Key West (7 page)

That’s when he began to move and though Carrie couldn’t see the two large cocks going directly into the woman, she was both horrified and fascinated. He pumped them hard into her openings, and the woman cried out with each powerful stroke he delivered.

She shouldn’t be here, watching this.

She shouldn’t be here at all.

Yet, just like on the
Party Barge
, she couldn’t stop, couldn’t control her fascination with the forbidden—and the arousal it set off inside her. Finally, she gave in and began stroking herself through her panties.

Oh God, yes, sweet relief.

She dragged her middle finger up over her clit in time with his thrusts, and though she had no notion what it felt like to be filled as the blonde woman was being filled, she still somehow thought she
did
feel the deep plunges—at least in her mind.

She felt them as if Chris were delivering them. As if he hadn’t had to follow that rule about no touching. As if he’d taken control of her, bent her over the side of the boat, and rammed his big erection deep, deep, deep into her. Her fingers got damp through the cotton—she pushed it aside and sank them into her wet folds. She recalled the wild sensation of having a stream of water blasted onto her pussy, the satisfaction of knowing Chris was watching. The thought made her surge with still more moisture even as her chest went warm.

“Tell me you like it, slave!” the man bit out through clenched teeth.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I love it!”

The drama of their sex pushed Carrie over the edge and for the third time that day she came—the climax storming through her like a hurricane, nearly making her cry out at the rushing swirls of pleasure, but she bit her lower lip to keep quiet and prayed they didn’t hear her ragged breathing over their own noises.

When the orgasm faded, she drew her hand away and continued watching the couple, but she was still thinking about Chris—wondering if he ever played domination games, if he liked his sex hard or soft, fast or slow, if he liked his women in leather, or lace, or silky nightgowns like the one she wore. Even as the feelings of excitement faded, her heart beat harder with all of her questions and the certainty that she’d never know because she’d walked away from him.

God, was she hung up on him that fast? Was it even possible? It made no sense. Then again,
something
about him had driven her to act crazy, to get intimate with him—intimate, in fact, with a whole boatful of people just because she wanted to excite him. So maybe it
was
possible.

Great. Just what she needed to add to her cheating ex-fiancé—a grand crush on a guy she’d met briefly, in a wild setting, and gotten partially naked with—on vacation, no less. Yep, a lot of future there.

Future? Good lord, she was thinking of the future? With him? She leaned her head back, letting out a sigh.

Damn it, even if she’d gotten a little wild today, one thing inside her still hadn’t changed. What she longed for at her core—security, commitment, a relationship she could depend on. In the end, she hadn’t gotten that from Jon, and she surely wouldn’t be getting it from Chris—her beach god, a vacation fling. No, not even a fling, a vacation
encounter
.

She hated how emotional she got over romance, intimacy. But she couldn’t help it. It was part of her, in her bones. Which begged the question—if she was so crazy about him, why had she practically run away?

Because of the mortal embarrassment of knowing nothing that happened between them could signify anything lasting. That it was all meaningless. She was on vacation, after all. On vacation in his life—like a million girls on a million
Party Barge
cruises.

And also because of the
pain
of knowing it wasn’t real. She’d thought about Jon surprisingly little today given his ultimate betrayal yesterday, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. And she didn’t need any more agony or humiliation added to the pain she was already experiencing.

“Oh God, baby, I’m coming! I’m fucking coming in you!” yelled the guy, and both of them moaned through his last few hard strokes.

Then he slowly withdrew—both his cock and its rubber companion—before freeing her wrists from the handcuffs. As soon as the cuffs clanked down against the metal, she spun to embrace him and he pulled her tight against him, murmuring, “I love you, baby, I love you,” into her hair.

“I love you, too.”

When they gazed into each other’s eyes, it was impossible, even at that distance, to mistake their heartfelt affection for each other, something which suddenly seemed sweet, safe,
real
.

They shared what
she
so desperately wanted to share with someone. She’d not expected that. It made her let out a long sigh.

“Did you hear something?” the blonde asked.

Carrie tensed, her heart beginning to race.

“Like what, honey?”

“I don’t know—like…someone breathing heavy or something.”

He chuckled. “Probably me.”

“No,” she said, more softly, calmer now. “Someone else. Maybe.” The woman even pulled partially from his embrace to look around, and Carrie prayed she was still as invisible in the dark as she thought.

“Who cares anyway?” he asked. “Remember that time we did it in the pool at home and we spotted that guy watching us? Remember how hot it got us?”

Her reply sounded happier. “Oh. Yeah. Guess you’re right.”

Carrie watched as the two leather lovers made their way back into their room, closing the sliding door behind them. She couldn’t help feeling somehow jealous of the connection they shared.

So even though she wished for more with Chris, she was glad—relieved—she wouldn’t be seeing him again. She would just have to avoid the boat trip kiosk, suffer through the rest of her “honeymoon,” then go home and start trying to rebuild her existence as a single girl.

Chapter Three

The next morning, Carrie awoke with the hope that she could put yesterday behind her. It seemed like a strange dream. When she’d found her bridesmaid sucking Jon’s cock, she’d never been so shocked in her life—yet yesterday, she’d somehow surpassed it in one mere day, shocking
herself
even
more
. But surely the things that had happened yesterday were just a haphazard reaction to having her wedding ruined and her plans for marriage dashed. It wasn’t really about Chris, as she’d thought last night. She didn’t even know him, so it
couldn’t
have been about him.

Standing before the mirror, she tied the top of her leopard-print bikini behind her neck. Another little gift from Diana that had come with a card saying:
In case you decide to get a little wild on your honeymoon
. Secretly, she’d been pleased, thinking the bikini much sexier in cut and style than she’d have chosen on her own. Funny, before yesterday, the skimpier-than-usual suit had seemed like a wild step toward hedonism, and now it seemed like nothing. Even so, she liked the way it looked on her—the triangle top baring the inner curves of her breasts, the bottoms dipping low beneath her belly button with only small straps stretching across her hips.

