Brenda glanced down at her Gucci timepiece. “Ooh, the show is about to start,” she said to LaQuandra. “Let me go grab Roselle, so we can get our seats.”

  “Oh, okay,” LaQuandra said. “If you see my husband over there, tell him I’ll be inside.”

  * * *

  “I’m sorry,” LaQuandra said, low enough for only Isaiah to hear the moment he took his seat beside her. He had two drinks in his hand. He’d already tossed back a shot of Cuevos, while at the bar, with Roselle. These two drinks would do him right.

  Isaiah gave her a look. He was sick of her shit. And he was really starting to get sick of looking at her. He took a long gulp from one of the drinks.

  “You’re sorry for what, Quandra?”

  “For carrying on out in the lobby like that. It was stupid of me.”

  “You can’t help yourself,” he said. She acted like a stupid bitch sometimes.

  LaQuandra gave him a look, and he stared back. He was really trying to bite back his temper. He wanted to light into her, but this was neither the time nor the place to check her ass. So he finished off his first drink in another large gulp.

  “I don’t wanna fight tonight, Isaiah,” she stated. “Truce? Please.”

  “Yeah, a’ight. Whatever you say, Quandra.”

  She eyed the tumbler resting in the cup holder and then asked, “Is that drink for me?” She reached over for the glass and Isaiah grabbed her hand.

  “You don’t need a drink,” he said sternly. “Ya ass don’t know how to act.” And then he lifted the glass to his lips, tipped his head back, and drained it.

  Isaiah was certain that if he was going to get through the rest of the night, then he needed to be fucked up, or damned near close to it.

  Before LaQuandra could open her mouth to say something slick, of course, a very feminine, very seductive voice floated out through the speakers, quickly quieting the theater.

  “Good evening, my beautiful people. Welcome to The Aquarium. Filled with raw sensuality, tonight’s show will tantalize and entice you. It will be an experience . . .”

  LaQuandra looked around the amphitheater-type setting, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why it had been called an aquarium when there wasn’t a tank or any amphibian life in sight.

  The oval room reminded LaQuandra of a Roman coliseum without the concrete and sand.

  There was stadium-style seating. And in the center of the amphitheater was an enormous circular stage that was surrounded by a thick velvet curtain, the same black curtain that covered the length of the walls around them.

  The way the space was quickly filling—many of the exotic-looking, scantily dressed women were on the arm of casually dressed men, while others had come alone or with other women, who wore nearly nothing—something was definitely about to go down. And, whatever it was, LaQuandra Lewis was excited, almost too excited (to the point that her pussy tingled) to have a front-row seat.

  She sighed. She was so tired of wondering, tired of fantasizing, tired of wanting and fighting and being denied.

  She needed a hard dick. She needed a man with large hands and long fingers to smack her on the ass and finger her cunt. But she wouldn’t cheat. No matter how many times she’d considered it. Cheating was out.

  Suddenly, LaQuandra dragged in a frustrated breath, aware that Isaiah was looking over at her. Deep-set eyes glowering at her.

  “What you over there grunting about?”

  She swallowed, then obliged him with a scowl of her own. This motherfucker really knows how to fuck up a wet dream. “Nothing.”

  Isaiah cocked a brow. “Oh a’ight. For a minute there, it sounded like you were taking a shit,” he stage-whispered.

  LaQuandra rolled her eyes. Although she knew Isaiah was half-joking, she found no humor in his remark. Smart-ass. Before she had a chance to respond back, the lights dimmed and the circular stage wrapped in thick velvet began to slowly spin.

  “. . . so sit back, relax,” the sultry MC continued over the music, “and indulge your senses in the underwater world of erotica.”

  Krista shifted in her seat as her gaze swept around the mini-arena. She found herself surrounded by half-naked women—they were everywhere; suddenly, she felt like she’d been the only one who’d gotten the memo on how to dress appropriately.

  She rolled her eyes up in her head, but then smiled when Kendall reached for her hand. He leaned in to her, and then he whispered, “You know I can’t wait to get you back to our villa, right?” He took her hand and discreetly placed it over the lump in his pants.

