“Damn, Persia,” Kendall muttered as he thought about her. She loved a man nutting in her pussy, then licking his nut out of her body, and then kissing her. That kind of shit turned Kendall on.

  His dick throbbed as he imagined his tongue inside Persia’s ass—and hers inside his. And Persia loved to kiss him afterward, the scent of pussy and dick and ass on their tongues as they swirled around the other’s.

  That shit was a big turn-on.

  Kendall groaned.

  His mind drifted to Nairobia, to her role in his favorite porn, Ass Lickers; to the day she’d sat across from him, her foot easing up his leg. She was breathtaking. Goddess-like. Almost too real to be real. And yet she was as real as the air Kendall breathed.

  So feminine.

  So sensual.

  So sexual.

  What man would be able to resist her?

  A better man than him, for sure.

  Kendall’s hand languidly slid up and down the shaft of his dick as precum streamed from the tip. He milked himself as he slowly fucked his fist. Another shining bead of excitement welled from the crown and then slid down to the edge of his hand.

  Kendall cupped his balls with his free hand, gently massaging himself there. His sac was so full and tender. Wetting two fingers with his spit, he smeared his spit over his balls, imagining it was Persia’s tongue, Nairobia’s tongue.

  “I wanna fuck,” he muttered. “Mmm . . . aah, shit . . .” His hips rotated down into the mattress. Another swelling of precum was right below the crown. He knew if he didn’t stop, he’d explode. His orgasm was right there, on the edge.

  But he kept stroking, slow and deep. He shifted upward, bending one leg at the knee. With his other hand, Kendall took his index and middle fingers and lightly brushed over his perineum, that area of skin between his balls and ass. He stroked over it with his fingertips, pressing down over it every so often.

  Kendall’s dick grew harder.

  He removed his hand from his perineum and then stopped pleasuring himself. He needed a moment to keep himself from ejaculating. It was sweet torture, teasing himself like this.

  He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, and then groaned. I need to hurry and bust this nut, Kendall thought. Krista should be back soon. She’d already been gone for over an hour.

  Kendall reached for the water-based lube he’d snuck from the gift basket a few weeks back. Shit. Krista wasn’t going to use it, so he decided to put it to good use—at least a few times, while he was here. Why the fuck did Krista have to be so goddamn rigid? How could he want his marriage so much, but still feel the need to seek pleasure outside of it?

  Kendall sighed as he flipped open the cap and then squirted a glob on his two fingers. He prided himself on being a selfless lover, but Krista—Kendall sighed and shook his head. Thinking about it was making his dick go soft. He’d been guilty of holding on to hope that Krista would one day become more open-minded and sexually adventurous. But he realized, now since their stay here, that he was being a damn fool. There was no hope for Krista. She was a fucking lost cause.

  Kendall sighed again. He wasn’t miserable. He wasn’t unhappy. But—shit, life was too short to be sexually unfilled. But was that enough, a reason, to leave?

  Kendall squeezed his semi-erect dick at the base, and then slowly slid his hand up and down his shaft until it became rigid again. He reached further beneath his balls, his wet fingers pressing on his hole. “Aah, fuck . . .” He pressed the tip in. Stroking his dick faster, he pushed his fingers in further, curling them up toward his abdomen.

  Practice. That’s what it had taken for Kendall to be able to find his P-spot—that fleshy, walnut-sized ball hiding behind the wall of his anus—without much effort, like now, the pad of his fingers on the round bulb of tissue.

  “Ah. Uh . . . oh shit,” he groaned, deepening the hand strokes on his dick as he rhythmically massaged his prostate. The base of Kendall’s spine tingled. His balls tightened. A keening moan burst from Kendall’s chest as the muscles in his lower stomach tightened.

  Eyes shut tight, Kendall’s torso lifted as heat speared through him and his orgasm burst out of his dick. His body jerked as he squeezed out the remainder of his nut. He flopped back on the bed, eyes still closed, breathing heavily. Slowly, he pulled his finger from his ass. And then—

  “Oh. My. God.”

  To Kendall’s shock, Krista stood in the doorway, a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. She looked furious—and hurt.

