What She Needs (23 page)

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.

 

 

At first, Jenna was surprised to wake up in Brent’s bed. But she instantly liked it there, a lot. And then she remembered the way the night had ended. He’d kissed her cheek and murmured, “Let’s go to my place, get some sleep.” She hadn’t argued. So she’d put on her black coat and let him lead her from the dungeon to another luxury golf cart, and they’d proceeded here.

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.