  Krista swallowed. She was tempted to squeeze him there, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not here.

  FKA twigs’ “Ache” eased out of the speakers and then the curtains along the walls slowly slid open.

  Gasps could be heard as the entire room transformed into one enormous aquarium filled with some of the South Pacific’s most beautiful coral reefs and fish.

  They were surrounded by water.

  Inside the massive glass walls were six large glass-like boxes equally spaced a part suspended in the water in front of them, giving the illusion that they were floating beneath the sea.

  Within each box were human statues.

  Sculpted.

  Voluptuous.

  An erotic assortment of chocolate bodies airbrushed in shimmering gold paint.

  All in various tantric poses.

  Naked.

  Wearing elaborate facemasks.

  Krista’s body stiffened. She clutched the armrests on either side of her seat, and nearly hyperventilated, while Brenda leaned forward, her gaze filled with hunger.

  LaQuandra pressed her legs together.

  Suddenly, she wished she’d worn a panty liner.

  Sixteen

  “Mm. Pacify . . . clarify our love . . .”

  Brenda found herself becoming entranced by the sensual melody seeping through the speakers. She wasn’t familiar with the artist, but she was enjoying the vibe. FKA twigs was once again luring listeners in with her sultry beats and seductive voice as she moaned and asked for papi to pacify their love, to tell her she was the only one.

  As she moaned out mm . . . mm . . . mm . . . the curtain covering the ginormous glass cylinder in the middle of the room slowly retracted.

  The already dimmed lights went dimmer; leaving the room alit by only the fluorescent lights inside the large aquarium. The encased human statues suspended in the water nearly glowed. And then slowly they moved, changing positions, hard dicks sliding out of clenching slits, then sliding back in. And then they froze again.

  Brenda bit her bottom lip as she glanced up at the erotic sight. She didn’t know whether to look up at one of the large LED monitors that captured everything or keep staring straight ahead. So she did both, her gaze going from the monitors to the glass wall, wondering how the hell they—those human statues—could stay in that position, dicks wedged inside wet pussy—and not thrust.

  How could they not fuck?

  She’d be crazy, wild with lust, raking her nails over the globes of his ass as she ground her pelvis, trying to fuck herself on his impaled dick.

  No, God. That couldn’t be her.

  “Damn, baby,” Roselle whispered as he leaned into her, “this shit got me right. Dick harder than a muhfucka. Take your panties off,” he said in a seductive whisper.

  “Right now?” she asked, glancing around her.

  “Yeah. Let me get them panties.”

  “Nasty ass,” Brenda murmured, before quickly glancing over her shoulder. It was dark enough. She slowly lifted her hips up from her seat and discreetly slid her pink Stella McCartney lace-trim bikini briefs down over her curvy hips.

  She stifled a giggle as she eased her panties down to her ankles and stepped out of them. Roselle licked his lips as she reached down and then placed the lace and nylon/spandex undergarment in his hand.

  He placed her panties up to his nose, as if they were a handkerchief, and inhaled.

  Brenda felt her nipples tighten, and she—

  “Kendall,” Krista whispered, “why exactly are we—?”

  “Ssh,” he whispered, cutting her off. “Looks like the show is about to start. We’ll leave in a few—if you want.” He reached for her hand. Krista’s body stiffened, then relaxed as he lightly stroked his thumb over the top of her hand.

  LaQuandra wished—whatever the show was—that it would start already. The waiting was a sweet torture, one that had her cunt aching in anticipation. Staring at those human statues—Lord-Jesus—made her skin heat. Isaiah had better fuck me tonight, she thought as she cut an eye over at him.

  Synchronously, the male statues moved again; hips retreating, the tips of their dicks barely touching their female counterpart’s slits. In. Out. In. Out. And then they froze again.

  Living, breathing, erotic art . . . that was what this was.

  Colorful fish swam around the glass encasements.

