Kendall had been surprised to walk in to find Nairobia waiting on him, instead of Dr. Dangerfield. He didn’t question the whys of this encounter. All he knew was, he was glad to be sitting here.

  Kendall felt his pulse quicken as Nairobia stood to her feet and then prowled around the table to him; a touch, a caress, a finger danced up the back of his neck and then over his bald head. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around his chest. And then in his ear, she whispered, “Your wife is a fool, no?”

  “She’s a good woman,” Kendall said softly. Still, he felt the need to defend her. He loved her, still, despite all of the recent things she’d said, thought, about him.

  “But she is not good loving. Her kut, my love, is fuckable, but it is not unforgettable.”

  Nairobia’s delicate finger traced over Kendall’s lips. His mouth slightly parted. And then her finger was gone.

  “Good woman or not, my darling, your wife isn’t top-of-the-line fucking and she never will be . . .”

  Kendall swallowed, his throat working overtime to handle his over-salivating glands.

  “I image je lul proeven zoals zoete melkchocolade,” Nairobia said seductively, telling him she imagined his dick tasting like sweet milk chocolate. And then Nairobia smiled. “I will allow you to explore your sexual desires, to release the inhibitions your wife denies you. Would you like that, my darling?”

  Hell fucking yeah, he wanted it. And yet Kendall gave her a perplexed look. Was she really saying, asking—

  “You want to be wrapped in my heat, no? To drink in my womanhood, to say you have been given pleasure by me, the dick-riding goddess, no?”

  The sultriness in her tone made Kendall’s toes curl. He clenched his fist. There was no breathing. Kendall’s lungs begged for oxygen, but he couldn’t think straight enough to inhale for fear he’d breathe in more of her, and then explode inside of his boxers.

  Kendall nodded as he swallowed again. And then he let out a nervous chuckle. “Is this for real, a joke?”

  Nairobia’s lips curled into a slow grin. “Is your cock hard for me?”

  Kendall pulled in his bottom lip and then glanced down into his lap, before crooking his neck and looking up at her, his dark gaze now heated by lust.

  “What you think?”

  “Then this is real,” she said sweetly, as she lifted herself from Kendall’s back. Nairobia moved so that she was now standing in front of him, so that he could see her as she slid a hand in between the slit of her sheer dress.

  Kendall’s dick jumped.

  “Listen to my kut, my darling.” Her finger clicked wetly as she teased herself there. Clickety-click-click-click . . . “It sings to you, my love. Can you hear its melody, so wet, so slick . . .?”

  Kendall’s dick pulsed. Again and again and again until it became painfully hard trapped beneath underwear and khaki shorts.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists, and groaned inwardly, hissing out a curse.

  Shit.

  Tension sparked the air around them as Nairobia’s hips thrust hungrily, filling his head with her seductive scent.

  “Hear that,” she rasped, her accent purposefully thick and heated. “My wet kut is alive and ready to suck you into my womb.”

  Kendall was transfixed by her—this mesmerizing sex goddess thrumming with self-pleasure and with want for him. He could hear her fingers wetly clicking between her thighs; God, she sounded fucking juicy—so slick, so ready.

  Then she withdrew those slender fingers to her mouth, her eyelids sliding closed as she sucked clean her cream. And then they were gone—those fingers, dipping in her cunt again. Another dip, another suck. Then twice more, before prowling around Kendall again.

  She folded her body over his again, her breasts pressed over his shirt, against the muscles of his back. “My arousal thickens for you, my kut aches for you.”

  Nairobia’s gray-eyed gaze lifted and she looked right into the mirrored-wall, before kissing a line down Kendall’s jaw, her heated breaths coming in intoxicating bursts. Her tongue flicked over his fleshy earlobe, and then she sucked it between her teeth.

  Kendall groaned. He couldn’t believe this, this right here—with Nairobia, was happening . . . to him.

  Nairobia licked and then swirled her tongue around the shell of his ear.

  “A man like you deserves unforgettable kut, my darling. He deserves unforgettable pleasure.”

