Passion Island, page 12
LaQuandra grunted, and then glared at Isaiah. He hadn’t fucked her yet. But last night, he’d haphazardly fingered her pussy, while she’d sucked his dick.
She’d sucked him as if she were sucking him for her life. And there were parts of her that felt like she had been, sap sucking him for dear life, suckling on a dick that her body needed so desperately.
When she tried to straddle him, he’d grabbed her, stopped her.
What kind of fuckery was that . . .?
Isaiah reached for the magnum of Dom, then poured himself another drink. He’d been drinking since they’d arrived on the beach at eight this morning.
“I invited you all down here,” Dr. Dangerfield continued, “to help you tap into each other’s sexual energy.”
Through observation, she hoped to gauge each couple’s intimate connection through their touch and the way their bodies responded to their partners. With the help of the island’s owner, she’d be able to do exactly that.
It was all about helping couples find a spiritual connection.
Ideally, she’d prefer the couples were naked. But she suspected most of them weren’t ready (or comfortable enough) for that. So she’d settled for bathing suits.
“Everyone, please, strip down to your swimwear,” Dr. Dangerfield instructed, “and then resume your positions back on the cushions, facing each other.”
Dr. Dangerfield waited.
To the left of her, in back of the couples, she caught the sight of her soror sitting up on the broad shoulders of Sin.
Yes, him.
Sin.
He was long dreads; six foot, three inches of dark chocolate masculinity. Bare-chested. His dick swinging proudly in his white drawstring pants.
Dr. Dangerfield’s breath nearly hitched as she eyed him crossing the white sand. He stopped and lowered her to the sand, and then led her the rest of the way by the arm toward the group.
Donned in a white ankle-length dress, her cleavage on full display—thanks to a devilishly low neckline, her side slits daringly high up to her curvaceous hips, she glided over the sand.
Her porn star body was mouthwatering.
Dr. Dangerfield couldn’t help but notice her areolas and thick nipples peeking through the sheer fabric of her dress, taunting, teasing.
Work, girl, weeerk!
LaQuandra spotted Sin and the woman walking toward them, but pretended not to see them, since no one else seemed to have noticed them approaching. She brushed the back of her bathing suit—a red strapless one-piece—and then took her seat.
And stared over at Brenda and Roselle.
Brenda had boldly worn an orange two-piece bikini, her thick body smooth and glowing from her recent tan. Roselle had topped that wearing what looked like a jockstrap, his muscular ass out, the thick bulge of his dick all on display.
And here was Krista, face twisted in disgust. She nearly threw up in the back of her mouth at the sight of Roselle. What in the hell? Men in thongs? A hot damn mess.
However, LaQuandra couldn’t stop staring at the couple.
Oooh, they some freaky-asses, she thought. But if she had been blessed with an ass like Brenda’s, she probably would have had hers hanging all out too. But, ooh, her man—mm, yes—that pretty motherfucker . . . he was too many things.
Behind her designer Bumblebee shades, even Dr. Dangerfield allowed her gaze to creep over Roselle’s body, then linger over his very impressive dick print.
She cleared her throat. “Now that everyone has gotten comfortable, I’d like to turn the rest of the morning over to the woman of the hour . . .”
And there she appeared—the woman from last night, her gray eyes staring into the faces of the couples.
She prowled closer.
Known for her exquisite beauty and hedonistic lifestyle, she was an icon, a sex goddess. Once known to her legions of fans as Pleasure, she was an author, a model and the recipient of a slew of awards. She was a woman who’d graced the covers of Playboy and Penthouse. She owned two very successful upscale For Adults Only clubs, one on Passion Island and the other back in New York, with a third opening in Vegas soon—The Pleasure Chest. She was the CEO of her own production company, and had built a multimillion-dollar empire with her exclusive adult toy line.
“Without further ado,” Dr. Dangerfield said over a smile. “I introduce to you, my soror, my friend, and the owner of this beautiful island, Nairobia Jansen . . .”
The two women hugged, and then air-kissed.
“Thank you, my darling,” Nairobia said in her sultry voice, a hint of her Dutch and Nigerian ancestry lingering over her words. She faced the couples, one foot in front of the other; a hip thrust forward, a hand on her hip. At five feet ten, she commanded attention wherever she went.
