A Hotwife Adventure
Emma and Dane, experienced hotwife and husband, are bored to tears on Isla Caza, a Caribbean island where they had intended to play a new game, adding some heat to their already scorching marriage.
There's only one problem: Isla Cazaturns out to be a very poor hunting ground.
Emma finally stumbles onto a potential stag: the very mysterious, very alpha Rafe. But Rafe ends up being way more than Emma bargained for, and maybe even more than she can handle. He's the first man to even imagine a way for Emma to bend the rules she and Dane have, let alone tempt her to actually break them.
Meanwhile, Dane has his own problems, because a beautiful woman - who they lamented was the wrong kind of prey - turns out to be a fierce huntress. She's after Dane now that Emma's away, and that is definitely against the rules.
Emma and Dane find the tables turned on them: no longer deceiving others for fun, they begin to deceive each other. Will this be the game that breaks their marriage?
The margarita descended into his field of vision, the stem invisible in the glow of the sun, the base shining like the contours of a spaceship, an orb of lime-yellow liquid above it. All ten of Emma's fingers gripped the rim from above like claws. "Incoming," she said dryly.
An ice-cold drop of water departed the mother ship and made him shiver when it touched the bare skin of his chest. Dane blinked, straining to see where to grip the drink, his vision adjusting to the brightness of the noonday sun. He had fallen into a beachy, half-sleeping stupor with a shirt over his face, and had a vague memory of Emma saying "Well, it's time for a margarita," her muffled footsteps in the sand fading away, and then returning.
But that could have been minutes, hours, or days ago.
When he heard her returning, his dreamlike state had only been partially dissolved. Sitting up, he realized he had overheated in the sun. His chest was damp with sweat.
"Thanks," he said, still blinking. Emma patted him on the head and he heard her footsteps in the sand, headed back to the bar. They had learned the hard way that the plastic stems of the margarita "glasses" snapped if you tried to hold the gigantic goblet by anything but the huge cup, until you had at least half the margarita finished, and even then, you were gambling.
Time returned to its normal pace, and Emma was right back, stepping over her lounger to plop into the chair and pull her feet together, which was also a technique for balancing the margaritas that she had learned the hard way.
Neither of them bothered making a joke about how stupid the margarita glasses were.
"No good prospects up there, either," she said. She stabbed at the icy drink with a straw, balancing the base of the cup on one slender thigh and holding the rest steady with her right hand. She brought the straw up to her mouth, one finger over the top of it, and then released the trapped liquid onto her tongue. "This might be a bust."
Dane's nose and forehead screamed at him as he gulped far too much margarita at once. He sucked in a deep breath of air and winced. "It's still... a great... time... sweetie," he said, in a pained voice.
Emma lifted her sunglasses to her forehead and looked at him, shaking her head. "Why do you keep doing that?" she asked, laughing lightly. She dropped the sunglasses back onto her nose. "I swear."
A larger-than-usual wave made a crisp landing on the shoreline, almost as if to emphasize her point, which was that Dane was an idiot for giving himself a freeze-headache every time he started in on a new margarita.
"I need some water," Dane said. He set the margarita on a small table they had dragged from their rental house, specifically for this purpose, and released it like he was placing the final touch on an elaborate house of cards, which made Emma smile. More than one margarita had gone the way of the dodo because the table could not be placed level to save their lives. Or their drinks.
He stood up carefully. "Maybe you missed something."
Emma stabbed the drink mirthlessly. "Doubt it."
Dane gave a glance to the right and left of them, down and up the expansive, white sand beach. Hawaiian shirts fluttered away from white, whaleish bellies balanced over pale, hairy legs, as far as the eye could see. Isla Caza, as far as their plans went, had so far been a little disappointing.
It's what you get, he thought, more amused at this point than anything, when you let yourself be sucked in by Airbnb “porn.”
"Get me one, too," Emma said, as he walked toward the bar.
There was, at least, nothing to complain about with regard to their rental, which was a luxury home they had obtained for a steal - $300 a night more than any other house on the beach, but it had its own pool and they admittedly felt pretty baller. You could have a decent stay in Isla Caza for $50 a night, but for $350 you could have a whole villa and an infinity pool.
It was an absolutely gorgeous vacation spot, if you were up to doing nothing more than lying on the beach, drinking margaritas, and relaxing.
Which, Dane and Emma had decided with resignation on their third day, was probably all they would get up to in Isla Caza, because the hunting was terrible. And it was too bad. This was the first time they were going to use a particular ploy, and the possibilities had excited them both.
There just weren't very many... good options. The bartender might have been game, but someone seemed to have informed him that trying to fuck vacationers' wives on their honeymoon was going to cost him his job. In a place where the average income probably hovered around $10K a year, it was unlikely that even Emma, and all her delights, would lure the bartender to risk his job, and the tips that came with it.
Dane bought two waters and returned to their spot on the beach. The shade of the palm tree had shifted, and he started to drag his lounge chair away.
"She's here," Emma commented.
Dane had already seen her. It was unfortunate she was a she, because a male version would have been nice to have around. "She" didn't have a male counterpart, either, which served to fuel Dane and Emma's curiosity. That, and the fact that there wasn't much else to be curious about.
When they both looked over at her - taking no pains to hide what they were doing - she was laying out her sarong. A sarong that, it seemed, was all she ever brought with her to the beach, other than a bottle of baby oil.
She was currently shaking her lengthy mane of blond-streaked hair as she reached behind herself to untie her bikini.
"She's going to do the oil," Emma teased Dane.
The mystery woman's skimpy black bikini had been freed from her torso, and her full, grapefruit-sized breasts, with an appealing natural teardrop shape and wide aureole the color of milk chocolate, were free. Emma brought another straw-full of margarita to her mouth as she watched, which Dane found arousing, because it didn't take much for his mind to connect Emma's lips closing around the straw, to Emma's lips closing around one of the erect, chocolate-chip nipples in the center of Mystery Woman's breasts.
The woman was, as expected, pouring clear baby oil on her arms, working a sheen all over her toasted almond skin.
The beach wasn't necessarily topless, but the woman had an attitude of not giving a shit. So far, no one seemed scandalized, except perhaps for the one-piece-clad wives of the white whales beneath the Hawaiian shirts, but if those ladies were glaring, they were doing it surreptitiously.
The woman sat, rubbed her breasts with both hands, and rolled down slowly, revealing incredible core strength. She shifted, her breasts jiggling alluringly, and then lay still. She would probably remain there for hours, before sitting up, making herself shiny again, and lying face down to even it out.
"I wonder what she's doing here," Dane said, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
Emma wriggled into her lounger again, sunglasses down. "Probably staying at a great house and wondering where all the people her age are. Like us." She sipped her margarita.
"You should go talk to her," Dane suggested.
Emma laughed, dismissively, which was a routine they had gotten into. Emma flirting with girls wasn't really their thing, and it wasn't even Dane's thing in some secret part of his mind. But he figured that, like him, almost every guy was at least open to the idea of seeing his wife slither around in baby oil with another hot woman.
Especially when his usual fantasy - the one Emma happily catered to - did not look like it would materialize any time soon.