  Kendall couldn’t dispute her on that. It was what he’d wanted with Krista. It was what he’d been aching for from her, his wife. Sadly, to no avail. Kendall wanted—

  “I will lick over your cock and balls; make love to you with my mouth, lips, tongue and hands, sucking out your thick, sweet milk. I will lick where your wife has refused. You want my tongue caressing you there, over your musky manhole, no?”

  Kendall flexed his fingers back and forth. Goddamn this shit. He wanted to touch her. Taste her. Fuck her. And yet he sat here fighting for control.

  Kendall sputtered, “I-I . . . damn—I wish I could. Shit. But I’m still married . . .”

  “And unfulfilled,” Nairobia said.

  Kendall shook his head. “I want to, but—”

  “She’s leaving you,” Nairobia reminded him. “No?”

  “It’s over, Kendall . . .”

  Kendall stammered, “I-I’m . . .”

  “A good man, a loving man. A man who should not go unsatisfied.”

  Kendall nodded, the truth resonating through him. “You’re right. But—”

  “She does not deserve you; her kut has not earned good loving, my darling.”

  Kendall inhaled, breathing in her sweet, intoxicating aroma—the scent of heated arousal and perfume. She was breaking his resolve.

  Nairobia’s lips slid to the corner of Kendall’s mouth, and then she kissed him there, softly, purposefully, every so often her eyes flickering over at the mirror.

  “You want to dive into me, no? Sink deep inside me? U wilt uw grote lange lul glijd in me . . .?”

  Kendall had no idea she was asking him if he wanted to slide his big, long dick inside of her, if he wanted to fuck himself inside her body, her soul. And yet his dick managed to throb in response.

  Yes, he wanted to fuck her. To fuck away thoughts of Krista, to pound out the sting of her words as they still rung in his ears. “I will not stay married to an undercover faggot! I want a divorce . . .”

  Nairobia craned her neck, and again, her eyes fluttered over at that mirrored wall. Her lips curved into a sly grin and then her tongue slowly, sensually, slid over her top lip.

  Her pussy did not burn hot for Kendall, but it warmed at the promise of being a pleasure to him; it grew wetter at the knowing that she would bring him to orgasm. Her cunt juiced knowing what (and who) stood on the other side of that mirror.

  Watching.

  Forty-Nine

  Eyes narrowed, Krista gasped as she felt blood draining from her face.

  Kendall.

  With, with . . . Nairobia.

  She stood here, unsteady on her feet, yet unable to look away from the sight of them. Krista thought she’d seen Kendall’s body tense, his muscles tightening as that brazen bitch tried to entice him with her sexual wiles, as she preyed, stalked around him with her amazing tits, touching and rubbing and hovering over him.

  Krista winced when Nairobia pressed her breasts against Kendall’s back and then wrapped an arm across his chest, whispering in his ear again.

  She was certain that Kendall would refuse Nairobia’s advances. She hoped, had stood here and prayed, that Kendall would resist the seductive wiles of that—God, she wished she knew what was being said inside that room. Audio, that’s what she needed—but then she saw it, desire. The hunger on Kendall’s face was undeniable, unmistakable. And she knew then . . . he wanted that bitch. And Nairobia was going to find a way to exploit the heat burning in his eyes.

  It took all Krista’s willpower to keep from banging on the two-way mirror. It took every ounce of her stubborn, Christian will to keep from taking her fist and swinging it upside Dr. Dangerfield’s flawlessly smooth forehead.

  Yes, she’d told Kendall she was leaving him and, quite frankly, she was more certain now than ever before that it was the right decision. And yet she was disappointed and disillusioned that Kendall chose to be in that room with that enchanting slut instead of scouring the island looking for her, to at least try to talk her out of leaving him.

  Krista was beside herself with hurt. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, behind the glass, on the other side of that very wall where Kendall was engaging in dirty, filthy—

  “Please know you are welcome to leave at any time,” Dr. Dangerfield said, extending an arm toward the door. “No one is keeping you here, Mrs. Evans.”

  Nausea churned in her stomach. Still, Krista did not move. Defiantly, her gaze stayed locked on Kendall, her feet rooted in place. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  Instead, he’d easily given into temptation, defiling their wedding vows more than he had already done by fingering his ass.

