Then Kendall’s hand came down across her ass. And Krista shrieked, the sting causing her pussy to clench.

  “Aaah, fuck,” Kendall hissed. “Throw that ass back on this dick,” he urged. And then he slapped her ass again, this time harder, causing Krista to yelp.

  “Oww. Don’t do that shit,” she snapped, tossing him a hot glare from over her shoulder. He ignored her. And then she groaned again, more pleasure taking over her, as he slammed harder, faster, into her body.

  Kendall glanced down again, taking in the way Krista’s cunt sucked him in, slurping at his dick, coating him with her juices. And there was that sweet hole again, waiting and winking. Kendall swallowed again, steeling himself against the sight.

  He wanted some of that. Wanted it on his tongue, and then clamped around his dick, but he knew his wife wouldn’t go for that. So he pulled her ass cheeks apart as far as they would go without hurting her, opening her to him. And then he spit down into her little brown hole as Krista humped and pumped and slammed her pelvis back at him.

  And then, and then . . .

  Krista felt something, a feathery-like touch—the brush of a finger in the center of her ass, lightly grazing along her seam. And then she felt it—that finger, flirting around the rim of her asshole. But she knew that Kendall knew better than to go there.

  She felt his dick twitching inside her and that gave cause to fuck him back faster and harder the way he’d been fucking her. Kendall waited, eyeing her sweet chocolate hole—so tight, so lickable—admiring it, lusting it.

  “Uh, yeah . . . aaah, shit . . . give me that pussy, baby,” he murmured, feeling his nut ratcheting up through his balls.

  Krista cried out again. And at the same time—oh hell no!—he pushed the tip of his finger into her anus, fingered her there with the tip. And then he sunk it in deeper, feeling Krista’s pussy spasm around him as she grew wetter and hotter.

  Kendall pounded his dick inside her harder, faster, his thumb going deeper into her asshole. And she arched into the stretching, the burning sensation suddenly making her pussy turn into raw heat. His digit was fully inside now and Krista’s body grew taut, trembled, as she held her breath.

  No, no, no, no, Krista’s head screamed, but her body defied her as it screamed yes, yes, yes, oh God, yes and then she braced herself for an orgasm that crashed through her like a tornado. She cried out an incoherent “oh God, no, no, no,” as this new sensation, so forbidden, so, so dirty took over her body.

  “Aw fuck, baby. I’m gonna nut,” Kendall muttered, jolting her with his thrust again, again, again, ramming into her wetness. “Come again, baby. Come with me.”

  Moments later, he growled out his orgasm. She cried out hers. And his thumb stayed there, in her ass, until her body stopped thrashing. And then she gasped when he slowly pulled his dick and his finger out of her body simultaneously.

  * * *

  Eyes wide. Heart pounding. Skin damp.

  Krista finally caught her breath, and looked over at Kendall, who was lying on his back. His eyes were closed and his breathing had slowed, but he wasn’t asleep. Because if he’d been, she would have heard light snores coming from him.

  “I didn’t appreciate you stuffing your fingers in my ass. I told you about that nasty shit. You know how I feel about all that ass play shit. And you know I don’t like you trying to kiss me in my mouth after you’ve been licking down . . . there.”

  Kendall slowly opened his eyes and turned to look at her. He met her eyes, his full of disappointment, and then he scowled.

  Was she serious right now? Hadn’t he just fucked her down real good? And hadn’t she come hard, multiple times no less?

  “What the fuck, Kris.” Kendall eased up on his elbows. “You’re my wife, damn. It’s your body. You clean your pussy, right?”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “You know I keep it clean down there.”

  “Okay, then what’s the problem?”

  She huffed. “It’s nasty. All that bacteria down there, and all them juices are not meant to be mingling inside my mouth. Period. And I told you, I don’t like that shit.”

  Kendall shook his head, and kept from rolling his eyes at her crazy-ass thinking. “Well, it tastes good,” he said, trying to make light of the situation. “And I enjoy tasting you.”

  Krista cringed.

  “Look. If I want to spend all night between your legs licking you out,” Kendall said, “then that’s what I should be able to do.”

  Krista huffed. “And you know I don’t like it, and still I let you do it because it’s what you like.”

