The Bikini Diaries (15 page)

He moved the cucumber in and out, again, again, and from his hot breaths she thought he

sounded as aroused as she was.

And then the cucumber was gone, and she couldn't decide if she was happy or sad, but

she felt very odd and strange and empty—until pressure returned, hard pressure, and

Brandon's hand was on her hip and the warmth of his legs mingled with hers, and as he

pushed inward, she realized
he
was fucking her ass now—
him, his cock, His freaking
enormous cock.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God,"
she heard herself cry as he eased slowly, slowly inside her.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he cursed under his breath behind her, clearly as impassioned as she. "Tell me you're okay, baby," he whispered near her ear then. "Tell me it's good."

The truth was, she couldn't tell yet. She simply felt consumed by the very fullness. "I'm not sure. So big. Isn't this impossible?" The question had just come to mind and she'd blurted it out.

When he answered, she heard more than saw his small lust-filled grin. "Lubrication

makes a lot of things possible."

"Clearly," she managed.

His arms closed snug around her now, circling her stomach, one palm curved around the

outer side of her breast. His breath warmed her ear.

And she realized... "It doesn't hurt." She let out a sigh of relief with the words. "It still feels impossible to me, but it doesn't hurt."

"Mmm, bunny, that's so good," he growled in her ear, then kissed her cheek.

Then he began to move. In her ass.

Slow at first—small, slow drives of his cock. And she thought she'd die of that strange, powerful pleasure that made her forget everything but sensation.

She heard herself begin to whimper and moan, felt her lips trembling. Like before, she

felt the thrusts everywhere, as if his cock stretched all through her, touching every region of her body, every inch of her skin.

And when his breath grew just as heavy as hers, when he began to thrust deeper, harder,

her brain ceased to process anything
but feeling.
An overwhelming heat expanded within her, and she began to sweat profusely, everywhere at once, the pleasure pouring from her body in the form of perspiration.

He remained wrapped tight around her, and the plunges of his cock made them move as

one—sobs echoed from her as he emitted hard, heavy groans through clenched teeth.

This was amazing. This was impossible. This was the most profound pleasure she'd ever

known. It had captured her. It controlled her. She was out of her mind with the

overwhelming joy of it. And she knew she couldn't really come from this—or at least she

didn't think she could—so when she
did,
when a raging orgasm ripped through her with no warning, she could only conclude that her clit had brushed hard enough against the

sheets beneath her to make it happen.

Not that she cared why it happened. This was no time for analysis. It was a time to

scream, to moan, to whimper, and to tremble in her lover's arms. It was time to take an

entirely new kind of joy when he rasped, "God, yeah," then moaned and growled through his own climax, holding on to her tight through the last thrust.

When he pulled out, her body—her anus—felt strange, unpleasantly open. But within a

few seconds, it seemed to contract back to normal. It still felt unusual, but no longer as stretched. She sensed Brandon rolling to his back behind her, but she was too weak to

move at all.

"You okay?" His voice came as weak as she felt.

She could still barely speak. "Mmm-hmm."

They lay quiet for few moments, until he said. "Sorry, bunny, but I'm not eating the cucumber after this."

A hard laugh lurched from her throat, and he laughed, too, and she finally rolled to face him.

Their eyes met.

"You never did that before." Anal sex, he clearly meant. He looked all-knowing and pleased.

"I hate that it's so obvious."

"I love that you're so willing."

"Me, too." She granted him a smile, filled with erotic joy to know she'd done something that felt so
forbidden.
She'd never felt more wild.

A moment later, regaining her strength, she rose slightly and leaned over to give Brandon a long, slow, lingering tongue kiss. Then she located tissues, tidied herself, and bent over the edge of the bed to scoop up her panties.

After she put them on and reached for the dress she'd dropped in a heap on the floor, as well, Brandon said, "You don't have to rush off. It's late."

