She slowly exhaled. Lord, forgive me for calling that heathenish woman all types of bitches. But that’s what the hell she is.

  Krista took another deep breath.

  I know you know my heart, Lord.

  Out of nowhere, a crash of lightning burst across the sky, like a cracking whip, followed by an enormous boom of thunder. Krista thought she felt the earth shake as she angrily stomped her sandaled-feet down the trail that led back toward the villas.

  She was still beside herself with annoyance. How dare that hoodrat bitch—Lord forgive her—call her prudish? And then have the audacity to suggest she learn to suck dick. Krista didn’t need that bitch telling her how to please her man. The bitch couldn’t even keep her own man happy.

  Prudish, hell . . .

  Remembering the time she’d thrown caution to the wind and had given into pleasure brought a smirk to her face. That time on the Carnival cruise ship, Sunshine, two summers ago. 1:30 a.m. They had been at sea. Sailing from St. Thomas to Grand Turk. Up on the sky deck. Her white sundress was raised up over her thick hips, her nude-colored panties (and she’d paid good damn money for the silky item!) torn at the crotch by Kendall’s strong powerful hands. She’d gripped the railing and looked up at the darkened sky alit with stars as Kendall slid himself inside of her, and fucked her deep, in slow sensual strokes.

  She couldn’t believe it. Allowing herself to be fucked out in the open like that . . . so vulnerable, so constrained (because she couldn’t cry out in fear she’d be heard) and yet so, so damn wet. Wetter than she’d ever been in her entire life.

  What had gotten into her that night (besides Kendall’s hard dick)?

  It’d taken almost four days of cajoling and sweet-talking and damn near pleading for Kendall to finally get her to let him make love to her there, in that very spot, beneath a dome of stars. But she’d finally acquiesced and gave into Kendall’s desire. She’d let him have his way with her, his dick thrusting wetly in and out of her body. Ooh, Lord, have mercy on her little slutty soul. Because that was what she’d imagined a slut would do, of what being slutty would be like.

  And she’d come quick and hard . . . so, so hard . . . that she nearly passed out.

  So LaQuandra could kiss her whole ass. She might not have been as freaky as those two whores, but Krista damn sure wasn’t some puritanical lay, either.

  Still . . .

  Thunder rumbled.

  She couldn’t believe those bitches back there. Fantasizing about cheating on their husbands. Mmph. And that therapist sitting up in there encouraging such salacious behavior like there was nothing wrong with those two heathen-ass hoes entertaining the possibility of lying with another man. Fantasy or not, it was still wrong.

  More lightning flashed overhead.

  Krista looked up at the swaying coconut palms and then at the darkening sky draped in swollen clouds.

  Lord, get me back to the villa before it pours.

  A raindrop hit her face, then another. Krista nearly squeaked. Then came the booming sound of thunder. Krista might have been a bit rough around the edges (on occasion), but everyone who knew her knew she was deathly afraid of thunder and lightning.

  She picked up her pace as another bolt of lightning struck closer. The raindrops were so big that they thumped heavily on her head. This is nothing but the devil, Krista thought, swiftly walking in the direction toward what she thought were the villas. Lightning continued to fork out above her. And then what started out as drizzle turned into a downpour. The torrential rain had come from out of nowhere. Now she could barely see through the curtain of rain.

  The wind whipped fiercely around her, flinging heavy raindrops all over her. More lightning split open the darkened sky and Krista began a run-walk. Her feet started sliding in her sandals, making it difficult for her to move as rain sloshed between her painted toes.

  More lightning flashed.

  Then came a crackling sound in the distance. A tree had been struck.

  Krista’s heart raced. Now she wished she hadn’t stormed out of the session so hastily. Perhaps she’d been a bit more defensive than was necessary. But she couldn’t think about that now. She needed to get to safety before she was electrocuted.

  More lightning crackled.

  The rain was so thick that she could barely see. Drenched, Krista quickened her pace to nearly a run and stumbled as her right foot slid out of her sandal. She broke her fall with her hands, skinning her palms on the stoned pathway as she fell. Krista rolled, trying to prevent further injuries, and landed in a foot of water. Goddamn it. Now she was a muddy mess.

