What She Needs (32 page)

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?”

 

 

Brent was angry with himself—for his weakness. And he was angry with
her—
for making him this way. He’d have never dreamed the woman he’d met a week ago could affect him like this. Little Mary Sunshine? Not anymore, that was for sure.

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.