Copyright © Tina Donahue, 2016
Jamie Parker paused outside the get-acquainted lounge of Wicked Desires resort, the place to go when you wanted to be bad. She stared, not moving, as though facing the portal to Hell.
Come on, you can do this.
She hadn’t sweated it out at the gym for months, poured thousands into this trip, and flown all the way from Seattle to Jamaica to chicken out now. Her fantasy awaited as the online brochures had gushed.
Those photos of grinning men and women had seemed wonderfully exciting on her laptop.
Now that she was here, anxiety constricted her throat. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation, Jamie took a gulp of her frozen cocktail that a staff member had slapped into her hand minutes before, no doubt having sensed her panic. The drink—known as a lava flow—stalled in her chest and caused an ache like a muscle cramp with a new wave of pain shooting to the center of her forehead.
Gawd. Gritting her teeth at the stabbing pain, she pictured herself having a heart attack or stroke before enjoying one second here.
In this palace of hedonism, a guest wasn’t supposed to suffer but indulge in reckless excess whether it involved fucking, shopping, countless sports activities, theme-oriented wishes, or food. A regular Fantasy Island, just like the old TV program. She’d signed up for the food package. In between mouthfuls of savory delights, she hoped to have a little fun…talking and laughing with guys, hugging, kissing, possibly wild monkey sex.
Her legs wobbled.
Growing up, Jamie had never been the pretty, petite, always-desired girl. Oh no. She was wholesome looking, at best, possibly cute in a Katie Couric way, and definitely curvy. The C word, which she supposed was better than having anyone call her the F word. In preparation for this debauched jaunt, she’d starved herself and exercised her butt and thighs until they were rock hard, but she would never fit into a size-one pair of jeans. Hell, she would have traded several years of her life to get into a size eight.
Wasn’t in her future, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun like everyone else before her time ran out.
Several days from now, she’d turn thirty, and she already felt older than the universe. The coming week was a birthday gift to herself, and by god, she was going to enjoy this place if it killed her.
Licking pineapple juice from the corner of her mouth, she looked over and gaped at the guy who strolled up, naked as the day he’d been born. One of the few no-nos at Wicked Desires. This lounge was for newbies, a designated prude section. The clothing-optional parts of the resort surrounded it.
Jamie had already decided to keep on her duds in those spots. Taking peeks of everyone else’s assets would have to be enough.
Naked Guy seemed unaware of his nudity as well as the resort rules as he casually perused the crowd of new guests, most in their twenties or thirties. White sand stuck to the backs of his thighs and ass, looking like granulated sugar. He wore leather sandals, a seamless tan, coconut-scented suntan oil, and a beginning erection, his cock blossoming from a nest of dark brown curls.
Jamie suspected he’d spotted the young women in the lounge, their boobs and asses spilling out of their microscopic bikinis. Surely, his display of virility wasn’t to impress her. Given Jamie’s floral crop top and sarong, she’d practically dressed like a nun.
Sucking more of her drink, she waited for his cock to go from a flaccid three inches to five or six tops. She had no idea what the rest of him looked like, unable to tear her attention away from his rod and balls, as if she’d never seen a set before.
Ha. She was an old hand at finding photos of naked men on Tumblr and other online sites. As far as seeing a guy’s equipment up close and personal… In the fifteen years she’d been dating, she’d gotten down and dirty with four men. She wasn’t a virgin.
“Sir.” A staff member hurried to the guy, smiling apologetically at Jamie as their eyes met.
Given the young woman’s crisp white shirt, walking shorts, knee socks, and Oxfords, she looked like a hospital attendant for lunatics in this part of the world.
“Our lounge requires you to be dressed,” the staffer said to him, very gently as if she didn’t want to bruise his ego.
Jamie peeked at his face. He appeared to be in his early twenties, cute in a Justin Bieber kind of way, and totally nonchalant about displaying his nudity. He continued to scratch the pelt above his shaft.