  “Krista,” Kendall said as he scrambled out of the bed, his sticky dick swinging like a pendulum as he attempted to go to her.

  “Don’t!” she shouted. “You dirty down-low motherfucker! Don’t come anywhere near me with your shitty-ass fingers.”

  “Kris, baby. It’s not what you think.”

  Krista looked flustered as if she had no idea what to say to that. But then she quickly found her voice. “Oh I saw it with my own two eyes, Kendall! You with a goddamn finger shoved up your ass, fucking yourself.”

  “Let me explain, Kris.”

  She shook her head, taking a deep breath to compose herself, to try to wrap her mind around what’d she’d just walked in on. “No. You can’t explain shit, Kendall. Are you gay?”

  Kendall frowned. “Hell no.”

  Krista sneered. “And yet I walk in on you with your fingers in your ass. That looks a whole lot gay to me.”

  “Look, I’m not gay, all right? If you’d just let me explain.”

  Krista blinked. There was nothing Kendall was going to say to make her see it any other way than what she’d seen. “I want you to pack your shit and get out!”

  Kendall gave her an incredulous look. “Get out? Are you serious, Krista? And go where?”

  “I don’t care, Kendall. I want you and your ass-fucking ways out of my face!”

  Kendall’s jaw tightened. And when he didn’t move fast enough, Krista started grabbing things off the dresser and throwing them at him.

  “Get out! You hear me, Kendall, get out!”

  “Kris, baby. I’m telling you. It’s not what you think.”

  “No. Kendall. I don’t want to hear shit about why you had your finger in your ass. So either you leave or I will.” She stepped back and folded her arms tightly over her breasts, trying not to look down at his dick or his damn hand—the hand with the finger he’d used, moments ago, to poke around in his ass with.

  He shook his head. Yes, he was embarrassed that she’d walked in on him like that. But there was also a strange part of him that suddenly felt relieved. Still, he didn’t like the look of disgust in Krista’s eyes as she stared at him.

  Kendall stalked over toward the dresser and then yanked open a drawer. He pulled out a pair of basketball shorts and pulled them on, then slipped on a Passion Island T-shirt.

  He looked at Krista. She looked like she was on the verge of tears.

  “Baby, I promise you, it’s not what you think. I’m not gay.”

  She sneered. “Oh you’re not?”

  “No, Kris. I’m not.”

  Krista grunted. “So you just have gay tendencies then.”

  Kendall scowled. “Hell no.”

  “It wasn’t a question,” she said, her nose flaring as she watched him grab a few things from out of drawers and then stuff them into a bag. He had no idea where he would go for the night, but if Krista wanted space, he’d give it to her.

  Krista met his eyes, held them as if she were seeing him through a different set of eyes. In her stare, he saw a set of eyes full of terror and disappointment and hurt.

  For a moment, he just stood there.

  Krista swallowed the thick knot in the back of her throat. Then she pushed out, “I will not share my bed—or my life—with some down-low homosexual,” she said, her voice low but trembling with anger. “Or some man who likes fingers in his ass.”

  Her words stabbed at Kendall, but he didn’t feel like arguing with her. And he didn’t feel like trying to change her mind. Yet a part of him knew he should say something, anything. He debated how to respond to her comments, then decided that now wasn’t the time. He knew better than anyone that once Krista had something in her head—it was fact. No matter how distorted it may be.

  And being truthful, he really didn’t give a damn. He knew he should. But he didn’t. He was tired. And, surprisingly, relieved.

  Krista stepped to the side and allowed Kendall to pass by. Then she followed behind him. The last thing he heard her say, before the door slammed shut in back of him was, “I want a fucking divorce!”

  Forty-Seven

  Dr. Dangerfield ran her fingers through her hair, trying to process all she’d been told by Kendall while at the same time keeping her panties on. She wanted to give him some pussy. Fuck his embarrassment away. She wanted to empty out his balls, come all over his dick, then wash him with her tongue. But instead, she remained poised and professional as she sat on the sofa across from him; her nipples tightening beneath her lace and silk-clad breasts as he spoke.

