“Yeah, I’m good. All is well.”

  Dr. Dangerfield gave him a doubtful look.

  Kendall kept his eyes locked on hers. And then he asked, “When is our next couples’ session?”

  Thirty-Nine

  Brenda felt sexy sitting at the bar as she sipped on her second drink, Wet Heat—a mixture of coconut rum, Dark rum, pineapple juice, jalapeño slices, and a splash of coconut cream shaken and then served chilled in a half-shelled coconut.

  She’d decided to have a drink down on the beach and watch the water, drink in its tranquility, while she waited for Roselle to shower and get dress. She knew it would take his slow-ass close to an hour to get ready, so here she sat—in a short white dress, her ample cleavage nearly spilling out, while the cutout back revealed her smooth, tanned skin—swaying to the sounds of H.E.R as she sang about not having enough practice in love, not wanting to play games.

  Brenda didn’t have that problem though. She knew how to love. And she loved hard. Maybe too hard sometimes, perhaps a bit obsessively at times.

  Still, she loved.

  And she loved Roselle. She loved his touch. The way he held her, kissed her, licked her, teased her; the way he made love to her and fucked her all in the same strokes. Roselle knew how to make her pussy cream and squirt simultaneously.

  Yes. He was a gifted lover.

  But he was also a pain-in-the-ass too, but he was hers.

  And, no, he wasn’t perfect, but he’d always been perfect enough for her, even with his wandering eye and bouncing dick and whore-mongering ways. He was still the only man for her.

  Brenda licked over her lips. She found herself thinking about Roselle’s dick. Beauty—yes, God. It wasn’t enormous, but it was nowhere near small—it was exceptionally way above average. It was heavenly bliss. It was eight-plus inches of thick, golden-brown goodness that stroked into her core and reminded her of why she’d stolen Roselle from her ex-best friend in the first place.

  Did she have any regrets?

  Hell no. She’d had her eyes on him, first, that night at Club Scandal. But Trinity had gotten to him first. Given him her number. Fucked him. Then cuffed him.

  And then instead of keeping her mouth shut, all Trinity did was brag about how fine he was, how freaky he was. About how good the dick was, how Roselle had made her toes curl every time he licked over her clit with his long tongue.

  Yes, Brenda had hated—a little at first. But then she’d seen the way he’d look at her any time she came around with heat and hunger in his eyes. And, yes, she’d wanted some of him. She’d been bold enough to tell him so. And bold enough to suck his dick and swallow his babies, while he fingered her pussy, outside of Trinity’s apartment complex.

  Weeks later, they were fucking on the low. She’d become his sidepiece. And, okay, so she’d thought that that would be enough. And for a while, it had been.

  But, after a year of having his raw dick coating the inside of her walls, Brenda had been determined to have him for herself. So she waited, schemed, and kept him satiated with stress-free sex.

  Oh yes, Brenda had been a scandalous bitch, smiling in her good friend’s face, while fucking her man. Everything Trinity wasn’t willing to do, with him and to him, Brenda had been more than willing to step in and indulge him.

  The dick had been too good not to.

  And though she’d prayed for it, she never pressured him into leaving Trinity. He’d done it on his own, in his own time. He’d left Trinity for her. And then he’d put a ring on it.

  Two kids and eleven years later, and Roselle was still coming home to her.

  So, no—fuck no—there were no regrets. Trinity had never been a real friend, any-damn-way. Besides, that lame-ass bitch hadn’t deserved him. She didn’t know how to handle a man like Roselle. And she damn sure didn’t deserve to birth his curly-haired babies. No. Brenda had deserved him. But wait for it. She knew she deserved everything else that came along with having him.

  And she was fine with that. Most times.

  Brenda knew she was a whore. A whore who rode her man, any time, any place. Bitches had better get on board or have her man snatched up by the next freak lying in wait, like she’d been.

  H.E.R’s “Facts” played and Brenda rocked her shoulders. She pursed her cherry-glossed lips. Call her dick-dumb. Call her crazy. She didn’t give a goddamn. But a bitch would never call her sexually repressed, or lonely.

