What She Needs (31 page)

The change fired more pleasure through Jenna’s body, escalating her arousal to a fever pitch—it took only a moment given all she’d been through today, this week—and when she looked over at Brent again, their gazes locked in torrid lust. Oh God, how she wanted him! How she wanted that cock of his!

Dropping her gaze to it again—oh, oh Lord . . . with one penis in her pussy and another at her tits, she actually longed for a third. Found herself
hungry
for it.
Truly
hungry—she wanted it in her mouth. She felt wild for it between her lips, desperate for it to fill her, be inside her, however or wherever it could go. With her eyes on his majestic erection, her lips parted, wider, wider, from pure instinct and need. And, mouth still open in bold invitation, she cast him a look of pure yearning, silently pleading with him to put his cock inside.

Brent appeared just as desperate, his eyes half shut, his jaw lax, as he gazed at her gaping mouth, then her eyes—just before he lightly shook his head, refusing her unspoken appeal.

Jenna closed her eyes, crushed and left feeling amazingly empty given the erection still thrusting between her legs.
God, why didn’t he want to? How could he say no to her—now?

That’s when his deep, lusty voice broke through the other sounds around her. “It’s so hot to watch you be fucked, my dirty little wench,” he said, dark, seductive, still affecting just a hint of his pirate accent. “I love to see your wet cunt swallow that cock, to hear the way you purr and moan.”

And somehow, just
that
helped. Again, not a physical touch—but now it was as if his voice reached out to her instead. “You make my cock so fucking hard, my lady,” he added with a sexy glint in his eye. And she had no idea why
he
wasn’t fucking her—or touching her, or
something
—but, incredibly, just the dirty words he spoke so warmly were enough to make her feel close to him. She knew he’d felt her need, and this was how he was feeding it.

“Put the wench on her hands and knees on the beach,” he said, and she wondered what he had in store for her next. Jenna didn’t fight or resist as the other two men lifted her down from the fallen tree trunk and gently pushed her to her knees in the soft, hot sand. She planted her hands in front of her, bending over, thinking—
Please, Brent, fuck me. You, not anyone else. It’s you my body craves.

“Very good, my lady,” Brent said, fully back in character now. “Such cooperation may get you to Jamaica yet.” And when he moved near her, she was sure her silent begging had been answered—but Brent merely bent down to lift the long emerald skirting back up over her ass.

How obscene must she look right now? But it didn’t bother her; it only made her feel like an object of erotic desire—in a
good
way. She’d always believed being objectified was horrible, but she was slowly learning that, sometimes, it was exactly what she wanted: to be desired solely for sex, for her sexual self. It made her feel free of all the mental chains that had kept her from fully enjoying her own sexual nature up to now.

“Zack, fuck that pretty pink pussy,” Brent said, stepping back to one side of her. “And Rico, fuck her soft little mouth.”

Part of Jenna’s heart broke. He
really, truly
wasn’t going to be with her in
any
way? What was wrong?

Yet then she sensed pirate Zack kneeling behind her in the sand, his hands at her hips. Pirate Rico then dropped to his knees in front of her. And Brent stood to the side, again just a vague image in her peripheral vision—but oh God, for him,
suddenly
,
again
, she
wanted
this. Whether he was really a part of it or not. She wanted to be that dirty, that filled. She wanted him to watch. She wanted to feel it for him.

She cried out as Zack plunged inside her from behind—and, oh Lord, the position made him feel bigger. She bit her lip, adjusting. Then she saw Rico’s sturdy cock before her eyes, in his hand—ready.

Releasing a hot breath, she opened her mouth and let him slide inside. He went slow, gentle, clearly understanding that this was a lot for her to take. She wanted it to be Brent. Just as she wanted the man behind her to be Brent, too. Impossible as it was, that’s how she thought of it in a way. Neither man was Brent, yet they did his bidding, responded to his commands. They fucked her because he said to.