“I welcome you to my island, my darlings. And I do hope you will find your stay full of sensual adventure. Passion Island is more than sordid sex, my loves. It is a journey into the unknown, a voyage to toe-curling pleasure. It is, my darlings, testing your limits and pushing you to complete surrender.”
The wind blew the slits of her dress up, exposing the sides of her luscious ass cheeks, and a flash of her sweet pussy. She was beautifully flawless, that’s what she was.
Sweet seduction.
Nairobia licked over her perfectly painted lips. She was known for being shameless, fearlessly exploring her sexuality and expressing her sensuality through her scandalous dress. And she lived to make the world around her uncomfortable in all that she was.
God, she was mesmerizing.
“Today, my darlings, we touch. We explore . . .”
Brenda and Roselle both licked their lips. They’d watched all of her porn videos, even reenacted many of the sex scenes.
Kendall and Isaiah found it nearly impossible to keep from staring at her, her nipples, the treacherous curves of her hips, and the silhouette of her body beneath the sheer fabric of her dress enticing them. Both men had masturbated to many of her videos.
Kendall’s favorite—Ass Licker—was still in his browser on his iPad.
LaQuandra feigned not knowing who the seductress was, but she’d bought her book, Good Pussy, on release day two years ago and had read it cover to cover the same day. She kept it hidden in her lingerie drawer, under silk thongs, boy shorts, and garter belts. Shit she’d not worn in months.
Krista, on the other hand, sat tight-lipped, feeling the urge to reach down into her straw beach bag and pull out her scriptures. All she saw, while looking at Nairobia, was immorality. She was sin in its highest form. Temptation. Forbidden fruit. She could be nothing but trouble.
“The seat of your sexuality lies in your erogenous zones,” Nairobia said. “My darling, men, close your eyes. Ladies, reach out and touch your men. Caress his face. Allow a finger to trace the curve of his lips. Let it linger there for a bit . . .”
Isaiah frowned. He was not about to close his eyes. LaQuandra would fuck around and do some dumb shit and he’d have to beat her ass out here on this sand.
LaQuandra was surprised the bastard sat still, so that she could feel on him. Her hands slid over his shoulders, then across his chest. She felt her inner walls clench.
“Mm. Ja . . . ja,” Nairobia purred. “Love over your husband’s skin. Allow the palms of your hands to breathe in his heartbeat.” Nairobia paused, waited for everyone to get on board.
Dr. Dangerfield sat in back of Nairobia, facing the couples on a white cushion, where Sin had joined her, to observe the couples. So far, the only person who had her attention was Sin.
Damn him.
Krista’s hands slid over Kendall’s chocolate skin. She was thankful for having such a good man, a loving man—a monogamous man.
LaQuandra, although mad, welcomed the contact with Isaiah’s flesh; even if he did keep his eyes open the entire time.
Brenda, always the eager one, had no problem laying hands on Roselle, be it passionately or aggressively.
Nairobia continued, “Now, my darlings, gently graze a fingertip over his nipples. Twirl. Tease. Lightly tweak until it tightens, until it pebbles into tiny balls of pleasure.”
“Oww! Shit,” Isaiah snapped, slapping LaQuandra’s hand away when she pinched and twisted his nipples.
LaQuandra smirked. Bastard. “Oops. My bad.”
He scowled at her. “Whatever, Quandra. Don’t have me break your face out here.”
LaQuandra rolled her eyes. “Nigga, I dare you.”
Dr. Dangerfield eyed the two. The tension between them was thicker than she’d imagined. She’d have to really—
“You’re looking sexier and sexier every time I see you,” Sin whispered, cutting into Dr. Dangerfield’s thoughts. He kept his gaze on Nairobia’s mouthwatering ass, before landing his eyes back on Dr. Dangerfield.
She waved him on dismissively. She’d seen how he looked at Nairobia. Entranced by the enchantress. They all were. Always lusting for the infamous sex goddess.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Dr. Dangerfield teased.
Sin grinned. “Only to the pretty ones.”