“I couldn’t find the concierge,” he said. “Thought he might be in here.”
“He’s in the Wicked Wishes room. Please, follow me.”
The guy’s ass cheeks bounced like rubber balls as he trailed after the staff member.
Hauling in a deep breath, she dragged into the lounge, her legs feeling as though concrete encased them, while her stomach continued to roll. So much for having a great time.
Loosen up, dammit. Mingle.
She downed more of her drink then regarded the crowd, looking for the best way to approach this get-acquainted time. Even though scores of men surrounded her at work, Jamie had never learned to flirt. The guys at her IT security job were as nerdy as she was, most of them openly hostile because she couldn’t pee standing up.
None of the men here looked particularly tech savvy, thank god. Getting laid seemed to be their thing. To the right, four guys surrounded three women, all of them already sharing hugs and prolonged kisses as sensuous music poured from the sound system. On the left, three men laughed loudly with a girl built better than a Playboy centerfold. In the corner, two young women kept their distance from the others, seeming to prefer their own company.
Jamie would have headed for the young women but didn’t want any of the guys to think she was a lesbian. Nor could she dig out her smartphone and pretend to be speaking or texting someone so no one noticed her floundering alone.
Hell, the men didn’t notice her at all. If their disinterest continued, she would have wasted a helluva lot of money without experiencing her personal fantasy—eating to her heart’s content before and after a guy screwed her blind, giving her countless orgasms, and a sense of being pretty, desired, cherished even.
Okay, so hoping for a love match at this place was totally out of the question. Even so, she shouldn’t have too much trouble scoring some attention here…eventually. The ratio of males to females was at least three to one. Another reason she’d come to Wicked Desires rather than the other resorts. This place was a freaking godsend for a woman who hadn’t had sex in six months.
Tired of waiting for some action, she plowed ahead, approaching a group of five guys and three women. With two spare men, she shouldn’t fare too badly.
At her approach, the women gave her brief smiles. The guys glanced her way then focused again on the two brunettes and blonde who had probably never known a lonely moment in their lucky lives.
Jamie’s first reaction was to keep moving, possibly to her room where she could watch porn and pig out.
Pride and longing for the fun everyone else seemed to enjoy kept her from bailing.
She waited for a lull in the conversation then spoke quickly before someone else did. “Hey, I’m Jamie Parker.” She stuck out her hand. “Just arrived. Isn’t this place something?”
The guys glanced at the ladies’ boobs barely covered by their tops, nipples pebbled against the stretchy fabric. The women’s attention settled on the Speedos and other brief swimwear the men sported.
Jamie figured it’d be useless to point out the amazing décor in the lounge, what she’d actually been referring to. The columns in here doubled as fish tanks with colorful tropical critters swimming within the abbreviated spaces. More tanks made up the floor, allowing guests to literally walk on water as the fish beneath their feet darted past brightly colored coral in lavender, hot pink, yellow, and blue or swam into lime-green hairgrass and other aquatic plants. The rest of the room was equally impressive—walls, sofas, and chairs in pure white, ornamentation in sparkling gold—perfect for the well-heeled.
She’d never felt more like a working stiff who didn’t belong here.
Each member of this group—Amber, Heather, Trish, Paul, Rob, Mike, Seth, and Greg—shook her hand and smiled politely. None of the guys asked her anything, as they would have if they’d been interested. They got back into the groove she’d interrupted, discussing their plans for the rest of today that included the other women not her.
A wave of embarrassment rushed over Jamie. The last time she’d felt this uncomfortable was in high school when her BFF transferred to another district, leaving Jamie alone without a clique for protection. For weeks, she’d tried to join others at their lunch tables only to have them ignore her.
No difference now.
She drifted away from the group, not wanting to intrude. On the prowl again for a friendly face, or someone who’d at least include her in a conversation, she spotted two guys at the bar. Both of them leaned against the polished white stone, their attention on her—all of her, from north to south—not the Barbie doll babes to either side of them.
