was on the verge of coming
by Reginald’s third thrust, and I floated onto another plane while
one blazing orgasm after another rocked my body.

For a split second I wished that Reginald would
abandon his aspirations to become a barrister and just devote his
life to his considerable talent for satisfying women.

As I paused to catch my breath between orgasms, my
eyes surveyed the amazing landscape—four bodies of varying sizes,
shapes, and ages, moving together as one in pursuit of the same
goal—ultimate pleasure. The sweat-dewy skin, the open mouths,
half-closed eyes, the heady, musky smell of mingled body
secretions, arousal and desire all acted together to form the
ultimate aphrodisiac; I came again just from taking in the sights
and smells from all the rollicking, heaving bodies.

And what sights there were to see! This was time in
my life I’d had the opportunity to see, up-close-and-personal, what
fucking actually looks like. From my vantage point just behind
Jacob’s shoulder, in addition to the luscious sight of my shiny
latex Rabbit buggering his well-toned rump, I could get a full view
of the Congressman’s swollen, purple cock sliding its way in and
out of Rebecca’s slick, pink pussy, each thrust in perfect
counterpoint to the thrusts Reginald was giving me from behind.

But alas, such a beautiful sight couldn’t last
forever. With one last, enormous thrust, both Reginald and Jacob
exploded, bringing the rollicking, bouncing, many-headed sex
monster that our bodies had jointly become to a slow, grinding
halt. I saw stars as the biggest orgasm yet sent me over a
precipice; from somewhere far, far away, I could hear the whimpers
and cries of Rebecca’s final climax mingling with my own.

The four of us collapsed together onto the plush
carpeting, each of us spooning and snuggling with whichever person
was closest until we all fell into a delightful, deep, postcoital
sleep.

****

When I awakened, it was the dead of night. The moon
had risen high in the sky, and the only light in my hotel suite was
a dim beam of moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains.
Someone had transferred me from the floor to the bed while I slept.
I rolled to my side and discovered that Rebecca was asleep beside
me in the bed, but Reginald and Jacob were both gone.

I rolled out of bed to relieve myself. As I headed
for the bathroom, I caught sight of the pile of pink “While You
Were Out” messages that I’d picked up from the front desk before
Rebecca and Jacob arrived—and then forgotten about. Someone had
arranged them into three neat stacks on the bedside table, just
barely discernible in the dim moonlight. On a whim I gathered up
the three stacks and carried them with me into the bathroom to look
over while I was on the toilet.

I gingerly stepped into the bathroom and shut the
door behind me before flipping the lightswitch so I wouldn’t wake
Rebecca. Once the glaring fluorescent lights were on, though, I was
stunned to find that someone had taken a thick black Magic Marker
to all the message slips, blacking over all the information they
contained. I tried holding the message slips up to the light to see
if I could read the writing from the other side, to no avail.
Whoever had done this—Reginald or Jacob, I could only assume—didn’t
want me to know who else was waiting for me and my sexual services
here at the resort.

Damn it. My whole plan for career resurgence was
wrecked before it had even begun.

I crumpled the message slips into a ball. I dashed
out of the bathroom without even bothering to pee, and flipped on
the suite’s overhead light.

Rebecca immediately stirred in the bed, rubbing her
eyes and glancing about the room frantically; it was obvious she’d
forgotten where she was.

“Wha?” she mumbled. “Wh-where am I? Where’s Jacob?
What’s going on?” She lifted up the covers and seemed shocked at
her nakedness. She was even more shocked at mine.

“Jasmine, what are
you
doing here?” she
squealed. “And why are you naked?” She surveyed the
surroundings—the luxury hotel suite and Plantation décor; the room
service cart and the crumbs of our pre-coital island feast. “Is
this some kind of weird dream?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes, exasperated. “Rebecca,
you need to wake up.” I found the overturned ice bucket and took it
to the bathroom to fill it with cold water; I came back to the bed
and splashed some of it in Rebecca’s face.

She came to immediately. “Oh my God, Jasmine. We had
sex.”

“Actually, you and Jacob had sex. I just told him
what to do with you.”

“Same difference,” she sighed. She stood up and
stretched. “Where the hell is Jacob, anyway? It’s not like him to
fuck and run.”

“I was about to ask you that question,” I said. I
handed her the crumpled wad of ruined message slips. “You don’t
happen to know anything about this, do you?”

Rebecca flipped through the slips of paper, clearly
disappointed. “No, I don’t. Who would have blacked out all the
information? Jacob and I were really looking forward to using these
to set up some killer ménages with you.”

“Why would somebody want to put a stop to that?” I
wondered. “And who could have done it?” I’d first thought it had
been Reginald, but then thought better of it. He had no reason to
do such a thing, did he? What could he possibly want with my
personal life? Reginald didn’t even want to know my real name.

Rebecca flushed red and stared at the ceiling.
“Actually, I think I have a pretty good idea,” she muttered.

“Oh, really? Who?”

Rebecca flushed even redder. “I think it was
probably Rodney Doyle.”

