His arms circled her waist as she collapsed against him, trying to come back to herself, and he was whispering in her ear, “Aw,
baby
, that was
so
good. You did so fucking good, honey.”
And somehow, it helped. A moment when she might have suffered in anguish over what she’d just done, was
still
doing, instead became one where she felt . . . comforted, cared for, praised. So she rested against him, trying to regain her strength—but she stayed aware, too, that he remained inside her. And when that grew to be the sensation she felt more than her recovery from orgasm, she found herself biting her lip in raw pleasure.
“We’re gonna shift now,” Brent said, his breath warming her neck, “and you’re gonna move to your hands and knees.”
Oh. My. She’d never . . . But then, she’d never done it standing up before, either. And . . . and . . . she’d given him the power, told him she didn’t want to make any decisions. So . . . she moved with him, slowly, leaning forward until her palms pressed into the wooden plank floor of the gazebo, and she arched her bottom just like before and felt a little obscene, but when he began to thrust into her again with those slow, deep, thorough strokes, it took everything else away.
The position was hard to maintain in her exhaustion, but each drive traveled all the way through her, out through her limbs. And when he began to move harder, faster, grunting his pleasure with each plunge, even her face began to tingle hotly and she once again couldn’t hold in her cries of pure lusty joy. Oh God, he felt so good, so big, thrusting, thrusting, so deep, so hard. She sobbed. She moaned. She felt utterly taken, possessed, just like she’d wanted—although she still didn’t understand why on earth that was a good thing.
And just when she feared her arms would give out and she’d collapse to the wood beneath her, he muttered, “Fuck yeah, baby, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come so fucking hard in your sweet pussy. Here I go.” And then his low, masculine groans filled the night—and seemed to fill her
soul
, too. To know she’d made this insanely sexy, powerful man climax so fiercely. The sex expert. The sexologist. It was a unique delight that had her smiling secretly in the darkness, for just a brief moment, before their bodies slowly crumpled to the gazebo’s floor.
They lay silent for a few minutes, during which Jenna tried not to feel anything inside. Just the physical part. Because—for whatever reason—she
had
needed sex tonight. So she tried to enjoy the afterglow. And she tried really hard to forget the weirdness of where she was and whom she’d just had really amazing sex with.
Until Brent—lying on his back next to her, peering up toward the gazebo’s rafters—said, “Sorry, sunshine, but looks like I win.”
She sucked in her breath and turned her head toward him. “Win what?”
Next to her, he sat up, then reached for her hands to draw her upright, too. “I proved my point,” he said, back to being the smooth, matter-of-fact “sex doctor.” “You agreed that if I did, you’d let me take you the rest of the way, through the fantasies you need.”
Ugh, there was that icky word “need” again. “This proved nothing except that apparently I
can
have sex with a stranger.”
He grinned, lowering his chin indulgently. “However you want to look at it. But we both know you want this now. We both know you’d take enormous pleasure from it.”
Her cheeks filled with heat.
We do? We know that?
She had no idea how he’d made that leap—since one occurrence of sex with him, however hot and scintillating, did not equate to going through the whole series of fantasies, with
more
strangers.
“What—what would it entail?” She heard the words leave her mouth, but she couldn’t believe she’d actually asked. As if she were considering this. Because that was insane.
“I’m sure you’ve read the literature,” Brent replied. “As your guide, I prepare a series of scenarios designed especially for you and your individual needs and desires. By the time you’ve completed them, your sexual inhibitions will be a thing of the past and you’ll be a happier, healthier person.”
Sexual inhibitions. Did she really have them?
Could
he know what he was talking about? And yet . . . she needed to rephrase her question. Because she wasn’t asking about what he thought she needed as much as she was asking about . . . the man she’d just had sex with. Although she tried to sound casual about it. “No, I meant the sex itself. The fantasies. How do they work? Would . . . you be there?”
Their eyes met in the dim candlelight from the table above. His filled with reservation. “I’m not
supposed
to be.”