  “Oh don’t even talk like you’re doing me some favor, by letting me do shit to you, Krista. If you don’t want me to please you orally, then fuck it. I won’t.”

  “Oh God, Kendall. Stop. Why are you getting mad about me not liking oral sex?”

  Kendall blew out a frustrated breath. “And why exactly don’t you like it, Krista, huh? What is so horrible about me giving you—my wife—head?”

  “Nothing,” she said, trying to keep her anger in check. “I just don’t like it; that’s all. And I don’t like the fact that you disrespected me by shoving your fingers in my ass.”

  Kendall scoffed. “Fingers? Krista, I had my damn thumb there. Not fingers.”

  Well, it felt like fingers to her; big thick fingers stretching the inner ring of her ass. But before she could speak, Kendall was firing more words at her.

  “So what is the real issue here, Krista? Me giving you head or pressing a thumb in your ass?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Both.”

  Kendall stared at his wife, long and hard. “My bad for sticking my thumb in the beautiful ass that I love watching so much. And my bad for loving the way you taste, for loving my tongue inside of you; I got carried away. It won’t happen again,” Kendall said, tossing the covers off his body and swinging his toned legs over the edge of the bed. “But mighty funny that didn’t stop you,” he said over his shoulder at her as he stood, “from arching your back and getting wetter. And it didn’t stop you from coming all over my dick with my thumb in your ass.”

  Krista frowned. “That doesn’t mean I wanted your damn fingers—no, excuse me, your thumb—there. I’m not with all that nasty, freaky shit.”

  Freaky shit?

  What the hell was so freaky about thumbing his wife’s ass?

  Krista waited; obviously expecting him to say something, perhaps offer her an apology. Kendall didn’t respond. Hell, he couldn’t. He had to be seriously missing something. But he didn’t have the strength to question her for clarity, for understanding.

  He’d heard enough. So there was nothing left for him to do except stare at Krista like he was finally seeing her for the first time, and he found himself wondering how the hell he’d be able to survive in this marriage the way things were between them, sexually, for another five, ten—hell, fifteen—years.

  He couldn’t.

  He wouldn’t.

  And with that conclusion, came a rise of anger he hadn’t known lived inside him. He needed to get out, to get away from her, before he said something he’d regret later.

  He loved Krista. God, he loved her. But he was slowly beginning to think, to feel, that that—love—might not be enough.

  Krista stared at his bare back and eyed him as he moved toward the dresser and yanked out a pair of red and white swim trunks and then slipped them on, his bare ass and sticky dick suddenly disappearing.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, stunned by the tension hovering in the air between them.

  “For a swim?” His tone was sharp, and to the point. He grabbed a white wife beater and pulled it on over his head. “I need to clear my head.”

  She blinked. “Now? Aren’t you going to shower, first?”

  Kendall turned to face her. He clenched his jaw and looked his wife square in the eyes. He knew if he said something it wouldn’t be anything nice. And yet he didn’t want to walk out on her angry, either.

  So he simply walked over, leaned forward, and since she didn’t want his pussy-scented lips anywhere near hers, he planted a quick kiss on her forehead.

  And then he walked out.

  Krista stared at the bedroom door. Then with a sigh, she pressed her back against the headboard, the sheet wrapped tight around her. She stole a glance over at the now empty space where Kendall had been, the imprint of his body still freshly dented in the sheet.

  What the hell?

  Why was he so mad at her? It was her body. And her right to say what she liked and didn’t like. This wasn’t anything new. So why was that man acting like he was all of a sudden put off by it?

  Krista didn’t realize that she had been tensed up until she heard the outer door slam shut and Kendall was gone. She breathed in and out and told herself that Kendall was overreacting, being a damn drama king—as usual, because he couldn’t have his damn way.

  Still, she shoved her hands through her weave, trying to make sense of it all. And when she couldn’t come up with anything that made sense, she looked over at the window and pushed out a deep sigh.

  The sun had finally risen and replaced the illuminated moon from the night before with the promise of bright skies and lots of sunshine, but, so far, Krista’s first day on Passion Island was starting off on the wrong damn foot.