She gave him a small smile, suddenly feeling more empowered and in control of herself

than ever. "Precisely why I have to rush off. I have an early meeting."

He sighed, looking hot and cozy still needed into soft pillows, a sheet pulled to his waist.

'Actually, I do, too, now that you mention it."

"I was beginning to think you live a life of leisure," she said, raising her eyebrows.

He smirked playfully. "No, but I can usually set my own schedule, take time off when I want."

"Lucky me."

"No," he said, shaking his head against the white pillowcase, 'lucky
me.
Which reminds me, how's your afternoon look?"

She bit her lip, tried to hide her smile. This would go on. Another day. Another night?

"Free," she said.

"Good. I'll take you parasailing."

"Another thing I've never done," she admitted.

"Another thing I'll enjoy showing you. Although," he added with a wink, "probably not as much as I enjoyed
this."

Who am I?

Am I the woman I was when I came here? The woman who wears sensible panties and

sensible shoes and dates average men (if I date them at all)?

Or am I really the bad girl now, the bad girl I become when I'm with
aim?
Do I give

guys blow jobs in public places and beg to be fucked and delight in turning myself into

a stranger's personal porn star?

Which woman is real? Both? Neither? I've lost the ability to tell.

When you pretend to be something, can you really become it? Just from the very act of

pretending? Is it that easy, that fast?

And when I go home, who will I be then?

Chapter 7

When
Wendy headed out the next morning, she felt as if she could tackle the world. The sun was shining, the call of seagulls echoed nearby, and it was a beautiful day in

paradise. She donned a summer suit the color of orange sherbet that only added to her

good cheer.

Like yesterday, she found herself noticing details and effortlessly connecting more with the people she encountered. When she had breakfast at a small deli near her building, she complimented the earrings worn by the young girl behind the counter, who seemed so

sincerely touched that Wendy realized the rich patrons of Emerald Shores probably

seldom took the time for such niceties. And when she re-entered the building that housed the resort's corporate offices, she greeted the receptionist in the vast first-floor lobby with a smile. "Those flowering shrubs I keep seeing everywhere are gorgeous!" she said. "The ones with the bright pink flowers. What are they?"

"Bougainvillea," the woman said with a smile. "It blooms all year here as long as it doesn't get too cold. I believe you're meeting with Mr. Worth and Mr. Penny this

morning?"

Wendy nodded. And whereas a few days ago she would have been somewhat nervous

about meeting the top dogs at such an immense, upscale resort, today she felt totally

comfortable, totally confident. Amazing what some adventurous sex could do for a girl!

A few minutes later, she was greeted by a well-put-together woman in her fifties, who

said, "I'm Mr. Worth's assistant, Joanna. Welcome to Emerald Shores." They made pleasant small talk as Joanna took her up on the elevator, explaining that the CEOs shared the top floor of the structure.

It wasn't as tall as Brandon's building, nor was it directly on the ocean, but her memory of his penthouse condo urged her to say, "Great view, I bet."

Joanna smiled. "It's pretty breathtaking, I'll have to admit. Very relaxing when the job gets stressful. The whole side of the floor that faces the ocean is glass, so the water is always just a glance away."

"Wow, that sounds incredible."

"Mr. Worth insisted upon it when the building was being designed. He created Emerald Shores from nothing as a very young man."

"Wow," Wendy said again. This time because she hadn't imagined one sole person being behind the resort—she'd envisioned it being the brainchild of a whole conglomerate of

developers. "I'll enjoy meeting him," she added.
As long as he doesn't tell me someone
saw me having sex on the beach
—
the activity, not the drink—and that I'm going to lose
my job because of it.,

The moment they stepped off the elevator, she caught a glimpse of the gulf waters out the window wall to her right. "That's my desk," Joanna said, pointing to one of two near the window. The other desk was unoccupied at the moment, but Wendy presumed it

belonged to Mr. Penny's assistant.

"Color me jealous," she replied. "I love my job, but my desk looks out on another skyscraper across the street from mine."