  Pulling herself up from the mud and water, she swiped her wet hair from her face and attempted to slide her sandal back on her foot to only find that it had broken. To add insult to injury, her nipples were painfully hard. Shit. She quickly picked up her torn sandal and hurriedly walk-ran with one sandal on.

  She wanted desperately to get out of this rain. Up ahead. There it was. She could barely make out the shape of a structure. The rain nearly stung her eyes as she tried to bring the building into focus. Oh. Okay. Up ahead was the villa, she thought. She blinked, straining for a clearer look. Yes, God. Thank you.

  Wait.

  She blinked through the rain again. She saw only one building—a house-like structure. That wasn’t her villa.

  Ohgod, no, no, no, nooo . . .

  Krista realized she had taken the wrong path when she didn’t see the villas or the ocean ahead. She needed to go in the opposite direction. She’d been so distracted by her thoughts that she’d somehow managed to go the wrong way.

  Nothing but the devil! Goddamn you!

  Another burst of lightning struck a nearby tree, splitting it, and causing Krista to duck. The loud crack sounded too close for comfort. And Krista was now more frightened of the wildness of the storm than ever. She hadn’t come here to die. To be struck down by lightning.

  As she neared, she saw what in fact was a cottage of some sort. Its slanted roof was a vibrant mosaic of pinks and blues and greens, and its chimney billowed out a thick cloud of smoke. Sheets of water poured down either sides of the roof like a rushing waterfall.

  Something was lit inside, hopefully a fire. Krista needed to warm herself and dry out from the elements. But why was this bungalow out here in the middle of nowhere? And why was there no door?

  With one waterlogged sandal in hand and the other on her foot, Krista raced through the door-less frame, without considering who might be inside. All she knew was, she needed out of the storm.

  Twenty-Six

  Candles illuminated the front part of the house, along the walls, all along the baseboards. Fresh-cut floral arrangements sat atop pedestals, which Krista thought odd. And yet she breathed in the erotic stimuli, nonetheless.

  “Hello?” Krista said nervously. “Is anyone here? I don’t mean to barge in like this, but I was hoping I could come inside . . .” She walked further inside. “Just until the rain stops.”

  Krista’s wet feet squished over the iridescent aquatic-blue glass-tiled floor as she walked. Her one shoeless foot chilled against the tiles as she moved deeper into the room. The room smelled of scented pineapples and cedar.

  “Hello?” she called out again over the rumbling outside. Deeper inside was another room where a fire crackled inside its hearth. Apprehensively, Krista inhaled. She loved the smell. Loved the crackling sounds of burning wood.

  “Hell—”

  She didn’t finish calling out hello. She thought she heard what sounded like moans coming from the back part of the house.

  “Mmmm . . .”

  “Uh. Uh. Uhhh . . .”

  Was that grunting?

  Krista stopped in her tracks. She held her breath.

  More lightning cracked across the sky.

  Then came the sounds of more moaning. More grunting.

  Krista continued forward as the rain and wind continued to howl outside. The bungalow suddenly filled with a sinful amalgamation of sensual sounds, of grunting and groaning and hissing and moaning, almost as if in surround-sound.

  Curiosity got the best of her. And, instead of whirring toward the exit, ready to brave the storm, Krista treaded forward, toward the seductive resonances.

  She peered around into the doorway, and breathed in the sweet funk of sex and hot seeds and stained sheets.

  Right there, in the center of the last room was where sin greeted her. There was a huge circular platform bed. Its walls covered in mirrors, mere reflections of sweat-slick bodies. Skin slapped against skin and, like tribal drums, the echoing sounds of moaning filled the room.

  And then came the lascivious sound of sucking—dick sucking, toe sucking, sucking, sucking . . . and more sucking. High-heels and swaying breasts and bouncing-asses and hard dicks and chiseled nakedness was all around her.

  Krista’s eyes batted in surprise.

  Realization dawned. This was . . . oh, God . . .