  There was a quiet sexiness about Kendall that made her inner walls clench with want. She felt her cunt juice trickling out of her body, dewing around the folds of her swelling sex. The erotic imagery of him pleasuring himself played vividly in her mind’s eye as he shared bits and pieces of what had transpired between him and Krista.

  Although he hadn’t shared much in any of the group sessions, Kendall surprisingly felt comfortable with Dr. Dangerfield. So when she pressed him as to why his wife would question his sexuality, he felt compelled to confess to her, believing she’d hold no judgment in her eyes toward him.

  And she hadn’t.

  Still, he would have never expected to be here. In her office, confessing.

  When he’d left the villa, he’d walked aimlessly for nearly twenty minutes before he finally landed at her office, shouldering his duffle bag. Now he sat here kicking himself, thinking if only he’d gotten up from the bed after the first nut. He wouldn’t be in this mess. Krista wouldn’t have caught him with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar—or in this case, his finger in his ass.

  And he’d still be hiding his desires from her, while living his secret sex life.

  “Shit,” he muttered, but the word was low and without malice.

  Dr. Dangerfield gave Kendall a look, one she hoped appeared to be full of compassion and not lust, even if she wanted to leap from her seat and kiss him hungrily.

  Kendall’s eyes shifted to the naked sculpture and then back to her.

  “What do you see when you look at that statue?” she asked.

  Kendall glanced at it again, this time really seeing it and said, “Freedom.”

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled. “There’s nothing like having the freedom to step into your own sexual truths, to be sexually liberated. Repression and silence can slowly kill a relationship. But now that you’ve been found out, sort to speak, hopefully your wife will see things clearer after a day or so, and give you an opportunity to explain. I can help facilitate the process in a couples’ session. Perhaps help her understand that there is nothing remotely gay about a heterosexual man enjoying anal play . . .”

  She caught herself looking at Kendall’s hands, wondering which finger it’d been probing his ass. God—if she could have been a fly on the wall. She couldn’t wait to get to her surveillance room to roll back the camera.

  She swallowed the drool pooling inside her mouth.

  “She says she’s filing for a divorce,” he added. “And thinks I’m gay—or as she said, ‘some down-low homosexual.’ ”

  That silly bitch, Dr. Dangerfield thought. How could she part her lips to call this six-foot-one hunk of sexy man gay? Then want to divorce him? Dumb bitch has a freak for a man and she doesn’t know what to do with him. Well . . . good riddance to the lazy-fuck.

  “That is unfortunate,” was all she said.

  “The crazy thing is,” Kendall continued. “I wish I could rewind the clock and this morning never happened.” Kendall looked nostalgically sad. “I love my wife. But . . .”

  “But?” Dr. Dangerfield gently prodded.

  Kendall sighed. “I wanted to believe Krista and I had a good sexual connection because of the amount of sex we have—had. But I couldn’t bring myself to share with her my interest in . . .” He shook his head, not wanting to finish the words.

  “Anal play,” Dr. Dangerfield answered for him.

  Kendall nodded. “Yeah.”

  Dr. Dangerfield understood. “And now . . . here you sit.”

  Kendall slowly nodded his head. “Yeah. Here I sit.” He pushed out a breath. “And I’m the one who convinced Krista to come on this trip, practically begged her, selling her the idea that coming here would enhance our love life, bring us closer sexually. Now look at us.” He laughed at the irony of it all and lowered his eyelids to hide his chocolate-brown eyes.

  Dr. Dangerfield’s clit throbbed and she pressed her thighs together, crossing her legs at her ankles. “I always stress the importance of couples being able to talk openly about sex—all kinds of sex. About urges, curiosities, and dark desires. Because when partners cannot openly and comfortably share their sexual wants/needs, then they will ultimately find a way to find it—and get it—elsewhere.”

  Dr. Dangerfield kept her eyes on Kendall, and when he looked away from her, she knew he’d already found what he needed in someone else.

  “Do you love her?”

  Kendall gave her a confused look. “Who? My wife?”

  Dr. Dangerfield tilted her head. “No. The woman who indulges your sexual urges and fulfills your desires.”