  Nine

  The cuisine on the beautiful coral island was a hodgepodge of Tahitian and Fijian and French influences. And LaQuandra was sadly disappointed to see that there wasn’t a pancake or waffle in sight. She’d had her mind set on a buttery flapjack with a side of scrambled eggs—cooked hard, hash browns or home fries and some turkey bacon.

  Instead, she’d been greeted with banana puree (bananas covered in sugar and coconut milk and then baked), Firi Firi (fritters made from flour and coconut milk), tuna marinated in line juice and coconut milk (a famous, must-eat Tahitian-style raw fish); mahi mahi prepared with a vanilla sauce; platters full of local fruits—bananas, papaya, pineapple and mangoes; a smorgasbord of French salami and cheeses; crunchy baguettes; and a variety of freshly baked muffins and croissants. So LaQuandra settled on two banana muffins and a scoop of pineapples with lemon grass tea.

  While everyone else ate, Kendall stole a moment and tilted his head back and took in the beauty of the sky. He inhaled, deeply, then exhaled as his gaze latched onto the pink sandy beach ahead of him. The sound of Egyptian music played lowly in the background. It was soothing. Sensual. And hypnotic.

  The couples ate in near silence save from the occasional grunt or groan, or the click of silverware against their plates.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Evans, how did the two of you enjoy your first night on the island?” Dr. Dangerfield asked the couple as she eyed them over the rim of her teacup.

  She was casually dressed in a white embroidered tunic dress; her skin glowed.

  “It was fine,” Krista said as she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin. Although she and Kendall had since made up from their early morning quarrel, she was still annoyed at him for getting mad at her, but she had no intentions of letting the other couples in on her annoyance with her husband. That was private business.

  Dr. Dangerfield nodded. “And your meal, how is it?”

  “Very good,” Krista admitted. She tried the raw fish in coconut milk. And, to her amazement, it was surprisingly delicious and melted in her mouth. She nearly moaned in between bites.

  “And yours, Mr. Evans?” Dr. Dangerfield asked.

  “Huh?” Kendall’s mind was elsewhere. He hadn’t wanted to come to breakfast, but Krista had insisted, demanded, that he not embarrass her with his absence the first day of their stay on the island. So here he sat, trying to push past his resentment toward his wife.

  Compromise. That’s all he did. Compromising with Krista was one-sided—with him somehow getting slighted sexually—and it was slowly becoming exhausting. And yet he’d come to his senses from earlier and knew he wasn’t going to leave her—not over a lackluster sex life, but—fuck if the shit didn’t piss him off. Kendall, however, resigned himself to the fact that he would continue to indulge his sexual desires, secretly, with Persia—or with someone else, if things between the two of them managed to change.

  Life happened. People changed. Minds changed. And Kendall was okay with that. He’d go back online and seek out another freaky woman, if he had to, to give him what his wife wouldn’t.

  Nevertheless, Krista was a good woman. A bit moody—and bitchy at times, but what woman wasn’t?

  “She asked you how your meal is,” Krista said, cutting into Kendall’s reverie, while trying to tamp down the bite in her tone.

  Kendall let out a chuckle, placing an arm over the back of Krista’s chair. “Oh, my bad. I got caught up in the view,” he said, gesturing toward the panoramic sight of the ocean. “Everything’s really good.” He’d opted for bonito fish cut into cubes, marinated in lemon juice, sliced onion, tomatoes, cucumber, and homemade coconut milk.

  Dr. Dangerfield smiled at Kendall. “I’m glad you are enjoying it. Here on Passion Island you must eat like a king, which is why every meal is a feast. Like our libidos, we must feed our appetites. Nourish our minds, bodies, and loins.”

  LaQuandra grunted. “Well, someone needs to tell my husband that since he doesn’t seem to think my loins need a feeding. Isn’t that right, Isaiah?”

  Isaiah lifted his gaze from his plate, a forkful of fish midway to his mouth, and gave her a hard stare. He then slid the fork into his mouth and shook his head. He wasn’t about to get lured into LaQuandra’s bullshit. Not this morning. And still every line in his body strained with tension.

  He needed to fuck—just not her.

  Smirking, LaQuandra reached for her third muffin, then took her knife and sliced it in half, before spreading coconut butter over it.

