Page 39 of Passion Island

And the night had yet to begin.

Fifteen

They’d followed a lighted stone pathway toward a three-story, stoned elliptical structure landscaped with coconut palms and large pink hibiscus flowers. The main entrance, which was flanked by marbled pillars and life-like statues of nude lovers that sat atop enormous pedestals, faced a garden of exotic flora.

LaQuandra and Isaiah were the first to cross the opulent threshold, followed by Krista and Kendall, and then Brenda and Roselle—who were holding hands and strolling like young, horny lovers. LaQuandra found the couple disgustingly happy. Miss Brick House and her wavy-haired stallion, always pawing and kissing on one another.

Yes. She was hating. Hard.

They seemed too damned perfect.

So, why the hell were they—?

“Welcome to The Aquarium,” said a woman with skin the color of brown sugar. A hint of a smile pulled at her tangerine-glossed lips. She was beautiful, LaQuandra decided. Like every other woman she’d seen on the island thus far. Her lithe, youthful body could have easily belonged to a Victoria’s Secret model. Her beautiful breasts, with their dark chocolate nipples, swayed slightly as she swept an arm back, welcoming them inside.

Isaiah tried not to stare, but he found his gaze dipping down over her flat belly and then over the slight curve of her hips, then at the strip of silk that covered her sex.

He found himself imagining her bent over with him behind her, pulling open her cheeks, licking the inside of her ass, over her brown hole, over the thin string of her panties, before pulling the string with his teeth.

LaQuandra caught the way Isaiah was looking at the little tight-bodied bitch and rolled her eyes. A hand closed around Isaiah’s arm, and he found himself being dragged away.

“Oh hell no,” LaQuandra hissed as she pulled Isaiah by the arm.

Tinashe’s “Bet” seeped down over the massive atrium through Bose in-ceiling speakers, her voice raining a melody that almost made LaQuandra want to use one hand to snap her fingers, and the other to slap the shit out of Isaiah.

She was so over him.

The sexy door greeter gave a quick glance in their direction as a smile shadowed her mouth as if she’d known why LaQuandra had stomped off angrily. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, time a wife trudged off with her ogling hubby in tow. They—the insecure ones—always managed to see her as a threat to their already fucked-up marriages.

“Damn,” said Isaiah once they were out of earshot. He yanked his arm from her grasp. “What’s up with you now, Quandra, huh?”

“You eye-fucking that bitch; that’s what’s up now.” LaQuandra slammed a hand up on her hip. “I’m sick of you disrespecting me, Isaiah. What, you wanna fuck her now, too?”

Isaiah frowned, but damn . . . he’d been busted. “Ain’t nobody thinking about that lil-ass girl,” he lied.

LaQuandra scoffed. “Yeah, right, motherfucker. I saw how you were looking at her.”

Isaiah shook his head, and tsked her. “You stay on your bullshit. You know that, right?”

“Whatever, Isaiah. If you think you’re gonna be sticking your dick in her or any other island bitch, you have another thing coming. If I’m not fucking, neither are you, nigga.”

All eyes turned to LaQuandra and the spectacle she was making of herself, while Isaiah stayed silent, impassive almost. He wasn’t about to argue with her, not here. Not in front of all these nosey-ass onlookers.

“Whatever, man. Go get our seats. I’m going to the bar.” Isaiah walked off, leaving LaQuandra looking like a crazed woman. I’m sick of this motherfucker disrespecting me. Eyeballing some other bitch right in front of me. She quickly slid a hand up along the side of her dreadlock bun updo, thankful that Brenda approached her. She desperately needed the distraction, before she really showed her ass.

“Girl, you okay?” Brenda wanted to know as her gaze skittered from LaQuandra, then over toward the direction of the oval-shaped bar, where Roselle meandered over to. She trusted him enough to know he wouldn’t blatantly do any dumb shit that would get him fucked up out in public, but still . . . she had to be on the lookout.

Krista had made her way to the ladies room to freshen up, bypassing the two other women. She didn’t particularly care for females. And she only had one good girlfriend, and that was her older sister, Latrice. Out of her four sisters, Latrice was the one whom she confided in, and trusted the most. Sure, she had female acquaintances and colleagues that she’d be friendly with—or perhaps cordial was a better suited-word, but she’d never consider any of them a friend.

LaQuandra gave Brenda a dismissive wave. “It’s nothing, girl. Just Isaiah being a man, eyes gawking everywhere.”

Brenda chuckled, smoothing a hand down the front of her dress. “Tell me about it. I’ve been keeping my good eye on Roselle, because I know how he can get. Acting like some horny adolescent boy.”

LaQuandra glanced around the opulent atrium with its mammoth crystal chandeliers and Fazioli Brunei centered in the middle of the room. The four hundred thousand-dollar grand piano was a spectacular sight to

behold for any piano enthusiast.

“Girl, my motto is,” Brenda said, causing LaQuandra to focus her attention back on her, “let them look. As long as they don’t touch, who gives a damn? I know I don’t. Hell, even I look. And if Roselle’s a good boy, I might even bring him home a sexy treat for us both to enjoy.”

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