  The females threw their heads back. Then slowly thrust their pelvises forward, sliding their pussies over the dicks, then sliding back in slow motion, just to the tips of each dick.

  How did they do that? Not shiver and whimper?

  “Mm . . . pacify . . .”

  Self-control, that’s all it was.

  But damn if Isaiah would have any. He pressed his legs together, feeling his arousal bubbling up to the tip of his hard dick. Three drinks in, and he was horny as fuck.

  He leaned into LaQuandra, and then, with his warm lips, flush to her ear, he whispered, “You wanna suck this dick, tonight?”

  His breath heated LaQuandra’s skin and she felt her legs closing as if to stop the sensations she was suddenly feeling. Yes, she would suck his dick. But she wanted, needed, much more than his dick wedged between her lips. She needed him embedded deep inside her body.

  “Are you gonna fuck me?” she hissed; her tone louder than Isaiah would have preferred. “I need some dick, Isaiah—inside me. Tonight.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” was all he said, before his attention got lost on what was rising up from the glass cylinder’s floor on a huge glass pedestal.

  A woman.

  Bronze-dusted.

  Goddess-like.

  Nude.

  A dangerous mixture of . . . seduction and sin.

  Her head thrown back, her arms up over her head, right hand clasped over her right wrist. She stood motionless as the pedestal slowly rotated.

  Kneeling in front of her was a man—and woman.

  Both naked.

  Still.

  Mannequin-like.

  Their eyes closed.

  Their tongues touching, positioned, angling for her clit, for her opening.

  Sheets of aqua-blue water began sliding down the sides of the cylinder, giving the illusions of a waterfall, as it slowly spun around.

  Suddenly, the men in the encasements began thrusting simultaneously in sync to the slow, seductive beat of the music. They slow-fucked.

  “Mm . . . mm . . . mm . . .”

  The mesmerizing beauty on the pedestal captivated the audience.

  Her two lovers, precipitously, began stroking her clit with their tongues and then sucking her like she was a sweet juicy fruit.

  The rotating pedestal slowed.

  Large green sea turtles could be seen gracefully swimming around the large glass encasements, as the human statues got lost in the throes of passion.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  Slow, deep thrusts in rhythmic motion.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  And then they froze, again.

  Now the females began thrusting, slowly sliding their pussies back and forth over each man’s shaft, as he stood motionless. Up. Back. Up. Back. Up. Back.

  The female statues froze again as the exotic beauty’s face suddenly appeared on the large screens, ensnaring her audience.

  Applause erupted. Men whistled.

  And LaQuandra looked around trying to understand what the hell they were all clapping for. The woman’s face was vaguely familiar to her, yet she couldn’t place where’d she’d seen it. And, honestly, she didn’t care. What she cared about was how this show of sorts had somehow managed to have her panties a soggy mess.

  “Goddamn she’s fine,” Roselle murmured.

  Yes, God, she was, Brenda admitted inwardly. She felt her inner walls tighten and a tiny drop of warm heat trickle out of her.

  She’d seen that face before. That body. That ass. Those beautiful breasts.

  She and Roselle . . . they both had. And they had the videos—every last one of them.

  Krista shifted in her seat. A hand went up to her neck. She felt herself growing warm. This is getting ridiculous, Krista thought as she glanced over at Kendall who seemed to be spellbound.

  The music looped to the beginning again.

  “Mm . . . mm . . . mm . . .”

  And the men in the background, with their hard-bodies, chiseled pecs, and ridged six-packs began thrusting again.

  Slowly.

  In.

  Out.

  Push.

  Pull.

  Deep.

  Deeper.

  The exotic beauty’s eyes finally flashed open on the monitors.

  And staring out into the audience were gray eyes.

  Sultry.

  Alluring.

  Every man’s wet dream.

  Seventeen

  Eleven a.m.

  The three couples were down on the beach, sitting across from their respective partners on extra-large white leather pillows—its cushions covered with red rose petals.

  Beside each cushion was a huge gift basket. Inside the respective baskets were a collection of male and female sex toys, edible creams and lubes, and an autographed hardcopy of Good Pussy.