Heat rose to her cheeks at the guys’ unexpected attention. Her first thought was that she’d done something dumb they’d noticed, like spilling her cocktail on her top with the drink dribbling over her sarong. Thankfully, that scenario wasn’t possible. Her body was too feverish, perspiration—not icy rum and juice—trickling between her breasts.
Jamie figured she should smile at the guys, join them, or do something other than stare but couldn’t.
They were beyond hot. Unlike the other men here, they wore board shorts in black and navy blue as if they didn’t have to flaunt their assets, which were considerable. Even beneath the loose-fitting garments, she spotted their impressive bulges, her gaze lingering there before roaming over them again. She figured they were in their early to mid-thirties, definitely not Bieber clones, but honest-to-god men, both tall, possibly six-three, with bods to die for. Broad shoulders, firm pecs, tiny nipples—the color of milk chocolate on one, dark chocolate on the other. Their abs were so defined a woman from the eighteen hundreds could have used those muscles as a washboard for her family’s clothes.
Jamie’s head swam with images of running her hands over every part of them, starting at the top.
The guy in the navy shorts had shoulder-length black hair, wavy and finger-combed. Several strands fell over his forehead and grazed the stubble on his cheeks. It was barely past three in the afternoon, and already he had five o’clock shadow.
A pulse ticked deep within her pussy.
His skin was a rich olive color, features masculine as hell, eyes surprisingly light. From where she stood, his irises looked pale blue or gray and surrounded by long, dark lashes.
Jamie pressed her cocktail glass against her chest, hoping its iciness would cool her down. Dream on. Warmth continued to build, pouring through her as she studied his mouth, full and rich, definitely kissable. He looked like a pirate from an historical romance, given the stud in his left ear.
Tearing her gaze from the earring, his mouth, and naked chest, she finally studied the guy next to him. Light brown hair with a hint of curl hung over his forehead and fell below his ears. He hadn’t bothered running a comb through his locks either. They were tousled as hell, as though he’d just rolled out of bed and off a woman.
Her belly fluttered.
His features were rougher than the other guy’s, virile to the max, skin bronzed from days spent in the sun, eyes seemingly green, stubble on his cheeks, chin, and upper lip.
What a mouth he had, as inviting as his friend’s.
They had to be together because they’d just exchanged a brief glance and a few words then headed her way.
At least, she hoped they were coming in her direction. Surely, they couldn’t have been eyeing another woman behind her. She wanted to turn around and look but feared embarrassing herself. Now wasn’t the time for uncertainty—she needed to live life, take a chance, and stop behaving like the reserved woman she’d always been.
The guys stopped in front of her, close enough to touch but not overwhelm.
Too late for that. Every nerve ending in her body was firing, making her dizzy. She locked her knees and hoped to god her rubbery legs wouldn’t give out.
“Hey,” the pirate-looking one said, his voice lusciously deep. Giving her a warm smile, he offered his hand. “Creed Sanders.”
Wow, even his first name was impressive, sounding like a rock star’s or possibly one of the entertainers here. He was certainly good-looking enough for the job. And yet, his full name also seemed vaguely familiar. Jamie was certain she’d heard or seen it somewhere but couldn’t recall the exact details. His beautiful face and big body captivated her to the point where she could barely think.
His cedar and musk scent had her practically drooling. If it wouldn’t have been rude or weird, she might have leaned closer and taken several whiffs of him.
“Hey.” She offered a smile and slipped her hand into his, her scalp tingling at his dry, hot palm and firm caress. He didn’t shake her hand with limp indifference, nor did he crush her fingers in a show of masculinity like the other guys had.
His hand actually embraced hers while he stared at her mouth and eyes as if he couldn’t help himself.
She wasn’t about to stop him, pleasure and desire coursing through her with the force of a tsunami. Without thinking, she ran her thumb over his. He didn’t seem to mind.