  A sexy, tanned Latina with heart-shaped lips, big breasts and an even bigger ass was on all fours, her skin shimmering in sweat and glitter lotion. Behind her was a Nigerian hunk, fucking her, pounding her, deeply, while her face was buried between the thighs of a thick-hipped East Indian woman. The East Indian had thick dark lashes and dark hair that fanned out over the white bed sheet. Her breasts were swollen. Her areolas were dark and almost as long and thick as a pinky.

  Krista watched on in stunned amazement as another man, with his sun-kissed tan, hovered over the East Indian woman and dipped his head, sucking a nipple into his greedy wet mouth, while lightly pinching her other nipple. The woman mewled out as his engorged cock bounced up and down over her forehead.

  His dick was big, shamelessly begging to be stroked. To be sucked. To unleash a thick load into a warm hole, someone’s mouth, or slick cunt. Krista fixed her gaze on the thick tendons of his throat. A rivulet of sweat slid down his corded neck as he gyrated his hips in a deep, lazy movement.

  Another woman—a Brazilian—took to the same bed, her knees sinking into the plush mattress as she crawled in back of Mr. Sun-Kissed and shoved her face in between his muscled hamstrings. She licked the back of his balls. Sucked them into her mouth. Then she brazenly pulled open the smooth muscled globes of his ass. And she licked him there. Again and again, she licked and licked. And each time her tongue laved him there, stroked over his hole, his dick jerked.

  God no. What kind of nasty shit is going on in here? Krista pressed a hand to her heart and then clutched at her rain-soaked chest and frowned.

  He must be bisexual, Krista thought. Because, in her thinking, no straight man, no real man, wanted his ass licked. And he damn sure wasn’t letting anyone fuck him in it with fingers, toys, or anything else. But here this manly-looking man was, hunched over letting some woman tongue-fuck him. She was convinced he was down-low and nasty. Sorry. A real man was never letting anyone or anything go anywhere near his ass. Period.

  Krista’s stomach churned, and all the pineapple chunks she’d consumed earlier in the day burned like acid. But she didn’t look away. No, no. She swallowed instead. Still, she knew she should turn away. Knew she should scurry back out the way she’d come. But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. And she didn’t know if she should be more afraid of the hurricane-like storm outside or frightened of the sensuality and carnal energy that swirled haphazardly around her.

  She didn’t know if any of them were aware that someone was watching them. If they did, they didn’t seem concerned that prying eyes—her prying eyes—might be on them.

  All she knew was—

  “Are you enjoying the view?” came a low, deep voice from behind her, vibrating its way up her spine.

  Krista whirled around. Panic hit her square in the chest as she looked up into the searing gaze of a half-naked man, dark chocolate skin sliding over thick muscle, shining from coconut oil. There was an island lilt to his voice, she thought. He was well over six feet, and his body was nearly as wide as the doorframe.

  A sleek tattoo of a panther wrapped around the hunk’s torso with its head propped up on his right shoulder, its golden-colored eyes staring at her. And he wore a loincloth and loads of hot sensuality. Nothing more.

  Krista shivered.

  Where had he come from?

  He regarded her with a smirk.

  “Yes. No. I mean. I-I-I’m drenched,” Krista stammered, looking into his eyes. They were beautiful eyes too. Deep, searing brown eyes. He wore his hair in long dreadlocks, tied back into a ponytail that brushed against his lower back, the sides and back of his head neatly faded low.

  “. . . needed to get out from the rain,” Krista offered sheepishly. Once again, she’d been caught . . . this time spying. Watching lovers indulge in carnal pleasure.

  What in the hell was wrong with her?

  Was this some newfound thing? Watching, eavesdropping, like some perverted, sex-starved heathen. She’d never been known to do any nasty shit like this. Hell, she didn’t even watch porn. She found nothing remotely enticing about watching some staged-fucking. But, oh God, there was nothing scripted here. It was all live and direct and . . .

  He smiled, and his brown eyes twinkled at her. And then his gaze latched onto her erect nipples.

  “I see.”

  Yes, he was definitely of Caribbean descent by the accent.

