What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [41]
Just then, Ryan came in bearing trays laden with finger sandwiches, chocolate-covered strawberries and chunks of banana, and a ceramic jug filled with wine—he lowered the tray to the wide step just above where Brent sat. Brent had heard Ryan had waited on Jenna at the beach yesterday. “Food and drink for the new slave girl,” Ryan said with an easy wink. “Kirsten’s bringing the cups.”
“Good man,” Brent said with a nod. Ryan wouldn’t be participating in this particular fantasy, but Brent would likely pull him in later if he found a role he thought fit. For tonight, it would be only he and a number of female facilitators.
And it was good that he’d already planned to bring more people in on this second fantasy, since . . . shit, what had he been thinking, kissing her last night? He’d always been in full agreement on the rules about guides and guests, but now he understood why more than ever before. It was easy to get too involved, to start caring on a personal level. Worse, he was realizing just how easy that made it for the guest to get attached, too.
So what had he done? Kissed a girl who he knew was already prone to getting attached to people she had sex with. Smooth move, Powers. He gave his head a disgusted shake.
Just then Kirsten entered, carrying a tray of small ceramic cups without handles, designed with colorful Middle Eastern flair, which she lowered to the carpet. She looked stunning in red chiffon, rows of gold coin-shaped medallions draping from the bottom of her revealing top, her long dark hair pulled up in an I Dream of Jeannie ponytail. At thirty, she was one of their most skilled and experienced facilitators and would soon likely advance to being a guide. “Anything else we need?” she asked.
He looked around, then shook his head. “Nope, the sheik is pleased,” he answered teasingly.
When Kirsten walked away, though, his mind returned to kissing Jenna—and it forced him to remember the way those kisses had figured into her lists.
Otherwise, though, she’d done well, and a number of the entries had made him smile. No, sunshine, calling it an asshole is fine. Other list items had relayed to him in subtle or not-so-subtle ways that much of what he’d hoped to achieve last night had worked. She was learning to more boldly take pleasure from her own body, and to recognize taking that pleasure. She’d enjoyed aspects of the kinkiness involved—even though she might not fully realize it. She was learning to talk more frankly about sex, without shying away from language, and he was pretty sure she did get off on dirty talk—she just didn’t know that yet, either. And—key for right now—she was adapting well to obeying his instructions. She hadn’t even balked about making the lists—and he’d fully expected her to. Despite her general protests and arguments, she was becoming a much more malleable, docile Jenna very quickly, and that would aid his work immensely.
Tonight’s fantasy would expand on what they’d accomplished yesterday. The activities would again rely on discipline—on him taking a controlling role, compelling her to obey. And it would once more be about him using that control to make her take what he needed her to experience—but this time he wouldn’t be the only person delivering pleasure to Jenna.
So tonight she’d have to open up a lot, trust him a lot. He wasn’t sure she’d do everything he asked, but he hoped she’d find the boldness inside her that he knew was there—she’d greatly enjoy the harem fantasy if she could just let go of her inhibitions.
Moments later, the other players in Jenna’s carefully designed fantasy came in, greeting him and one another as they took their places. Music that fit the scene wafted softly from hidden speakers, adding to the sensual setting. Wine was poured into cups, and he saw Kirsten getting in the mood by rubbing her curves playfully, provocatively against Amira, a lovely Palestinian girl who was probably the most extreme case of a rebellious facilitator