  “Ooh, this is so damn good,” she said over a moan as she bit into it. She chewed, swallowed, and then licked her fingers. “I can just taste all the sugar and fat.”

  Brenda chuckled. “And feel it already clinging to my hips.”

  “Yes, girl, yes,” LaQuandra said, before she took another bite of her muffin.

  Roselle leaned over and kissed Brenda on the cheek. “I love them sweet, sexy hips, baby. The more the merrier.”

  “Lies,” Brenda said playfully.

  Roselle leaned back in his chair and eyed her ass. “My baby got back.”

  Krista fought to keep a frown from forming on her face.

  Brenda giggled. “I sure do. But I don’t need any more than what I already have.”

  “Well, how about donating some of that butt right on over here,” LaQuandra said over a laugh. “I’ll gladly take it. And put it to good use, too.”

  Isaiah shook his head again. More ass would be nice, but quite frankly, he’d prefer to have her jaw wired shut.

  “Nah, I need all my baby’s cushion,” Roselle stated.

  Krista made a face that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Dr. Dangerfield or LaQuandra. LaQuandra had thought to call Krista out on it, but decided some things were better left unsaid—for now.

  “Sooooo, Doctor,” Brenda said, lifting her flute from the table. “When does the ‘journey’ begin?”

  Dr. Dangerfield took a sip of her black tea, then set her cup back on its saucer. “Oh, the journey has already begun. The moment you opened your eyes this morning, the clock started. From this point forward, everything you do, everything you say, will be defining moments. And I promise you”—she swept her eyes around the table at the couples—“by the time this is all over, your relationships will feel very different. You will look at your partners through a new set of eyes, with a new set of expectations—or not. And none of you will ever be the same again.”

  Dr. Dangerfield stood to her feet. “Today, go out and explore some of the wonders of the island. If you’d like a tour guide, that can be arranged for you; but for the daring—the many trails on the island have colored markers that will guide you, should you wish to venture out on your own.” Her gaze landed on the men. “Gentlemen, I will see the three of you at two p.m. in Passion Hall.”

  Passion Hall was where most of Dr. Dangerfield’s therapy sessions were held. It was where truths and dirty secrets were told and sordid confessions were made.

  “Oh, before I forget,” Dr. Dangerfield said, before leaving the table. “Later tonight, you are expected in The Garden for game night.”

  A sly smile slid over her lips, and then she was gone, leaving the hint of seduction lingering in the light morning breeze.

  Ten

  Infidelity . . .

  It was the breaking of a promise, or uttered agreement between lovers, to remain faithful—in what one person viewed as a mutually monogamous sexual relationship.

  Cheating.

  It was all around us. It permeated the universe like a plague. It destroyed relationships. Broke hearts. Weakened trust. It crushed hopes. Shattered dreams. Created bitterness. And caused resentments to fester. It hurt people. Ripped the fabric of a relationship apart.

  Oh, yes, infidelity was an insidious threat that could crack the foundation of even some of the most stable relationships. And yet people cheated. And people still stayed. Still believed. Still hoped. Still held on.

  And they only saw what they wanted to see, like the Lewises and the Evanses and the Woodses. These three couples were affected by it, infidelity, in some form. Be it emotionally or physically, someone (or perhaps both) had crossed the line at some time or another—whether they knew it or not.

  Still, Dr. Dangerfield believed that there was hope for couples to reconcile, to reconnect, to rebuild, and recreate a stronger union. With work, with transparency, and with honesty, there was always hope.

  Always.

  But, first, couples had to want the same relationship goals before the healing and repairing could begin. She knew what had been written on paper. But things always looked good on paper—or sometimes worse.

  Face-to-face was always better. Things began to always look different when you stared into the window of someone’s soul. The eyes never lied, even when the lies clung to their tongues. So Dr. Dangerfield had decided to engage the men today—first, to assess their level of commitment to their marriages; and, second, to gauge at what level of transparency they were willing to give. Afterward, she’d see the women and determine how honest they could be in their personal assessments of their marriages. Men were less likely to express themselves openly, especially in a room with other men. Men simply weren’t expressive. Counseling of any form went against everything men were taught as boys about masculinity, about being strong, about not ever showing emotion.