Jenna pulled in her breath, nodding lightly, not quite able to meet his gaze anymore. It had been crazy to even ask. What difference did it make if he was there? She supposed some small part of her had begun to think:
Maybe if I can do
this
with him, I could do
that
with him.
But since when did she want
this
—sex with a stranger—anyway?
Placing one bent finger beneath her chin, he forced her gaze to his. “Would it make you more comfortable if I were involved?”
Jenna blinked. Tried to wade through her tangled feelings. “The total truth?”
“Absolutely. I’m all about the truth, sunshine.”
She drew in her breath—and fought to be honest with him. “The truth is that I can’t believe I did this with you and I can’t believe I’m sitting here with my panties still around my knees—because this is not the kind of thing I do, which I’m sure you understand by now.”
“And that’s exactly why you needed to do it.”
Need
again.
Shut up about that already
. “The very notion of . . . of doing what you’re suggesting, going through these fantasies you want to create for me, is . . . mind-boggling. I can’t believe I’m considering it for even a second. But I suppose I was thinking that since I’ve now been . . . like
this
, with you, that maybe, just maybe, it would make future such . . .
experiences
easier for me . . . if you were there.”
Brent sighed. “It’s a pretty big fucking rule, Jenna. It’s there for a reason.”
She didn’t ask the reason, just stated the obvious. “You just
broke
a big rule, which I presume was there for a reason.”
“True,” he said.
And Jenna knew she should accept that, because it was her Get Out of Jail Free card—a damn good reason to say,
Okay then, sorry, but I can’t do this
. That was what she’d planned on in the first place. And one round of sex with him didn’t change that. Or it shouldn’t anyway. So it was simply beyond her understanding when she instead said, “Look, I’ve been honest with you, far more honest than I intended to be, so here’s more honesty. I truly didn’t come here for the sex, so I’m not mentally prepared for this—in fact, I’m absolutely scared to death of it. So I think the only way I could possibly do it would be if . . . if you
were
there.”
He looked at her in the shadows, his expression quiet, even kind. “If you’re scared to death, why are you considering it?”
“More truth? I don’t know,” she whispered. “I really don’t.”
He pursed his lips, looked troubled, and then . . . conceded. “All right, sunshine. If you’ll agree to this if I’m involved, then I
will
be.”
Oh God. She wasn’t sure she’d expected that. It had been like the sex itself—she hadn’t been able to bring herself to say no, but she hadn’t been sure she wanted the answer to be yes, either.
Yet Brent looked almost . . . proud of her. And for some reason, she liked that. It was much better than having him insist she was a needy woman in denial.
“How does it, um . . . start?” she asked.
“You’ll receive instructions prior to each fantasy about time, place, and what to wear. You’ll be given a safeword, something you say only if and when you want out, if you want the fantasy to end—if it’s truly not bringing you pleasure. But I’ll be working very hard to make sure it
all
brings you pleasure,” he said with his usual seductive smile. “Still, sunshine, I should warn you—sometimes you might have to be patient for a little while and trust me on that. Don’t say the word out of fear—only say it if something has begun to happen that’s bringing you true
dis
pleasure. And I promise, the pleasure will
always
come.
Always
.”
Oh Lord. What had she put into motion here? She tried to catch her breath and be brave. “All right.”
“There are a few other things we need to go over, too,” he said. “First, about the other people you’ll meet here. Sometimes we build fantasies for our guests that can . . . overlap. That means you might meet someone during a fantasy who is actually in his or her own fantasy at the same time, even though the goal of that fantasy might be entirely different than the goal of yours. And, conversely, you’ll interact with other participants who are employees of the Hotel Erotique. We request that you not ask anyone whether they’re a guest or an employee—simply because it decreases the sense of fantasy.”
“Um, may I ask . . . what if you put someone in my fantasy who I’m, uh, not attracted to?”