Dr. Dangerfield playfully rolled her eyes. “Stop trying to distract me.”
He leaned in closer, and then licked his lips. “How am I doing so far?”
She imagined him devouring her cunt right here, out in full view for all to see.
“You’ll have to try a little harder,” she lied.
“Yeah, okay,” was all he said, before his eyes drifted back over to Nairobia, and then over at Brenda. He’d caught her eyeing him, so he winked, causing her to blush, then quickly turn away.
“Ladies,” Nairobia said. “Look at your husbands. Stare into his eyes, and repeat after me: I am good pussy.”
Brenda was the first to comply, proudly boasting, loudly, “I AM GOOD PUSSY.”
LaQuandra glared at Isaiah. “You already know this pussy is good. So no announcement needed.”
Isaiah rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I ain’t fucking it—now what,” he felt clinging on the tip of his tongue. But he settled for, “Yeah, a’ight. Say it anyway.”
LaQuandra sucked her teeth. “I am good pussy, nigga.”
He smirked.
Krista sat and looked at Kendall as if she were a deer caught in headlights. Kendall smiled, reaching for her hand. “Baby, I know you’re good pussy,” he stated warmly. “But let me hear you say it.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. A little dirty talk was what Kendall needed. He’d love to hear Krista talk shit in the bedroom, just once—damn. Was that too much to wish for? “Tell me how good it is.”
He grinned.
Krista scoffed. “I’m not saying that shit out here.”
“Don’t be shy, my darlings,” Nairobia said, as if sensing Krista’s resistance. “You are your pussies, my loves. Love it. Embrace it. Allow your husbands to know how you celebrate in that knowing.” Nairobia glanced over at Krista. Mmph. Resistance was key to disaster.
She walked over to Krista and then squatted, her legs spread, her heavenly scent wafting up around the three of them. Fresh floral pussy.
Enticing. Intoxicating.
Kendall tried not to inhale too deeply.
“Are you not good pussy, mijn liefde (my love)?” she asked Krista.
Krista gave her an incredulous look that bordered on indignation for trying to embarrass her. “No—I mean, yes. I mean, of course I am.”
Nairobia gazed into Krista’s eyes. She saw it—her sexual limitations.
So, so pitiful.
“Then look into your husband’s eyes, mijn lieveling, and tell him—u bent goed kut.”
Neither Krista nor Kendall knew what she’d said in her native tongue, but Krista felt her face flush. And Kendall’s dick stirred in his swim trunks.
“Say it,” Nairobia urged. “You are good pussy.”
Krista looked at Kendall and reluctantly said it. “I am good pussy.” There, satisfied?
It was a mediocre attempt that made Nairobia want to extend her arm back and slap Krista’s pitiful-ass face.
Nairobia sighed inwardly. “My darling, you can’t expect your husband to believe you are good pussy—if you do not believe it.” She stood, leaving her scent swirling up around the two of them.
“If you are not good pussy, my darlings, then you are not good loving,” Nairobia stated in a matter-of-fact tone, “and if you are not good loving, then you can never be unforgettable fucking.”
“I know that’s right,” Brenda said, snapping her fingers.
The wind blew the slits of Nairobia’s dress up again, this time higher than before, causing Roselle’s gaze to latch on to a glimpse of her sunbaked cunt.
Unfazed, Nairobia smiled.
“Good pussy, ladies, is more than a state of mind. It’s a state of being. Good pussy, my loves, speaks to the dick . . .”
Isaiah pressed the palm of his hand in his lap to tamp down the swelling in his trunks. He wanted to ask her what it was saying—the pussy, but Roselle had beaten him to it.
“Tell us what it’s saying,” he said over a laugh. But what he really wanted to know was what hers would say to the dick.
Nairobia’s eyes bore into him, heating over his skin in a way the sun overhead had not.
“Lean into your wife’s kut,” she said seductively. “And ask it. The next time you find yourself deep inside it, listen to what it is saying to you.”
Roselle grinned. “Got you.”
“Now, my darling men,” Nairobia said. “Your turn . . .”
Sin leaned into Dr. Dangerfield and then whispered, “My dick wants you.”
