Key West (3 page)

Only then did Carrie really begin to notice the
other
people on the
Party Barge
. While some were dressed in summer clothes like her own, many of the girls wore bikinis, some quite skimpy, revealing lots of tan skin, round breasts, and equally round asses. Most people stood in clusters talking and drinking, but some were dancing, and her eyes landed on two bikini-clad girls in particular who were bumping and grinding dangerously close to each other, their knees intersecting so that their jiggling breasts nearly brushed together and their crotches almost touched. Both guys and girls watched, drawn into their performance, cheering them on. For reasons Carrie couldn’t understand, her own crotch went unaccountably warm.

“How the hell is everybody?” the dark-haired guy asked loudly through the microphone.

As the volume of the music dropped in order to accommodate his voice, the crowd cheered various answers.

“Are you ready for some serious partying tonight?”

This time the yells were louder.

“I’ll tell you one thing, we might call this a sunset cruise, but there’s gonna be so much action on this boat, you aren’t gonna waste your time looking at the sun.”

Again, the crowd roared, girls and guys both appearing equally ready for whatever action he might be talking about.

“First, though, we’re gonna let you eat. We’ve put out a buffet with hot wings and lots of other good stuff, so eat up, keep drinking, and in a little while, we’ll get the party seriously underway.”

Just then, Carrie felt a warm hand at the small of her back. She looked up to find Chris, smiling. God, even just
that
touch made her wet.

He lowered a paper plate on the bar next to her, filled with hot wings, meatballs, cheese, crackers, and grapes, before making his way back to his drink-serving station. “Got you a snack,” he said, as a new line of drinkers formed in front of him.

“Thanks,” she said, then told herself she’d best eat up if she didn’t want to get completely drunk on the rum punch.

* * * * *

“All right, ladies, our first game is just for you—the guys get to watch. Who wants to play?”

Carrie sat on her stool, still observing the festivities from a distance as the dark-haired microphone guy drew girls from the crowd up onto a small stage at one end of the catamaran. The party was in full swing now, much of the rum punch gone from Chris’s vat. Carrie had lost count of how many glasses she’d had—the punch went down sweet and easy, and she couldn’t deny that it was loosening her up, making her much more curious than wary of whatever these “games” turned out to be.

Chris had told her the dark-haired hottie was his best friend and roommate, Scott, and she couldn’t help but find the vision of two such hot, tan, hunky guys living together somehow alluring. “Anybody else?” Scott asked over the mike.

A couple more girls joined the crowd of ten or so on the stage. With the girls assembled, Scott reached under a skirted table and drew out a tray of bananas. “We’re having a banana eating contest,” he announced with a mischievous grin, “but girls, the object of the game isn’t how
fast
you eat the banana, it’s how
well
.”

A few masculine howls and catcalls filled the air as Carrie realized the girls were supposed to pretend they were giving blowjobs. She didn’t know whether to be appalled or…aroused. The truth was, she was a little of both, and she felt embarrassed as hell, knowing Chris stood right behind her at the bar even as her crotch echoed with waves of curious excitement.

“The guys get to judge, so ladies, grab a banana and show us how many inches you can take.”

Every girl on the stage looked eager to perform, snatching up the sizable bananas and beginning to unpeel them. She watched, her attention as rapt as any guy in the crowd. She’d never seen anything like this before.

Several girls wrapped their lips sensually around their bananas, some going slowly down on it, working to get as much as possible into their mouths, others bobbing their heads, moving the pale fruit in and out between their lips. She heard guys in the audience whistling and calling out, “Oh yeah, baby.” Carrie crossed her legs on the stool, trying to blot out the pulse beating like a heartbeat between her thighs. From watching girls with bananas? It seemed insane. But there was something wholly carnal about it, something raw and dirty.

Things got even dirtier when two girls began sharing one banana, holding it between them, each licking up its side. When their tongues met at the tip of the banana, they engaged in a sensuous French kiss that brought wolfish calls from the crowd.

“Oh yeah, fellas, these girls like to share,” Scott’s voice boomed through the microphone.

Carrie took a long drink of her punch, glad she was facing the game, her back to Chris. She felt stupid to be so embarrassed, but she was unaccustomed to witnessing sex acts—even on a banana—in front of anyone. Hell, she was unaccustomed to witnessing them, period.

As the two girls continued to divide their attention between the banana and each other, another girl with large, round breasts which were nearly bared by her slinky snakeskin bikini top began to slide her peeled banana slowly up and down between the two lush mounds of flesh. Carrie’s own breasts ached for attention and she could scarcely believe it, but as she watched the act, she was almost tempted to reach up and rub them, squeeze her nipples through her top and bra, right there.

She didn’t, of course—she might be drunk, but she hadn’t lost her mind completely. Yet the ache only grew worse as the girl squeezed her breasts together, holding the banana in place without using her hands, even as she leaned over to take the top of it into her mouth and begin sucking.

God, it was like a river had just opened up in Carrie’s panties. She was so wet from watching the sensual banana contest that she almost worried she’d end up with a damp spot on the back of her skirt when she got up.

A few moments later when the girls had done about all they could do to the bananas, Scott held his hand over each girl’s head, letting the crowd cheer for their favorite.

“So who do you think should win?”

The deep voice came warm in her ear and when she turned her head, Chris’s face was only an inch from hers. One part of her wanted to be mortified that he would ask her such a question, while another part yearned desperately to just lean in and kiss him. Drunken reasoning allowed her to take a middle ground—although her answer felt more daring than anything she’d ever said. “Well, the girls who shared were hot, but I’d have to vote for the one who used her tits.”