“
What?”
I shrieked. “That’s impossible. He’s
a thousand miles away.”

Rebecca’s expression suddenly became very serious.
“Actually, Jasmine, no he’s not.”

I sat down beside her on the bed. “What do you
mean?”

Rebecca sucked in her breath, then blew it out
slowly through her mouth. “He’s here, on the island. He took the
same flight down here as Jacob and I did. I wanted to tell you
right away, but—well, things happened, and I sort of forgot all
about it. Until now.”

I sighed and rubbed my temples. This was the last
thing I needed. I was supposed to be on vacation, for Christ’s
sake. I was supposed to be trying to rebuild my career, far, far
away from all the Washington nightmares and scandals, and Rodney
Doyle decided to show up and spoil everything. Why the hell was
that man so intent on screwing with my life? “Is he here at the
resort, then?” I asked.

Rebecca shrugged her shoulders. “He must be. I
didn’t think he’d be staying here, since I know he likes his
privacy too much. I figured he’d be at one of those ultra-luxe,
private-island places off the coast that the Hollywood celebrities
like. But—”

I cut her off. “But you
did
tell him where I
was.”

“
Technically
, yes, but I didn’t actually
think he’d just show up here in the middle of the night and break
into your private hotel suite. I mean, that’s pretty
outrageous.”

I smacked a palm to my forehead, exasperated. “Of
course
it’s outrageous,” I seethed. I stood up and headed
for the closet where I’d stashed my suitcase, searching for
something to wear. “You have to understand, Rebecca, that you can’t
just drop sensitive private information about my personal life
right into a man like Rodney Doyle’s hands and then not expect him
to do anything with it. He’s a tabloid publisher, for God’s sake.
Messing up people’s lives is what he
lives
for. He’s built a
billion-dollar media empire based on it, after all.”

Rebecca wrapped herself in a sheet and headed for
the bathroom. “What makes you so sure he’s intent on messing up
your
life?”

I threw up my hands in disgust. “Duh! What do you
think he’s been doing all along?”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca sighed as she stepped into
the bath suite. “But I do know what
you’ve
been doing all
along.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Making up every possible excuse to avoid a man
who’s obviously in love with you,” Rebecca shot back, then shut the
bathroom door behind her.

Rebecca’s words hit me like a steel pole. Rodney
Doyle,
in love
with me? The very idea was ridiculous. Sure,
I’d admit the man was
attracted
to me. Wildly attracted to
me, even. But in
love
with me? That was absurd. I doubted
the man was even
capable
of being in love. After all, he’d
deliberately orchestrated my complete and utter public humiliation
back in Washington by getting me mixed up in his shady, underworld
sex dealings. He’d used me for his own bitter ends. My career was
over, and it was all
his
fault.

Wasn’t it? After all that had happened, what other
conclusion could I possibly draw?

I sank down into an overstuffed chair, suddenly
nauseous. Maybe it
wasn’t
his fault. Maybe Rebecca had been
right when she said that the terribly unflattering story about me
could have been planted in his paper without his knowledge.
Maybe—

Maybe I’d misjudged him. Maybe I’d jumped to too
many conclusions. Maybe I’d just been plain wrong.

Maybe I’d just been a stubborn, obstinate, total
bitch about the whole thing.

It was high time for me to finally stand
face-to-face with Rodney Doyle and find out the truth.

Chapter
18

I dressed quickly and headed for the lobby. There
was only one person working the resort’s front desk at this ungodly
hour, and that person was fast asleep at his post.

I knocked the desk clerk hard on the shoulder with
my knuckles. “Excuse me,” I shouted in his ear. “I need some help
here! Pronto.”

The clerk jerked awake, then stumbled around the
reception area searching for his spectacles—which he put onto his
face crooked when he finally located them. “Wha? Oh, yes madam. Was
I asleep?”

I nodded.

“I begga your pardon, madam,” the clerk stuttered in
a thick island patois. “Can I help you, madam?”

“I need to know what suite Rodney Doyle is staying
in,” I barked. “I have urgent business with him.”

The clerk gave me a blank look. “There no be anybody
named Rodney Doyle staying here, madam.”

I stamped my foot, livid. “And how would you know
that?” I barked, a little embarrassed by my nasty tone. “You didn’t
even look at the register.”

“I have the entire guest book memorized, madam,” the
clerk replied, adjusting his glasses. “’Tis part of my job to know
that. And there be no Rodney Doyle here, I promise you.”

I couldn’t take any more of this. I knew Rodney was
here—it was just a matter of figuring out what alias he was
registered under. Remembering his penchant for Dickens characters,
I reached over the registration counter and snatched the
red-leather bound hotel register book. I scanned the most recent
page until I found the name “Nicholas Nickleby” listed in the entry
line for the Presidential Suite.

I thrust the register back at the stunned clerk.
“Thank you, sir. You’ve been most helpful.”

With that, I turned on my kitten heel and headed
through the courtyard to the private Presidential Suite.