  Champagne sat on ice in metal buckets. Silver platters of strawberries, mangoes, grapes, and kiwi were picked over.

  Each couple had been tasked with feeding the other.

  With the exception of LaQuandra and Isaiah (he struggled with pretending), everyone else had rose to the occasion, happily licking one another’s fingers clean. Surprisingly, even Krista—although she’d held back some—had enjoyed being fed by Kendall.

  Now Dr. Dangerfield was greeting the couples.

  “Good morning,” she said. The morning breeze coming from off the ocean blew strands of her hair every which way. She swiped her bang from her eye and then placed the large white floppy hat she’d been holding in her hand on top her head.

  “I hope everyone has enjoyed the shows and nightlife the island has to offer.”

  “Yes, girl, yes,” Brenda said, waving a hand up in the air. She leaned in and planted a soft kiss on Roselle’s lips and then added, “My baby and I love it.”

  Of course they did. They’d gone back to their villa after The Aquarium show and practically tore the sheets off their mattress.

  Sex—or the lack of it—would never be their issue.

  Roselle had ravished her body. And she had given it back as roughly as she had taken it.

  She still felt the throb between her thighs.

  Krista pursed her lips. That so-called show was nothing short of a damn porn video. Tastefully done or not, it was simply too damn much. And then that damn night—no, sex—club. There hadn’t been an electric slide in sight. And the only thing wobbling were the men and women who’d been getting fucked.

  Why was everything on this island tied to sex in some form or fashion?

  She hadn’t come way out here for all that.

  Her gaze snared on Dr. Dangerfield’s body beneath the sheer white cover-up she wore over her white halter-top jumper. It clung to her body in all the right places. The gap between her legs gave anyone who was at eye-level a sneak peek of her twat print.

  She was classy, sure. But something about Dr. Dangerfield made Krista think she was a bit . . . hoish. She didn’t want to judge her. Lord knew she was anything but judgmental. Or at least she tried not to be. Still, her God wasn’t through with her yet.

  So it was okay if she judged a little.

  Dr. Dangerfield caught the frown on Krista’s face. She ignored it for a brief second. “Mr. Evans, how did you enjoy the show the other night?”

  Kendall’s gaze soaked in the therapist’s body, before he looked up at her. “I enjoyed it,” he said honestly. It had turned him on. In turn, he handled his business in the bedroom with Krista. Some light foreplay—rubbing her pussy while they kissed. And then right to fucking. Because that’s what she’d wanted. He’d wanted to see her facedown, ass up.

  But he’d settled for her favorite position.

  Missionary.

  Very vanilla sex, but the pussy was still good.

  It always was.

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. What about you, Mrs. Evans,” she said, her eyes landing on Krista, “how’d you enjoy the show?”

  Krista shrugged. “It was okay. I guess. But I need for you to explain to me why everything on this island is about sex? So far, that’s all I see.”

  Kendall stared at his wife. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself shaking his head at her ass. Because you need to step it up in the sheets, he thought.

  Brenda rolled her eyes up in her head.

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled, her gaze raking over Krista’s billowy tank dress and then her painted toes. Her white sandals were lying beside her cushion on the sand. Everyone had received an embossed note with instructions to dress in beachwear. And yet this bitch had come down to the beach wearing a . . . flowered dress. She hoped a bathing suit was hidden beneath.

  “This island is about passion,” Dr. Dangerfield said. “Not sex. Sex can be meaningless for many. It can become almost a mechanical act of copulating for the sake of getting off. But passion on the other hand”—she shook her head—“it’s a powerful, emotional experience. Sex and sexuality are a part of human nature. But passion and sensuality are lost on many. So here at Passion Island we seek to infuse the two into each and every one of your sex lives. It is my hope that we’ll be able to help you—for those of you who need it—revive your sexual imagination.”

  “I love it,” Brenda said. “I think couples should always want to keep it spicy in the bedroom. And as women we should always embrace our sensual sides.”