He grinned. “No need to worry, sunshine. Do you remember when you went through a long online page of photos clicking next to those you found attractive?”
She nodded. She’d known it was telling them something about her preferences, but she hadn’t thought any further ahead.
“Many of the people you saw are our actual employees. We use your response to others to fill in the gap—for instance, we would never put another guest in your fantasy if they didn’t fit the parameters we gathered for whom you’re physically drawn to.”
Dear God—this was strange. She knew it made sense to populate her fantasies with people she found attractive, but she’d never thought about the actual logistics of how it would work, since she hadn’t been taking this part seriously.
“And we also ask that you remember—most of our fantasies are designed to be just that. You’ll be traveling to other places in your fantasies, maybe other times. You and I and everyone else involved will all be playing roles, and even if that feels odd at first, just do your best and I promise it’ll be okay. We won’t be just Brent and Jenna anymore—but if you need me, or if you need to invoke the safeword, just find me with your eyes and I’ll be there. Otherwise, the idea is to immerse yourself in the setting and situation as much as possible.
“And finally,” he continued, “I need to address sexual safety.”
Oh, shit. He hadn’t worn a condom! Combining the intensity of the moment with the fact that she was out of practice, it had totally slipped her mind. Then again, how was a girl supposed to remember a condom in a situation as freaky as
this
?
But Brent seemed cool as a cucumber. “Every employee who takes part in our fantasies is tested monthly and the documentation is in our offices, should you wish to see it. We have yours on file, too.”
As luck had it, she’d recently been tested as part of a screening process at a community college where she’d applied to teach a history course to earn extra money between book advances—and she’d even gone so far as forwarding the results via e-mail when Mariel had requested them, all to keep up the appearance that she was planning to take the whole prize. And now she was. Unbelievable.
Jenna had also reported to Mariel that she was on birth control—even if most of the time the only purpose it served was keeping her periods regular. So he surely had that information, as well.
Yet still, despite all that, she swallowed uncomfortably. “How do I know, um,
you’re
safe?”
To her surprise, he looked amused. “Mine’s on file, too, if you want to see it.”
She blinked. “Why do you need one? If you don’t normally participate in guests’ fantasies.”
“I don’t participate in the fantasies of the guests to whom I’m a guide. That doesn’t mean I don’t take part in those of
other
guests.”
“Oh.” Hmm. He had sex here, with strangers, on a regular basis.
It didn’t change anything—she’d known it all along really, but somehow maybe she’d hoped he’d outgrown that part of the job upon becoming a guide. Now pictures filled her head:
him
, in the center of orgies, naked, thrusting, the way he’d just thrust into
her
. And it reminded her that she’d just agreed to do whatever he chose for her. With him. With other people. And for all she knew,
she
might end up in the center of an orgy! Oh God, had she lost her mind?
Just then, as sanity was about to return, Brent reached out to touch her, his fingertips curving over her cheek. “Thank you for trusting me enough to do this, sunshine.”
And that brief glimpse of sanity forced her to ask, “Why . . .
do
I trust you? I just met you. And as you said, I’m not even sure I
like
you.” Even if her sarcastic tone hinted otherwise.
In reply, he leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Maybe it’s because I just gave you the best orgasm of your life.” Then he pushed smoothly to his feet, said, “Goodnight, sunshine,” and walked away, leaving Jenna to wonder just what the hell she’d gotten herself into and why.
Chapter 3
W
hen a bright blast of morning sun woke Jenna, her first response was to roll over and pull a pillow over her head—which happened to be pounding. But then she realized she wasn’t at home. And she remembered where she was. And that she’d had a lot to drink throughout the day and evening yesterday. And that she’d . . . oh boy. Oh God.
She’d had sex with a big, hot, sexy hunk of a man she’d never met before last night.
She’d had the best orgasm of her life, as he’d accurately pointed out.
And she’d agreed to . . .
yikes
!
Jenna bolted upright in bed and looked around the room. Was she remembering all this correctly?