God.
Tits
? Had she really just said
tits
? She
never
used that word. And yet it had just come out of her as naturally as if she said it every day.

Their faces still close, Chris flashed a sexy smile. “I like the way you think.” Then he gave his head a playful, doubting tilt. “But I’m beginning to suspect you were pulling my leg about being such an angel.” He glanced over her shoulder, down at her chest where the word was emblazoned, his gaze making her nipples draw tighter.

She lowered her chin, trying to hide her smile. “It’s the punch. I’m not usually into girls with bananas.”

He leaned closer, spoke lower. “What are you into?”

“Guys. With…uh…” she laughed, “well, not bananas.”

He chuckled, as well. And stayed close. He smelled of rum and musk. “What would you do if I said you’d just made me hard?”

Oh God, she wanted to kiss him. More than that. She wanted to press herself against him. She wanted to get on her knees and take him into her mouth.

I’d say show me.

But she wasn’t quite
that
drunk yet. The shy, angelic Carrie who had existed up until yesterday was still calling some of the shots here, and a veil of heat ascended her cheeks. She grinned. “I’d blush.”

“You’re damn pretty when you blush, angel.”

She was saved from replying when Scott’s voice blared through the microphone, calling a pretty girl in an ultra-skimpy bikini onto the stage. Carrie moved her gaze there, but her entire body stayed aware of Chris, so close to her. Hard for her. Mmm, wow.

On the stage, Scott explained the next game was the
Party Barge
’s version of Spin the Bottle. He brought out a carnival-type wheel, the pointer attached to it designed to look like a beer bottle. “Give it a spin, then pick someone from the crowd who fits the description.” Squinting, Carrie could see some of the designations the bottle might point to were “blond,” “tall,” and “wearing something red.” The scantily clad girl on the stage spun “dark hair” and wasted no time drawing a raven-haired guy onto the stage and pulling him into a long, passionate kiss using her tongue.

“Wanna play?” Chris’s raspy voice whispered in her ear.

The game, or with you?
She turned a coy expression on him. “I’m beginning to think you tricked me onto this boat to see if you could make me misbehave.”

He grinned. “
Misbehave.
That’s an awfully nice word for it, angel, but no, it wasn’t a devious plan. Although now that I know you a little better, I’d be real interested if you decided to.”

She bit her lip. “Decided to do what exactly?”

He spoke each word as if it were a seduction. “Misbehave. Cut loose. Play.”

Mmm, did she ever want to play. With him. With what he had in his pants that he’d promised her was hard. But it was angelic Carrie who answered. “Well, unfortunately for you, I’m not into public displays.”

One side of his mouth quirked. “That
is
unfortunate for me. But…I guess I’m not really surprised.” His amused look faded and his tone said he was baiting her.

She played along. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I should have known you were too much of a good girl to have any fun.”

“I told you, I can have fun.”

“
This
kind of fun,” he said, motioning vaguely toward the stage.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

He shrugged, grinned. “Take it however you like.”

Just then, the crowd went wild and they both looked up to see a girl who’d spun “brunette” drawing another girl from the audience instead of a guy. When the young women reached the stage, they slid their arms sensually around each other and began to make out. Again, Carrie’s panties were awash with her pulsating reaction. Both girls rubbed their bikini-clad breasts together as they traded kisses using lips and tongues. It was all she could do not to clamp her hand down between her legs to stop the throbbing.

A quick glance at Chris revealed he was aroused by the girls, as well. His eyes were glued to the scene next to the carnival wheel, so she didn’t resist the urge to keep watching, either. The onstage kisses grew hotter as one girl slid her hands down onto the other’s ass, pulling her in so that their crotches touched. Cheers rose from the crowd as one of the girls gave her pelvis an exaggerated wiggle against the front of the other’s bikini bottoms.

Carrie’s entire body was on fire. Before this moment, the idea of two girls together had never made her think anything besides
Yuck
, but, unbidden, her breasts and nether region burned at the sensual sight until she actually caught herself wondering what it would feel like to touch another woman’s breasts, to rub up against another girl’s curves, to press her mound—pulsing relentlessly now—against another.

It was the rum, she told herself. It had to be the rum, causing
all
of this.

“Ever kiss a girl?” Chris asked, his voice even more heated, his face still right next to hers.

“No.” She didn’t look at him this time—she kept her eyes on the stage, where one of the girls now massaged the other’s breasts, much to the delight of the audience.

“Ever want to?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Even right now?”

She glanced over at him. And lied through her teeth. “No.”

He grinned. “I don’t believe you.”

God, was she that transparent? She looked away and took another sip of her drink, draining it, then threw him a smile. “I need a refill.”

Her attention was drawn back to the stage when the cheers and applause for the two hot girls faded and Scott took charge again. “Thank you very much, ladies, for my hard-on.” The crowd responded with more whistles and cheers. “Now I’m gonna let some more of you lovely girls get us guys even harder, because it’s time for the wet t-shirt contest.”

Male howls filled the air and Carrie realized that the boat’s entire atmosphere had changed, turning so thick with sex you could almost smell it, taste it.

“Ladies, see me behind the partition for your t-shirt,” Scott said.

God, the party just kept getting hotter and hotter. Much more arousal and she’d probably disintegrate, self-destruct. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d ever been this hot and worked up, even through all her years with Jon.

“I dare you,” came a low, husky voice in her ear.

She turned toward it. “What?”

Chris’s eyes turned glassy with want as he leaned forward to deliver a short, open-mouthed kiss to her lips. It traveled through her like a lit fuse racing toward an explosion, and when it reached the juncture of her thighs—God, she almost thought she could come, just from that.