Not that she needed to look sexy today—she certainly didn’t.

No, today she intended to lay low, go on her snorkeling cruise, and hope the combination of sun, water, and observing fish swimming in the coral would provide a pleasant distraction from the last couple of days. After that, she might read a book next to the hotel pool while working on her tan, then do a little shopping on Duval Street before darkness brought out the partiers.

Tying a short, sheer black sarong about her hips, she stepped into stylish black flip-flops and hoisted a beach bag to her shoulder.

Heading out into the hall as her door shut firmly behind her, she ran smack into a tall, sexy dark-haired guy. She lost her balance, falling against him, one breast pressing squarely against his muscled arm. He caught her around the waist and set her upright.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, still reeling from being in the grip of those strong hands, then looked up to realize—oh God!—it was the leather guy from last night. Only he looked perfectly normal now—not to mention hot—wearing a pair of red swim trunks and a loose white tank top.

“No harm done,” he said with a winning smile.

That’s when the blonde “slave” approached, hurrying up behind him in a teeny black bikini beneath a formfitting cover-up of black mesh that didn’t actually
cover
anything at all, reminding Carrie of the sexy curves she’d spied last night. “Okay, ready now,” she announced to her lover, only then seeming to notice Carrie. “Hi,” she said in a friendly voice.

“Looks like we’re neighbors,” Carrie replied, motioning vaguely to the door down the hall just now clicking shut.

The blonde’s eyes brightened even more. “Oh, you’re in the other honeymoon suite. I’m Amy, and this is my husband, Cole.” She smiled up at him. “
Husband
. I’m not quite used to that yet.”

Carrie hadn’t realized the hotel possessed more than one honeymoon suite, but this explained why there was only one other door on her side of the hall and why the two balconies were situated next to each other.

So they were married. And on their honeymoon. They looked so in love. It was hard to reconcile that they were indeed the same couple who’d been wearing bondage apparel and talking so dirty to each other last night.

“I’m Carrie. Nice to meet you.”

“Are you waiting for your husband? We can hold the elevator for him,” Amy offered as the three began making their way up the hall.

Carrie felt a familiar heat climb her cheeks. “Um, actually, no.”

“Oh, he’s already downstairs?”

Carrie considered lying, given the embarrassment factor in the truth, but gave it up. “Actually, I’m here alone.”

Amy raised her eyebrows, clearly confused. “In the honeymoon suite?”

Carrie reached out to push the elevator button as they reached it, glad to have somewhere else to look. “I was
supposed
to have a husband by now, but…the wedding didn’t exactly come off as planned, which is to say, it didn’t come off at all. So I decided to take the trip anyway to clear my head and unwind.”

“Wow, I’m sorry,” Amy said.

“That’s rough,” Cole echoed.

Carrie forced a smile in their direction. “Yeah, it was a bummer, but I’m ready to put it behind me and enjoy the sun.”

Both of them smiled back and Amy’s eyes widened. “Hey, you want to join us for breakfast?”

“Oh, thanks, but no. You’re on your honeymoon, after all.”
And I watched you having sex last night, which makes this whole meeting kind of awkward.

“We don’t mind, do we, honey?” Amy looked up at Cole.

The elevator arrived and Cole held the door, entering last. “Of course not. Why don’t you join us? We’re just grabbing a bite in the restaurant downstairs.”

“They have oceanfront tables—a really nice view,” Amy added.

Carrie sighed. Her plan
had
been to eat the same restaurant. She only had an hour before boarding her snorkeling cruise, so she didn’t have time to go walking up Duval in search of breakfast. And it would certainly look odd if she turned them down only to appear at the same place right behind them. “Well, if you insist.”

Amy smiled, and Carrie still tried to envision her as the vixen in leather straps who’d been yelling, “Lick me!” last night. It didn’t seem possible—Amy seemed so friendly and sweet. Carrie could only conclude that maybe she was more naïve about sex than she’d thought—that perhaps plenty of perfectly regular people got into leather and bondage and she just didn’t know it.

Within moments, the trio was seated on a platform overlooking the marina and the ocean beyond. The morning sun beat down on their shoulders as they ordered hearty breakfast meals and made small talk. Carrie learned her companions lived in Chicago, and in turn, she told them about growing up in Maryland and the small bookstore she’d opened there two years ago.

When conversation drifted to how they were all enjoying their vacation, Carrie discovered that, so far, she hadn’t actually done anything on the trip she felt comfortable discussing, but she found herself casually mentioning the
Party Barge
before she could stop herself.

“I hear that’s a pretty wild scene,” Cole said, forking a bite of scrambled eggs to his mouth.

You don’t know the half of it.
“Yeah, more wild than I expected. Lots of girls taking their tops off, a wet t-shirt contest, that sort of thing.”

She watched Amy and Cole exchange glances. “Maybe we should book one of those ourselves, babe,” Cole said, flashing a smile. “I’ve never actually seen you in a wet t-shirt before, but I have a feeling I’d like the view,” he concluded with a wink.

And only when Amy said, “Yeah, might be fun,” did Carrie realize they were serious, and that they weren’t shy about admitting that sort of outing appealed to them.

“Did you enter?” Amy asked matter-of-factly, lifting her juice glass.

Carrie blinked. A minute ago, she’d have definitely lied, but their open honesty made lying feel silly. “I…won, actually.”

Cole let out a chuckle of admiration and Amy grinned. “Way to go, girlfriend.”

“I’m impressed,” Cole said. “That’s definitely the way to get over a wedding gone bad.”