Joanna cast a conciliatory smile, then said, "Right this way. Mr. Worth and Mr. Penny are waiting for you in Mr. Worth's office." Then she opened the double doors before them to show Wendy inside.

Her first observation was that Mr. Worth had one hell of an office. Bigger than her

apartment back home, actually. It held a grand, expansive desk, tons of dark wood

bookcases, a bar, an enormous aquarium filled with brightly colored fish, and a large

glass conference table by the window wall.

The second, when she spotted two men at the table, was that Mr. Worth was...
Brandon!

Or maybe he was Mr. Penny—but either way, one of the two men standing up to greet

her was definitely the man who'd fucked just about every orifice on her body last night!

How the hell could this be?

Her mouth dropped open, and when their eyes met, she tried to keep hers from going

wide—given that there was another guy in the room, and that he didn't need to know

about the orifice fucking, or any fucking at all, for that matter.

She could see from the look on Brandon's face that he was just as shocked, but like her, trying not to let it show.

How was this even
possible?
He was one of the Emerald Shores CEOs? She couldn't remember either man's first name, but she knew neither had been Brandon.

He stepped up to her in a crisp charcoal-colored suit and shook her hand. "I'm Brandon Worth," he said with a professional smile, even though the way he looked at her was much more personal.
"James
Brandon Worth," he clarified.

And then she remembered seeing the name on various papers: James B. Worth, CEO.

"And this is my business partner, Charles Penny."

Numbly, she shook Mr. Penny's hand as well, still trying to recover from her disbelief.

The man was a husky but well-dressed guy about Brandon's age—probably mid-thirties,

like herself.

Not that she gave a crap about Mr. Penny. She was still trying to get over Mr. Worth.

She'd been having sex with
the
chief executive officer of Emerald Shores!

'And you're," Brandon began uncertainly, "Gwendolyn Carnes."

She tried to smile as she met his gaze once more. "Most people call me Wendy," she explained, and Brandon leaned back his head to say, 'Ah."

Oh boy. This was insane. Just freaking insane.

It was at that moment when they both noticed Mr. Penny looking at them oddly.

"Turns out that Miss Carnes and I are already acquainted," Brandon explained. "We met a couple of days ago—over in the village."

"Call me Wendy," she was quick to say.
Or bunny.

When Joanna came in bearing coffee and a plate of croissants, it gave Wendy a chance to

wrap her head around the situation. A little anyway.

No wonder he'd seemed so rich. He
was
rich. Megarich. And he'd conceived this entire place himself?

But she had to quit thinking about that.

Come on now—put on your game face. Sex aside, and shock aside, this is an important

meeting. Walter is counting on you. You have to be professional And tough. You have to
do Walter proud. You're talking
about gambling millions of dollars of Walter's money on
this place. Focus!

Of course, it was easier said than done. When she looked across the table at Brandon,

besides seeing a handsome young CEO, she also saw her lover, the man with the

magnificent cock. And mouth. And hands. And he wasn't bad with a cucumber, either,

even if that still embarrassed her a little. As Charles Penny spoke to her about their grand future plans for Emerald Shores, the warmth of a blush began to climb her cheeks, and

she prayed he didn't notice. Because she was thinking about cucumbers, not resort

expansion.
Stop this. Pay attention.

Finally, after both Brandon and his associate made sweeping speeches about the grandeur

of the resort, how ten years into its existence it was still a cutting-edge vacation

destination, and how Walter's investment could help take Emerald Shores into the future

and make them all a lot of money, Brandon smiled and said, "Wendy, we'd love to hear what you think of our little slice of paradise here on the Gulf Coast, and where you stand in terms of advising Walter."

Stay focused. Don't look at him.
She planted her eyes on her notes instead. And when she did need to lift her gaze in order to appear conversational and professional, she either looked at Mr. Penny or looked slightly past Brandon's face to the pale ocean horizon