  “You did say you were leaving him once you returned to the States, did you not?” Dr. Dangerfield asked as she looked on, her pussy juices pooling in the lining of her panties. “Or has that changed?”

  Krista’s stare hardened. “No. It’s over.” She shook her head and took a breath, fighting back a surge of tears she hadn’t expected. “Kendall has proven he isn’t the man I thought he was.” She tore her eyes from the window—just for a second—and glared at Dr. Dangerfield. “I hope you’re satisfied with yourself for ruining my life and destroying a relatively happy marriage.”

  “I’m sorry you feel I am the cause of the current state of your marriage,” Dr. Dangerfield said thoughtfully. And she was regretful. Not for anything that she’d done or said, she regretted that Krista couldn’t step into the light and give into temptation, to allow her deepest, darkest desires to be uncovered. She’d wanted to see Krista step outside of herself and become more open. But, since day one, she’d been too rigid and too damn stubborn to get out of her own damn way. So, this mess was all on Krista.

  Dr. Dangerfield wasn’t about to take blame or responsibility for the state of the Evanses’ marriage. All she did was shine light on what was already beneath the surface.

  “It is never satisfying knowing that a couple’s truths are what has torn them apart.”

  Krista gave her an incredulous look. “And exactly what truths are you speaking of?”

  Dr. Dangerfield offered a slight smile. “That your husband wants more than what you’ve been willing to share with him.”

  Krista scoffed. “What he wants, a finger in his ass, is unnatural for a man—a straight man, that is.”

  “Mrs. Evans, it’s unfortunate that you believe that to be true. Anal stimulation isn’t just a gay man’s desire. It saddens me to know that you are willing to let a good man go, all because you can’t get out of your own way. Your husband is a heterosexual man with a very healthy sex drive. The fact that he’s comfortable enough in his masculinity to know what it is that he enjoys makes him that more manly. His sexuality shouldn’t be in question.”

  Krista’s hand curled into a fist. “A man wanting his ass licked, fingered, or fucked, is where I draw the line. Period.”

  “And yet here you stand,” Dr. Dangerfield stated. “Watching your husband . . . “

  Nairobia whispered something in Kendall’s ear. Seconds later, he was rising from his seat. And then Nairobia took his hands and placed them to her breasts. Kendall cupped her there, and then Nairobia’s mouth was beside his ear. And her hand was sliding over the front of his shorts, kneading his dick.

  Kendall glanced down at Nairobia’s hand, then back at her. Nairobia spread her legs as Kendall slid his palm inside the slit of her dress, and then over the curve of her ass.

  Krista swallowed, not sure if she should look away or run for the door.

  “How does seeing this make you feel?”

  Krista shot her a murderous look. “How do you think it makes me feel?” Her voice was icy. “My husband is about to let some nasty bitch do God knows what to him, and I’m watching it all unfold. So you tell me, Doctor, how do you think I should feel?”

  “I’m sure I could prattle off a list of adjectives for you,” Dr. Dangerfield said calmly. “But I’d prefer to hear them in your words.”

  Krista’s nose flared. “I’m not sharing shit with you.”

  “I understand how you might be feeling, Mrs. Evans.”

  “Oh you have no idea how I’m feeling right now.” Bitch.

  “You can always stop it,” Dr. Dangerfield suggested. “You have the power to go in there and take her place. You can let go of your pride and selfish ego and go to your husband. You can give into your husband’s sexual needs and allow him to pleasure you in ways you’ve never imagined. The choice is yours, Mrs. Evans.”

  Krista shook her head, her jaw clenching. “I want no part of anything going on in that room. If Kendall wants to desecrate our marriage vows with immoral sex, if he wants to bite into forbidden fruit, then let him.”

  “Tell me, Mrs. Evans, what are you so afraid of?”

  Krista scoffed. “I fear no evil.”

  Dr. Dangerfield tilted her head. Gave Krista a half-amused look. “And yet you are afraid of letting go, afraid of embracing your inner freak.”

  “I am not—”

  “Oh yes you are,” Dr. Dangerfield interjected. “You are more of a freak than you will ever admit. And your newfound penchant for voyeurism proves that.”

  Krista blinked, shock draining the blood from her face.