And oh God, how the two pirates filled her. It was almost overwhelming, and at moments, she forgot all about Brent because her senses were on overload—her body was being pummeled from front and back, top and bottom, and all she could do was take in the sensations and endure the way they echoed through her. Sex, she had learned here, was about so much more than certain body parts—at times, she truly felt it everywhere at once, as if her entire
being
was getting fucked.

But, of course, the longer it went on—oh hell, she was back to feeling Brent again. His gaze, his intent interest, the sexual aura that radiated from him. And—mmm, God, yes—coming back to him, emotionally, made it all even better. When she felt him studying her every move and reaction, her pleasure grew still more intense.

She shut her eyes and threw herself into the acts of sucking and fucking. She listened to the sound of the crashing tide mix with her own deep sounds of pleasure as her hands and knees sank deeper into the gritty sand. Her face felt flushed, her stomach sweaty beneath the corset. It all felt so overpoweringly good, and she needed Brent to see that, feel that. She wanted desperately to make him come.

“You’re doing so good, honey,” he said deeply, his voice nearly making
her
come instead. “That’s right, Jenna. Suck that cock. Feel everything that’s happening to you. Don’t think about anything else.”

“Zack,” he said then, “rub her clit.”

When the pirate behind her did as Brent instructed, she nearly collapsed in the sand. But somehow she stayed up on her hands and knees, even weak as she’d become. Fresh, new, wild pleasure expanded rapidly through every inch of her body and she cried out around Rico’s erection. Her body rocked and her tits swayed beneath her. And, oh . . . mmm . . . nothing mattered but coming now. She screamed louder. Sucked deeper. Thrust harder.

And then—oh God, oh God—she came.
So, so
hard. Screaming and sobbing around the cock in her mouth, letting it all flow through her in hot rivers of pleasure that energized and drained her all at once.

Until finally it was done.

And she automatically released the erection from between her lips.

Brent didn’t object, saying only, “That was good, honey—you did
so
good.”

But then Rico’s cock was in his fist and he was looking to Brent for direction—and much to Jenna’s surprise, Brent simply said, “In the sand.”

And Rico didn’t exactly look thrilled, but said nothing, simply turning toward the ocean, working his erection madly—until finally he groaned and shot three arcs of white semen into the air.

“You, too, Zack,” Brent instructed, again catching her off guard. Zack still pumped into her, grunting and groaning—but on Brent’s command, he cursed softly, went still, then slowly pulled out. A moment later, she saw him yards away, on his knees, taking care of himself the way Rico just had.

The next thing Jenna knew, she lay on the beach exhausted, physically replete. Oh Lord. It was over. Over. She didn’t see her two lovers anywhere and wondered how they’d disappeared so fast and if she was suddenly alone here—when she found Brent towering over her.

His cock was back in his pants—but he still looked like a pirate who might ravish her. Which she wouldn’t have minded at all. Only . . . she knew now, that wasn’t happening. He’d worked too hard to
keep
it from happening. And she still didn’t understand why.

Brent scooped Jenna up and carried her the few yards back to the sun-washed tree. Lowering them both to the sand, he leaned back against the trunk, keeping his arms wrapped around her from behind.

This was a fantasy originally planned to be about submission, and even though she’d advanced beyond needing that anymore, he’d proceeded anyway, knowing she’d enjoy the historical aspects. It had also turned into a good opportunity to have her be with other guys, without
him
being one of her lovers.

He’d felt her delight in imagining herself at the mercy of pirates, and it had pleased him greatly, especially when she’d so quickly invented her own role in the game. But his gut had pinched with knowing she wanted him and wasn’t getting him. And he’d loved how she’d thrown herself into the sex with utter abandon—but he had a feeling, again, that even without fucking her, his presence had influenced her pleasure. Shit.

And when both guys had needed to come . . . hell, usually, he would have let Zack finish the normal way, inside her—and he might have instructed Rico to ejaculate on her tits, or her ass. But something in him had frozen when the time for that had arrived.