From the side, his friend shifted his weight. A wave of his fresh lime scent washed over her.
Liking the fragrance, she grinned at him. He smiled right back, friendly and inviting, with what looked to be a spark of interest in her as a woman.
Where had these guys come from? For one panicked moment, she feared they were the resort’s welcome wagon, here to help unwanted women feel less lonely so the place wouldn’t risk a lousy online review.
“Tav Kearney,” the tousled-haired one said. He offered his hand, as large as Creed’s, fingers equally long and blunt at the tips.
Those babies could provide serious delight to a woman’s breasts, nipples, pussy.
Creed finally released her hand. Pretending she was in full control of her lust, Jamie turned to Tav and slipped her fingers across his palm. God. The heat and texture of his skin was just as wonderful as Creed’s, his handshake also meant to caress not bruise.
Her smile widened.
Both men looked at her expectantly.
Why? Had she said something weird or stupid without realizing it? Please, not that. This was a dream she didn’t want turning into a nightmare. At least, not so quickly. “What?”
This time Creed’s smile was mischievous, maybe even a little tender. “What’s your name?”
“You didn’t tell us,” Tav said.
Right. “Jamie Parker. Nice to meet you. This place is something, isn’t it?”
“Hey there!” a redhead suddenly said, wiggling her fingers in greeting. “I’m Francine. This is Karen.” She gestured to the brunette next to her then spoke to Tav and Creed. “We need two more for our nude volleyball game. You guys wanna join us?”
Jamie’s spirits nosedived as Tav released her hand. She waited for him and Creed to take off, leaving her to start the mingling process again. Stupid, she knew. They weren’t hers to keep. Both men could go wherever the hell they wanted. She could even join them and cheer while they were play—
“Thanks, but no,” Creed said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m busy.”
Tav nodded. “Same here.”
“No prob.” Francine grinned. “We’ll catch you guys later.”
Jamie wasn’t sure what to make of them turning the babes down. What were Creed and Tav busy with? Her? Why? She didn’t like being so uncertain of herself, but hell, having lived with nothing but rejection from the opposite sex didn’t make one bubble over with confidence. “Do you guys work here?”
They seemed surprised by her question. Tav spoke first. “No. What made you think we did?”
Unwilling to point out the obvious—that they’d focused on her to the exclusion of the other women—she shrugged. “You didn’t want to join the game. Might be fun rather than standing around here.”
“You don’t seem to mind,” Creed said.
Already he read her too well. “I’m not into sports.”
“How about this place?” Tav asked, regarding her. “Having a good time?”
She might if she hit it off with them. So far, things looked pretty promising. “I just got here an hour ago. You guys?”
“We arrived yesterday,” Creed said.
“To look around,” Tav added.
And they were still in the get-acquainted section rather than frolicking like Adam with countless Eves? Didn’t make sense, nor did the fact that they’d come here together. Were they buddies? Cousins? Lovers?
Uh-uh. Given how they’d stared at her earlier—boobs and all—they didn’t appear gay.
However, the cryptic way they’d answered her reminded Jamie of the guys she worked with. She always had to frame her questions carefully to get more than a two-word response from them.
“Look around for what?” she finally asked. “The facilities? Didn’t you plan your itineraries before arriving? The details are all online, or you could have video conferenced or Skyped with the Wizard of Wishes.”
Creed scratched his cheek, clearly fighting a smile. “God, that name sounds so dumb.”
She laughed. “Incredibly so. What packages did you sign up for?” She was betting on sex and all the kinky stuff the resort encouraged.
“We didn’t,” Tav said. “We’re here to work.”
Surprised, she took them in. Hell, she drank in every part of them, including the thick ridges between their legs. Had their cocks gotten a little bigger and harder since they’d been speaking with her? Jamie hoped so.
“Work at what?” she asked.
Tav spoke first. “A project.”
“It was missing an element,” Creed added. “We just couldn’t get it right.”
Tav smiled. “Until we saw you.”