  “You love watching the pleasure of others. Even now. Admit it. Watching Nairobia with your husband has, oddly, turned you on, hasn’t it? And that frightens you, doesn’t it?”

  Krista shook her head. “No.”

  “You’re afraid of standing in your own truth. When you had your ear pressed to the bathroom door, eavesdropping on Mr. Woods fucking LaLani, you felt it. The heat, didn’t you?”

  Krista blinked. “I-I . . .”

  “Scrambled back to your seat with the walls of your vagina pulsing.”

  Embarrassment washed over Krista’s face. “I-I—”

  “Found yourself dangerously aroused when you found shelter from the storm and walked in on an orgy. You stayed. You watched.”

  Krista felt her knees buckling. “I did no such thing. I only stayed until the lighting stopped.”

  “And yet you left there wet—and not from the storm. It’s okay. Admit it, Mrs. Evans. Voyeurism is one of erotica’s many sexual pleasures.”

  “Lies. Sexual intercourse should only be within the confines of a God or—”

  “Let me stop you right there,” Dr. Dangerfield said, putting a finger up. “Do not go scripture on me. Scripture never says what a married couple can or can’t do sexually. What it does say is that you should both faithfully submit to one another—anything you do in the context of your marriage is not immoral. Last I checked, you and your husband were of one flesh; isn’t that what the Bible says? So do not go there with me. Satan tempts the flesh when it is being denied.”

  Krista blinked. She opened her mouth with the intent of reciting a verse out of either Hebrew or Corinthians, but Dr. Dangerfield shut her down.

  “Being a saved woman, a Born-Again Christian—or whatever it is you are calling yourself, does not mean that you close your mind to pleasing your spouse. You can be both. A Christian woman serving the Lord and a sexually liberated woman pleasing her husband.” Dr. Dangerfield tilted her head. “Shall I reference to the King James Version for you?”

  Krista’s mouth curved into a frown. “Don’t you dare stand here and try to twist scriptures for your sick perversions. I’ve been nothing but a good wife to Kendall. And I have kept him well sexed. And if that hasn’t been enough for him, then sadly, I am not the woman for him.”

  Dr. Dangerfield gave her a look, one filled with pity. “But you could be, Mrs. Evans. You have the ability to become everything that your husband needs—and still be you, Krista the good wife, Krista the churchgoer.”

  “Are you criticizing me?”

  Dr. Dangerfield glanced down at her clenched fist. “If that’s how you take it . . .” She paused, shaking her head. “It’s too bad you haven’t been an open-minded lover, where pleasing your husband is concerned. Now, you’re here—on the outside looking in, stuck in what I am sure is your own version of hell.”

  “Bitch, how dare you judge me,” Krista spat. “Ungodly sex is wrong. It is a grievous sin. And I will not bend on that.”

  “No, Mrs. Evans. What has been a grievous sin—as you call it, is your unwillingness to open your heart and mind to new sexual experiences—with your husband. Yes, God allows you the freedom to set boundaries and decide what is right and wrong in the context of your marriage. But, Mrs. Evans, the fact that you find everything wrong is, quite frankly, disturbing. And, sadly, it is your narrow-minded ideology about sex and religion that will have you leaving this island alone.”

  Krista breathed in. Once, twice. She needed to gather herself, her thoughts. She needed to maintain her composure, to at least give some illusion that Dr. Dangerfield hadn’t completely destroyed her with nothing more than her words.

  Slap.

  Krista heard it in her head. In her mind’s eye, Krista saw the palm of her hand going across Dr. Dangerfield’s face. Oh how she wanted to slap her. She clenched her hands into two tight fists. Then opened them, stretching out her fingers.

  “I can’t wait to get the hell off this island and away from the likes of you,” Krista managed to say despite her gritted teeth.

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled. “Then you should get packing.” She walked to the door and then swung it open. “Arrangements will be made to get you back to your uneventful life. I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

  Fifty

  Guilt . . .

  It was a belaboring feeling. Guilt occurred when someone violated his or her own moral code or standards of behavior (cheating, lying, stealing, purposefully hurting someone). It enslaved you. Weighed you down. It victimized relationships.