What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [111]
He laughed at her silly attempt at more pirate talk, then smoothly slid his free hand onto her ass. “Honey, I’ve got news for you—you couldn’t keep me out of your treasure chest if you tried.”
Chapter 12
MasqueradeYou Are Invited to
Where: The London home of the Duke of Sexingham
When: Tonight, 9:00 p.m.—but the year is 1650.
The most raucous soiree of the season offers a grand buffet
of sumptuous choices amid the cloak of anonymity.
Appropriate apparel—and a mask—will be provided upon your arrival.
Come ready to indulge.
(Your safeword is Oprah Winfrey.)
Jenna sat in her room, reading the invitation. Other than the historical aspects, she had no idea what to expect, but the fantasy’s content—hard to believe—was not her main concern.
Oh God, please let him be in this fantasy—please let him have given up the idea of my being with other people without him.
She just didn’t want that. And she saw it as her choice. She was the guest here and she’d played by most of his rules—but this was one time she would insist he do things her way. She didn’t much care if he knew how she felt—it was clear he knew she’d gotten too attached, and in some respects, yes, that made her feel vulnerable and even a little silly. But when he was fucking her, she didn’t feel silly. When she was screaming her way through the craziest orgasms of her life, she didn’t feel silly. And when he’d held her in his arms all night and indeed “tupped” her again this morning, she hadn’t felt silly.
After the morning sex—a hot but tamer liaison like the one on his couch a few days ago—Brent had called shore and had someone send out a light breakfast and another outfit from the gift shop for Jenna to wear back to her room. “I knew I was forgetting something when I put this plan together,” he’d told her teasingly when she’d pointed out that he’d sliced her other clothes to ribbons. She hoped he’d just been too caught up in heat to remember every detail.
After two full fantasies yesterday, Jenna was still tired and knew it would probably be wise to crawl under the covers of her own bed and get some extra sleep. After all, she had a masquerade to attend this evening and something told her it might require some stamina.
Yet her mind—or maybe it was closer to her soul—felt too energized right now. She didn’t feel like hiding away in her quiet room today. More than ever since her arrival here, she had the urge to be out among people, basking in the tropical beauty of the resort, enjoying her life to the fullest. She could only attribute the feeling to the astounding sex last night. It had left her feeling as if . . . she knew herself better. As if she knew the whole world better. It had left her feeling alive and like she didn’t want to waste another moment not soaking up that wondrous sensuality that floated in the air here. She’d never felt more fully aware of her body, her thoughts, her desires—and she’d never felt more comfortable with all those things, either.
Just slipping on her bikini was a sensuous experience, the fabric hugging her most intimate body parts—she relished showing off her figure in a way she never had before. And rather than steal away to some secluded spot on the beach, she went to the main pool and found a lounge chair, which also provided a view of the ocean. She luxuriated in the fruity scent of her sunscreen, in the lush warmth of a sea breeze wafting past, in the sweet flavor of the erotic rum punch as it slid down her throat. She found herself stretching out in her chaise, one leg slightly bent, her arms stretching languorously up overhead, and she didn’t hide the small, dreamy smile she felt coming over her—instead just delighting in the full measure of her femininity. And if anyone wondered if her smile was the result of wild, uninhibited sex in a Hotel Erotique fantasy—unlike a few