  Kendall swallowed. “I respect her. And enjoy her.” He shook his head. “But, no, I don’t love her. I’m in deep like, I guess you can say.” He sighed again. “What I have with her is what I would have loved to have with Krista.”

  “Maybe you still can,” Dr. Dangerfield stated. “Maybe your wife will be willing to work in her own therapy to address the roadblocks to uncovering her own sexuality.”

  Kendall gave her a yeah-right look. “Krista? You think?”

  “If your wife did have a change of heart, would staying in your marriage with her make you happy?”

  Kendall considered her for a moment and then shook his head. “Maybe not.”

  Dr. Dangerfield tilted her head and raised a questioning brow.

  “Well, no,” he amended. “Not sexually.” He sighed. “Maybe I should have been more forthcoming about my desires.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. I guess I was being selfish.”

  “In truth, Mr. Evans, we know why we choose to not disclose certain things about ourselves to those we care about.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. So honestly speaking, I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want her judging me, or staring at me with contempt in her eyes. I was afraid to scare her, to disappoint her. I didn’t want the woman I loved to look at me differently because I enjoy having my prostate stimulated.”

  “I understand. Sadly, partners who don’t allow room for new sexual experiences or who aren’t willing to embrace the idea that being sexually adventurous—or, if you will, a bit freaky—in the bedroom can be an exciting thing will sometimes end up missing out on the best parts of their partner’s sexuality. True sexual intimacy requires partners to trust, explore, and indulge in each other’s desires—within what is comfortably reasonable, of course.”

  Kendall grunted. “Krista isn’t—wasn’t comfortable with much of anything.” He shook his head. “How can anyone stay so stuck and be okay with it?”

  Dr. Dangerfield removed her glasses, propping them up on the crown of her head. “I wish there was an easy answer to that. There are a myriad of reasons why someone may be unable or unwilling to express their natural sexuality. Traumas. Upbringing. Cultural views. Religious beliefs. The beautiful thing is, sexual behavior is not constant. It can change. When someone is ready to change. Hopefully, your wife will be open to counseling.”

  Kendall shrugged. “You know, Doc. At this point, I’ve given up on hope. Krista’s said some things that just can’t be unsaid. If a divorce is what she wants, then so be it. I’m tired.” Kendall glanced at his watch. He’d been sitting here for nearly two hours. “I guess I should get going.”

  But Dr. Dangerfield wasn’t ready to see him go. She wanted to know more about his penchant for ass play, wanted to know more about the woman who indulged his desires.

  “No, no,” she quickly said. “No rush. Please. Stay as long as you want.”

  Forty-Eight

  Nairobia wet her lips, the pink tip of her tongue darting out. Kendall nearly groaned as he remembered that tongue in her porn movie, Ass Lickers. The way it had slid over her male lover’s asshole, before it laved over his balls. The memory of how the cameras zoomed in on her beautiful pussy; the way it flared each time she licked him there was still etched in Kendall’s brain.

  And now he sat here wondering what it would be like having his dick surrounded by her sweet lips (the ones on her face, first—and then the ones between her thighs) and then how it would feel coming down her throat.

  He imagined her pussy and neck were both like heated velvet; so smooth, and so damn silky. Liquid heat, he imagined them both to be.

  He licked over his lips—part nerves, part desire—at the sight of Nairobia’s nipples. He wanted to reach out and grip her breasts, lean over and lick their stiffened tips. The imagery alone caused heat to coil in his testicles. He would surely come on himself—something he hadn’t done since he was twelve, thirteen—if he didn’t get a hold of himself.

  His dick began to swell, his balls heating and filling as Nairobia’s nipples distended, a lurid sight causing him to grow weak in his resolve. He looked from them to her transfixed gaze, then back.

  This was un-fucking-believable.

  Here—with Nairobia Jansen. Alone. With a hard, throbbing dick.

  Dr. Dangerfield had summoned Kendall to The Chambers—an opulent circular structure, with vaulted ceilings and a retractable roof. Inside, it held numerous rooms, used mostly for interviews—for a special session without his wife.