  She slowly sipped through her straw, allowing the concoction’s sweet heat to wet her tongue and pool through her veins. One more and she was for certain she’d be tumbling off the barstool. Yes. She was feeling herself. Thick in all the right places, she was a bad bitch—and she knew it.

  And she felt like being naughty. She thought to guzzle her drink, then head back to her villa in hopes to find Roselle naked. In her mind’s eyes, she saw herself dropping to her knees, nuzzling his groin and feeling his dick, wrapping a hand around the thick base of his growing erection, before licking the crown of his dick and drawing him deep into her hungry, wet mouth.

  Yes. That was what she’d do, she decided, sucking down the rest of her drink through her straw. She slid off her stool and, somehow, managed to stand on wobbly legs. She ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair, tucking the strands behind her ears and then shouldered her purse.

  “Leaving already?” said a voice so richly baritone that Brenda nearly swooned. Or was that from the effects of the liquor? Brenda’s skin prickled with nerves as she turned and found herself looking up into the face of Sin. Lord, she didn’t remember him being this fine when she’d first seen him on the plane—or when he’d slyly winked at her on the beach. But—damn him—up close and personal, his body mere inches from hers, towering over her, he was a massive ball of sexual energy.

  For a moment, Brenda simply stared up at him, trying to swallow down the air that had caught in the back of her throat. And then Sin slid his muscled body onto the stool next to her and grinned.

  “I hoped I’d see you again,” he said simply, sounding cool and confident, like a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to take it.

  One of Brenda’s eyebrows lifted, and she cocked her head to the side. “Is that so?” she said softly.

  “No doubt, baby.”

  Baby. The word slipped from his lips and slid over her like warm honey—thick and sweet. When the bartender stopped in front of him, he ordered a double-shot of Remy. And then he looked at her. “She’ll have another of whatever she’s been drinking.”

  “Oh, no—please, no,” Brenda quickly said. “I can’t—I shouldn’t.”

  Sin’s lips curved up into a devilish grin. “But you will. If you want to.”

  “No. I have to get going.”

  Sin took her in. “One drink, baby. Live a little. A little sin . . .” He paused. And then he scanned her body with his eyes, slowly, seductively, licking over those beautiful chocolate-brown lips, “every now and then, never hurt anyone.”

  Brenda felt herself flush. Or maybe it was the two drinks she’d already had. She glanced down at her watch, then up at him.

  Sin.

  How apropos.

  She sinned every day. Yet, she stood debating, trying to talk herself out of one more drink with a dangerously fine man with a name like Sin.

  Without even touching her, Sin seduced her.

  Robbed her of the will to resist.

  Him.

  His challenge.

  Why was he taunting her? But, more importantly than that, why was she aching, wanting, and suddenly feeling wet.

  Damn him.

  But shit. He was scrumptiously sexy. Oh hell. Brenda slid back onto her barstool. So much for the delicious dick-suck she’d planned in her head with her down on her knees between Roselle’s muscular thighs.

  “One drink,” she said firmly. “I’ve already had two too many.”

  “One drink is all you’ll need,” he said smoothly.

  This time she smiled, and he grinned. And then his long thick fingers reached out and touched her cheek. Brenda blinked, but she didn’t jerk her head away, not even as his finger trailed to the corner of her mouth. No. She should have, but she didn’t. Instead her breath hitched and her lips parted the barest of centimeters in response.

  Sin stared at her, his brown eyes sizzling her with purpose.

  He leaned into her. “I’ve been wondering what you taste like,” he murmured. His lips flush to her ear, a teasing hot-breath brushed her skin.

  Brenda swallowed, then licked her lips. She didn’t know what to say to that, but she knew she needed to say something. So she stated the obvious. “As flattered as I am, I’m a married woman.”

  Sin cocked his head slightly to the right, and Brenda swore she saw the dirty mind behind those smoldering eyes. “And I still wanna stick my tongue deep inside you and lick out your soul.”

  Lord God—sweet Jesus.

  Suddenly, she felt heat everywhere. Scorching her skin. Searing her cunt. Burning the tip of her clit. Brenda felt her mouth go dry, but her pussy grow wetter.