  Self-consciously, Krista brought her arms up over her chest and crossed them in a clumsy attempt to hide her protruding nipples. Why hadn’t she worn a better bra, one with more padding?

  He deliberately licked his lips.

  “Would you like to join in?” he asked, gesturing with a hand for Krista to enter the room—the den of wicked sin, if she dared . . . of course not.

  Krista shook her head emphatically. “No, no. I-I-I was looking for a restroom, someplace where I can dry myself off . . . until the rain stops.”

  “Aah, yes,” he said over a smile. “The rain. The perfect backdrop for lovemaking.” His eyes journeyed over Krista’s thick body, taking in the way her sundress clung to her hips like a second skin. Oh, yes, he would fuck her slow and deep until she opened to him, then he would pound her until she clawed his back, the sheets, and cried out his name, begging him to have mercy on her stretched open hole.

  And now . . . now Krista felt undressed, naked, stripped down to her flaws.

  He licked his lips again. “I’m Soul.”

  “I-I-I’m,” Krista stammered.

  “Very wet,” he said over a grin. “Shall I help you undress . . .?”

  Krista blinked. “Absolutely not. I should get—”

  More lightning crackled.

  “Do you enjoy being made love to?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean,” she said indignantly, “that’s none of your business.”

  “You like watching other people fuck, though.”

  “No,” she said crossly.

  “It wasn’t a question,” he stated.

  Krista blinked, and the man reveled in hearing the hitch in her breathing. She was more than simply taken aback by his accusation. She was goddamn appalled. And deathly frightened too. What if he tried to take advantage of her? What if they all did? Held her hostage here and fucked her through the storm? Fucked her all through the day and night?

  What in the hell had she been thinking? Just barging up in here like that. And then she heard the drum of rain beating on the roof and the shudder of the palm trees and she remembered why.

  The storm.

  She eyed the muscular hunk warily, one eye in the direction toward the door. Could she make a mad dash for it, make her great escape, before he—

  “Are your panties wet? And not from the rain.”

  Krista’s eyes widened; part shock, part embarrassment.

  “I beg your—”

  He pressed two very long and very thick fingers to her lips. “Sssh. Say nothing. I bet you’re so wet I could stuff all four of my thick fingers inside you.”

  Her skin flushed, while she fought to control her panicked breathing.

  Oh, God, no. The Lord is my shepherd . . .

  More thunder, more lighting.

  The hunk slowly removed his fingers from Krista’s quivering mouth. “You’re safe here, baby,” he said seductively low. “And so is your secret.”

  Secret?

  She had no secrets. Yes, she was wet. Soaked. And, yes, her panties were damp. Because her dress was drenched, not for any other reason, thank you very much!

  Then, um, why was she standing here shivering and not from a chill in the air?

  Why were her nipples suddenly aching to be touched?

  And, why—for heaven’s sake—was there a slow throb between Krista’s trembling thighs?

  Simple.

  Because temptation was all around her.

  Because the devil was a damn lie . . .

  Twenty-Seven

  “Thanks for coming in to see me,” Dr. Dangerfield said as she watched LaQuandra settle in the seat across from her.

  LaQuandra ran a hand through her braids, and then removed her sunglasses. “Did I have a choice?” she asked, propping her purse up on her lap.

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled. It was forced, but still offered nonetheless. The couples were already at the halfway mark of their stay on the island and Dr. Dangerfield had still not been able to find anything she liked about LaQuandra. She wanted to. Tried to. But her shitty attitude made it that more difficult.

  She answered in kind, “We always have a choice, Mrs. Lewis. Even when the choices we have aren’t the most pleasing.”

  LaQuandra offered a grunt as her response.

  “How are things with you and your husband?”

  LaQuandra gripped the straps of her purse. “He still hasn’t fucked me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I wasn’t asking that, per se. I meant, overall, how are things with the two of you? Are you communicating better?”

  LaQuandra gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Aside from his one-worded answers, we’re not arguing.”

  “Well, that’s a good start. Constant bickering can be damaging to any relationship, especially when hurtful things have been said. Things that can’t be taken back once they’re said.”