Dr. Dangerfield slid the tip of her tongue over her top lip, remembering their last heated encounter. He’d fucked her so deep she could feel him lingering inside her for days afterward.
Oh, yes, Sin never disappointed.
“Then bring it with you tonight,” she whispered back. “Nine o’clock.”
“Look into your wife’s eyes,” Nairobia instructed the men. “And tell her you are good dick.”
“I am good dick,” the three men said in unison, loud and proud.
“Tell her,” Nairobia continued, “you are good loving, good fucking . . .”
“I am good loving, good fucking,” Roselle, Isaiah, and Kendall repeated.
Nairobia glanced over her shoulder, catching the eye of Dr. Dangerfield.
Dr. Dangerfield smiled knowingly.
Nairobia Jansen (if she felt compelled to) would sample one, if not all, of them.
And they would surrender to her desires.
And then . . .
She would fuck their souls loose.
Eighteen
The head of Sin’s thick meaty dick pushed inward, peeling open Dr. Dangerfield’s pussy, and then he glided in, deeply, smoothly, to the hilt.
He stayed like that. Balls deep. Buried within her slickness, for a long moment, while she watched him, their gazes full of want and desire, their bodies burning from the pleasure.
Her pussy clamped around his shaft, wrapping him in a sheath of delicious heat as her orgasm fluttered around his condom-covered dick.
Magnum-sized goodness.
Ah God, she loved the stretch of her cunt over the width of him.
He grunted.
And she moaned.
No words had been spoken between the two lovers from the moment she’d opened the door to her luxurious villa an hour ago, greeting him in nothing but her six-inch heels, their leather straps sexily wrapping around her calves, then up around her thighs.
He’d simply smiled, pulling her into him, his mouth capturing hers, while kicking the door shut with his foot.
And now they were in her bed—him on top, her shuddering beneath him, his smoldering gaze scanning her face.
Fuck me, she pleaded with her eyes. Oh God, please . . .
Sin sucked in one side of his bottom lip; easing his thick shaft halfway out of her body and then thrusting it back in.
He did it three more times, her juices soaking him, his condom. Sin pulled back slowly and thrust forward again, watching her closely, gauging her responses to his strokes—his rhythm relentless and so, so, perfect. His deep strokes were neither too slow, nor too fast. Dear God—they were just right.
Deep.
Deep.
Deeper.
Dr. Dangerfield gasped.
Sin dusted kisses along her jaw, over her neck, then down to her breasts—left one first, then her right one.
Scootie’s “One” played low in the background. Not her choice of music. She preferred something a bit more sensual, something with a more erotic vibe. But it was Sin’s song choice. And what Sin wanted, Sin got—or he took.
He repeated what he’d done—pulling out of her body in a slow, wet glide, then plunging back into her wetness, and she nearly cried out. An orgasm danced along the edges of her cunt, sweeping tiny sparks of pleasure along her walls.
Sin repeated his movements twice more and then he stopped going slow—his dick strokes becoming more driven, deeper, piston-like, his strokes echoing over the music. Each stroke reminding her of how good his dick was, of how much she needed this . . . this good loving.
No talking. No promises.
Just strokes and moans and the swish-swish of her pussy, wet fire spreading through her—almost infinitely—as she thrust upward, greeting his movements with her own hungry need.
He fucked her orgasm loose, and she arched her body up into the vortex of exquisite heat.
Dr. Dangerfield hissed, her eyes rolling up and around in her head.
A deep groan left Sin’s throat as he drove up into her harder, deeper, his mouth covering hers as she twined her arms around his neck.
She was spread wide for him, her thighs, her cunt, her mouth, capturing every inch of his flexing flesh, his thrusting cock, and his sumptuous lips. She sucked on them with tender abandon, her tongue sweeping inside his mouth every so often.
Sin’s hips moved languidly, lingering in her juicy heat, before he wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs and folded her body in half, tenderly loving her in that position, stroking over her G-spot.
Yes, yes, yes—oh sweet Lord, yes . . .
Sin was definitely the one you called for good loving, Dr. Dangerfield decided as she felt him everywhere—in her, on top of her, all around her.