  If she weren’t here, on this island—with Roselle, she’d invite him to taste her pussy. He could lick the inside of her uterus, then suck out her ovaries if he’d wanted.

  This was so inappropriate. She knew this. And yet she still wanted to indulge him, to engage him.

  The bartender returned with their drinks setting them on the bar in front of them, and Brenda quickly grabbed hers, thankful to have something to squelch her growing desire, to drown the rising heat in her belly.

  “Where’s your husband?” Sin asked in a swift change of subject.

  Who?

  Brenda gave him a questioning stare.

  Sin grinned and chuckled lightly. “Your husband, baby. Where is he?”

  Oh. Him.

  “Getting dressed.”

  “Cool. You happy with him?”

  Brenda nodded. “Yes. Very. He’s good to me.”

  Sin’s eyes twinkled. “Does he dick your body down, handle them curves with long, deep thrusts?”

  Brenda raised her head in surprise, at his bluntness, at her body’s response to it—him. She took a long sip of her drink. “Yes,” she admitted. And then she smiled. “You’re trouble.”

  Sin dissolved into laughter, his head going back, the cords of muscle in his neck bulging, before turning to take her in. “I’m Sin, remember? I’m supposed to be.” There went those brown eyes again, intensely staring at her. “But I’m good trouble, baby. The kind you look forward to sinning for.”

  Brenda felt her body shake.

  “You ever cheat on him?”

  “On who? My husband?” Brenda asked, surprised he’d ask her that.

  She shifted in her seat and then looked down at the napkin under her drink. She played with the ends, her expression pensive, as if deciding whether or not she wanted to tell him. The truth.

  “Yes,” she admitted softly, her gaze locking on his. Brenda saw the flickers of interest and hunger in his eyes, and it heated her body. She licked her lips. And Sin grinned.

  “I wanna fuck you.”

  “I . . . I,” Brenda stammered.

  “One night,” Sin said, “that’s all I need—one night to bury myself so deep in your guts that you’ll still feel me pulsing inside of you weeks later.”

  Brenda’s fingers gripped her drink, pressing into the coconut’s shell as she pressed her thighs shut, her cunt pulsing to the sound of those four words—“I wanna fuck you”—yes, yes . . . fuck me, Daddy . . .

  “My God. You are so tempting,” she muttered. “And trust me, if I—”

  “Hey, baby.”

  Both Brenda and Sin whirled around to see Roselle heading across the bar toward them. Sin couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard Brenda utter a curse under her breath.

  Roselle dropped a kiss on Brenda’s lips, then stood between her and Sin as he extended his hand. “Roselle, man.”

  Sin took his hand. “Sin.”

  Roselle ginned. “And I bet you live up to your name, man.”

  Sin laughed. “I confess. My moral compass is faulty.”

  Brenda blushed and caught Roselle’s curious stare out of the corner of her eye.

  Roselle checked his watch. “Well, thanks for keeping my beautiful wife company. But we gotta head out.” He looked over at Brenda. “You ready, baby?”

  “Yes. Let me just finish my drink.” And then Brenda’s lips were wrapped around the tip of her straw and she was quickly siphoning out her drink until all that was left was an empty coconut shell.

  Sin smiled. “Was it good?”

  “Very,” Brenda said as she slid off her barstool. “Thanks for the drink,” she said, eyeing Sin, while trying to not look down into his crotch. “And the conversation.”

  Sin smiled. And Brenda caught something shimmering in his eyes—lust.

  “The two of you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  “No doubt,” Roselle said, giving Sin a fist-bump. “Don’t hurt ’em out here, playboy.”

  Sin laughed again. “What’s the fun in that?”

  Roselle let out a laugh of his own. “Right, right.” And then he draped an arm over Brenda’s shoulder, pulling her body into his. He kissed her on top of her head. And then, as they walked away, he said, “You wanna fuck him, don’t you?”

  Forty

  “What is it that you want from me, Kendall, huh?” Krista blew out a frustrated breath. Things between the two had become tense over the last several days. Krista couldn’t understand why all of sudden, Kendall was becoming more sexually demanding. Expecting her to do shit he knew she didn’t like doing. Like once again, rubbing his thumb over the seam of her ass three nights ago, while he’d had her bent over the bed, brushing over her sweet spot from the back.