Somehow, even as he wanted her to be with other guys—he’d discovered very unexpectedly that he hadn’t wanted another guy to come
in
her, or
on
her. He’d simply had the feeling that . . . it wasn’t the right thing to do. For her. Or for him, either. Double shit. What the fuck was
that
about?

It didn’t even make sense. Except that . . . for a guy like Brent, whose whole adult life had been spent at the Hotel Erotique, coming in a woman’s body, or even on it, was maybe the one truly intimate part of sex. He hadn’t even known he felt that way until this insane moment—but he’d felt that way with her before, hadn’t he, when he’d come on her tits in the harem room? It was leaving part of him
in
her, whether that meant inside her pussy or being rubbed into her skin. And hell—he just hadn’t wanted anyone else to do that with Jenna.

Worse still—damn it—his response had felt, startlingly, almost like . . . jealousy. He wasn’t sure, though, because he’d never actually experienced that before. At least not since . . . high school, maybe. It was all a vague notion in his mind.

“Doing okay, sunshine?” he finally whispered down to her. Sand covered her dress, but the way it still fell from her chest was hot—she looked so much like a woman who’d been
taken
that he yearned to be the one who’d done the taking.

She nodded up to him, appearing understandably tired, and maybe a little sad. “I’m only disappointed you didn’t join us.”

He held in his groan, but damn it . . . he wanted her. So fucking bad. He didn’t usually have this trouble—he was skilled enough to get a good hard-on but not fall apart if he didn’t get to come. Sometimes that was part of providing a good fantasy—sometimes not everyone
got
to come. You just hooked up with another facilitator later or took care of it yourself. Only, right now, his dick throbbed like crazy and it was all he could do not to shove her to her back in the sand and finally give her what she longed for.

Still, he found a way. Because he had to be strong here, do what was best for her in the long run. So he simply replied by saying, “Tell me
your
pirate fantasy.”

She bit her lip and lowered her lids slightly. “Having the captain ravish me.”

Aw, God. The expression on her face nearly buried him. So hungry now, his Jenna, so aggressive—in her own lovely way. His cock physically hurt—each pulsation so strong it became an ache. He wondered if she could see the pain on his face when he simply said—perhaps too quietly, too honestly, “Jenna, I can’t.”

Her face crumpled in distress and it made his
heart
hurt now, too. “
Brent,
” she pleaded. She said nothing more, just his name. But he felt it in his gut. How bad she wanted him, too. He’d let things go too damn far, and now she was hurting for it.

But this was no time to give in. He was a guide and facilitator. He did not get emotionally attached to guests. No matter how brutal the ache between his legs—or in his chest.

She turned in his loose embrace to peer up at him—and he simply closed his eyes to try to block it all out. “I’m sorry, honey. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“I think you
know
why.”

“Tell me.”

He let out a sigh. Fine, maybe it had to be said. So he’d say it, if that would start to
fix
it. “I’ve gotten too involved with you. You know that.” Shit, his voice still sounded way too pained.

“It’s only another week,” she argued, her tone conveying a desperation he felt in his gut. “Why not just let it play out?”

Another sigh left him. He hurt for her. He hurt for
him
. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

God, why wouldn’t she let it drop? “You won’t leave here with what you need,” he replied a bit more forcefully.

She simply looked at him for a long moment, her green eyes soft and gentle—and unyieldingly sure. “Maybe this is one time when you’re wrong—when
I
know what I need. And it’s you. Inside me.”

His cock physically lurched in his pants at her words. Damn it. He didn’t know what to do, how to make her understand.

But he had to. He had to make her see. This was how things had to be.

“I’m sorry, Jenna,” he finally said around the lump in his throat.

Then he pushed to his feet and walked away.

J
enna lay on the bed in her room, trying not to cry.
Oh God, you’re probably the only woman in the history of the Hotel Erotique who was dumb enough to fall for her guide, and now weak enough to shed tears over it.

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.