Page 32 of Passion Island

Arabian belly dance music played through the speakers, while the men were being waited on hand and foot. It wasn’t the type of music any of them would ordinarily listen to. But, then again, there was nothing ordinary a

bout this island, or its inhabitants. So the men sat back and drank their respective drinks and watched as a group of women sensually danced for their viewing pleasure.

“Damn, that dark chocolate one gotta nice, fat ass,” Roselle said. “I’d like to bend her over while she holds open them ass cheeks and I push this meat up in her.”

Isaiah shook his head. “Bruh, you crazy.”

“Nah. I’m dead-ass. Tell me you wouldn’t go guts deep in that?”

Isaiah looked over at the thick-hipped, D-cup Antiguan with the dark chocolate nipples and an ass that would put most porn stars to shame. Yeah, he’d definitely fuck her. She slowly turned, bent at the waist, placing her hands on her knees and then making each ass cheek bounce in sync to the music.

Isaiah’s eyes stayed glued on her, and when he didn’t respond, Roselle laughed. “Bruh, you can’t even take your eyes off that ass. So don’t front. You’d fuck that. Shit. We all would.”

Kendall laughed as well, but said nothing. She was nice to look at, and he’d definitely be down to peek inside them cheeks and look at her butthole, maybe even lick over it. But fucking her—nah.

Roselle rubbed a hand over the front of his skimpy swimwear. “You think her pussy stink?” he asked, no one in particular.

“Fuck if I know,” Isaiah stated. He took a swig of his beer. “I would hope not. She too bad to be walking around with a stink-hole.”

Roselle gulped back his drink. “You’ll be surprised how many dimes look like they got that good-good until that shit gets wet ‘n’ starts smelling like a septic tank.”

Isaiah made a face. “Eww. Fuck.”

“Damn, man. That was some random shit,” Kendall said. “Where do you come up with this shit?”

“Can I get you gentlemen anything else to drink?” asked the young woman wearing a multicolored bikini top and matching sarong, walking up on them. She had smooth, deep-brown skin and slightly slanted brown eyes. She’d been serving the three men one of the island’s specialty drinks, Passion Drops, which consisted of part Grand Marnier, Chambord, Malibu Coconut Rum, cranberry and pineapple juices. And at the bottom of a chilled glass were layered chunks of pineapples that had been soaking in Jim Beam Honey whiskey.

Roselle was on his fourth drink. And he was lit. Two more and he’d be near drunk. While Isaiah and Roselle drank the island special, Kendall stuck with bottles of Vonu Pure Lager—a local beer.

The young woman smiled. “I’ll be right back with your orders.”

But before she could walk off, Roselle was closing a hand around her left wrist. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Aurora,” she said sweetly.

“Aurora. I like,” Roselle said. And before the shy, twenty-something knew what was happening, he’d spun her so that her back was to him and slid an arm around her waist. His other arm wrapped around her shoulder. Roselle drew her back against him, so that his arousal pressed into her lower back.

“You sexy as fuck, mami.” He spoke low in her ear. “How many strokes does it take to get you to squirt?” Who said the word tact was in his vocabulary? Roselle was known to be bold, after a few drinks, and especially when Brenda was out of sight. He knew what he was here on the island for, but—hell—if he could get himself a dose of some island pussy while working on his marital issues, then it was a win-win.

The sex ep on the plane with LaLani in the bathroom should have been it for Roselle. He knew it. But—shit, he was surrounded by too many fine-ass women to not sample as many as he could without getting caught.

Temptation was a motherfucker.

But the chase was so much better.

Roselle ground his erection in the young woman’s back, and she blushed as his hand rose sensually up her left side until it was cupping the outer curve of her breast.

Isaiah eyed him. This muhfucka wildin’ for real, he thought as he slowly shook his head. “Yo, man, chill,” he said. “Let her go get my drink—first, before you start molesting her.”

Roselle extended his long tongue and slowly licked the side of her face. “Yeah, go on ‘n’ get my man’s drink, baby. I got something for you when you get back.” He lightly smacked her on the ass just as she scurried away, then sat back down on his double-chaise lounge. “Man. I’m tryna freak,” he boldly stated. “You muhfuckas can sit around and look at ass all day, but I’m tryna stick this dick in something wet.”

“Man, sit ya drunk-ass down somewhere,” Isaiah joked. “You better go stick that shit in that big-ass ocean out there.”

Roselle laughed. “Fuck that. I want it in something tight and wet and exotic.”

“You better use ya damn hand, bruh,” Isaiah warned. “You wanna be out here fuckin’ random ass. Ya ass fuck around ‘n’ catch some exotic shit you can’t get rid of.”

“No doubt,” Kendall added. “What would your wife say if she found out you were out here mauling the help?”

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