  And then, uh—Krista felt herself becoming annoyed all over again just thinking about it—but, last night she’d wanted to have sex. But Kendall didn’t. He’d claimed he wasn’t in the mood. Since when? He’d not once ever denied her sex—nor had she ever denied him. And yet last night, he’d managed to refuse her physical intimacy. He’d flat-out told her that he wanted some head—from his wife. That he wanted her to sit her ass up on his face while she sucked him off. She hadn’t wanted to, but, yes, she did it—69’d with him. But he’d gotten frustrated, demanding she got off of him, claiming he didn’t like how she was sucking his dick; that he could tell she wasn’t really into it. And that had turned him off.

  After all these years of marriage, his ass wanted to have a sexual revelation of sorts. Calling her out on her sexual performance. Really?

  Krista blamed Kendall’s newfound attitude on this island, these sessions, and being around that porn star bitch—that, that . . . sexual defiant.

  Nairobia-what’s-her-face.

  “I’ve been a good wife; haven’t I?” Krista pressed.

  “Yes, baby,” Kendall said honestly. “Most definitely. You’re a good woman, Kris. And I love you for that.”

  Krista cringed inwardly. She thought she heard a but coming. So she braced herself. There was simply no other way to say it. Kendall had been dancing around the truth for long enough. And, quite frankly, he was tired. Tired of not having his sexual needs met. Tired of denying himself certain pleasures that he really only wanted from his wife, but had to seek outside his marriage.

  And the fucked-up thing was, Kendall felt no real regret for his cheating. He’d never want to hurt his wife. Still . . .

  Not being halfway truthful about his desires was hurting him more.

  “I love you, Krista,” Kendall said again, “and—”

  “You already said that, Kendall,” Krista pointed out, cutting him off.

  “Mrs. Evans,” Dr. Dangerfield said gently, “why don’t you give your husband a chance to finish? The purpose of all of this is to allow for the two of you to express your wants and needs and desires without harsh judgments in hopes that it will bring the two of you closer.”

  Krista frowned. How dare this bitch. Like she didn’t know all this already. “Well, then he needs to stop all this pussyfooting around and say what’s on his mind, because if you’re trying to imply that I don’t listen to my husband, you are sadly misinformed.”

  Oh? You don’t say.

  Dr. Dangerfield offered Krista a smile, one that hadn’t quite met her eyes. “Yes. I’m sure you do listen to him.” When it suits you. “But now I would like for you to hear him as well. And I’d like for you to try to hear him out without becoming defensive. Do you think you can do that?”

  Krista stared at Dr. Dangerfield trying to understand why she was sitting here talking to her as if she were some insolent child.

  “I don’t get defensive,” Krista snapped.

  “Perhaps you are not always aware of it,” Dr. Dangerfield suggested. “Sometimes it’s not necessarily in our words or voice tones, but in those nonverbal cues that give off defensive energy. Body language speaks volumes, Mrs. Evans.”

  Krista fixed her eyes on Dr. Dangerfield, fighting the urge to roll them up in her head.

  Kendall slowly shook his head, shifting his chair, so that he could face her. He needed to be mindful of his choice of words. He reached for Krista’s hand, then gently stroked his thumb over it. “As I was saying, baby. I love you. And I enjoy being inside of you when we’re making love.”

  Krista stared at him. “But . . .?”

  Kendall swallowed. The moment of truth was upon him. The door had been opened. He either walked through it or let it close.

  So he said, “But I’m not always satisfied. Sometimes I want more. Sometimes I need more.”

  Krista’s mouth gaped open and her gaze turned incredulous as she stared back at him as if to determine whether he was serious. But Kendall returned her gaze unflinchingly, his eyes telling her he was serious as a hurricane.

  “Are you kidding me?” she shouted, snatching her hand from his. “How exactly are you not satisfied, huh, Kendall?”

  “Sexually.” Kendall kept his voice calm, and his gaze firmly set on Krista’s.