What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [139]
And so had Jenna and Brent. Despite the pleasures Brent had shown her through multiple partners, now Brent was the only lover Jenna desired. Brent’s life was no longer an escape into sex and Jenna’s life wasn’t an escape from sex—but there was still plenty of sex. They, too, never tired of enjoying what the resort had to offer—frequently spending private time together in the harem room, on the pirate ship, in the Tudor castle Jenna had only gotten acquainted with after her first visit—and when Brent was feeling especially dominant, he summoned her to the dungeon.
For their wedding night, however, they were returning to the Garden of Eden.
In the end, he’d healed her—but she’d forced him to heal, too, and she’d shown him he didn’t always have the answers to everything.
All in all, life was grand, because she’d been daring enough to go to the Hotel Erotique, and because he’d been pushy enough to give her what she needed.
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SEVEN NIGHTS OF SIN
another steamy romance
by Lacey Alexander
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“ don’t need a man. I don’t need a man. I don’t need a man.” I Usually, Brenna did her morning affirmations at home, but the alarm had gone off late, and just like breakfast, her affirmations had been forced to wait until she got to the office. Fortunately, she was stealing a few minutes alone in the break room with a donut and the self-help book she’d been reading, aptly titled, You Don’t Need a Man to Be Happy.
She lowered her voice even further for the next set. “I don’t need a penis to pleasure me. I don’t need a penis to pleasure me. I don’t need a penis to pleasure me.”
Maybe she should drop that one from her repertoire, though. Saying it only made her think about penises.
“I am responsible for my own pleasure. I am responsible for my own pleasure. I am responsible for my own pleasure.” Which, of course, meant masturbation. And she had nothing against that—it could get a girl through many a long and lonely night. But to tell herself it would be enough, forever—well, that was challenging. She’d have to work on feeling that one more as she said it.
Still determined, however, she started the first repetition. “I don’t need a man. I don’t—”
“Spoken just like someone who needs a man.”
Flinching, she looked up to find her friend and coworker, Kelly Mills—blond, fairly glamorous, and someone with plenty of men in her life. Kelly did PR for Blue Night Records, the indie music label that employed them both, and she also held a degree in psychology, which she claimed she needed in her line of work.
“I don’t,” Brenna reassured her about needing a man. Despite having little in common, the two had been good friends since Brenna had moved to L.A. three years ago, so if someone had to intrude on her affirmations, she was glad it was Kelly.
Kelly gave her head a scolding tilt. “People who don’t usually don’t need to say it.”
“Huh?”
Kelly crossed her arms beneath ample breasts. “Take my next-door neighbor, Ms. Freeland, for instance. She’s seventy-five and never been married. She’s an artist, she traveled the world in her youth, she loves her Scottish terrier, Fiona, and she’s never needed a man. She’s never told me that, but it shows in everything she does. It’s simply a part of her. She doesn’t feel the need to go around explaining why she’s not married or that she doesn’t need a man—because she’s so truly comfortable not having one.
“On the other hand, there’s Ms. Nelson, three doors down.” Kelly dropped her chin derisively and shifted her weight from one pointy red pump to the other. “She’s forty-five and clearly lonely. She tells me