Paradise Found (BBW Erotic Forbidden Affairs) Read online

  “We’ve been together for twenty years, but we are not married.”

  Karen smiled thinking about the kind of commitment that stayed together without paper. The bonfire roared and sent embers drifting into the warm dark air. A wine bottle was passed around. Bruno was on his third. She raised her fifth cup to him and winked.

  Something shifted then. A quiet hush spread across the group. Two German women started making out, hard and fierce. Another woman knelt beside them, stroking their backs. Karen blinked and found a fourth set of hands belonging to one of the Italian men caressing their breasts.

  She eyed Bruno. He raised his eyebrows but returned his gaze to the foursome sprawled out in a mass of hands and nakedness on the sand.

  “We are starting early tonight,” she heard Sven say.

  Moaning and gasping enveloped the darkness, the areas beyond the fire’s reach. Karen turned her head away from the show and found Helga smiling at her. Slowly, as if watching for Karen’s approval, Helga leaned in. Karen had never kissed a girl before. The touch of small soft lips upon hers made her body zing.

  She met Bruno’s eyes, and in that moment, the friendly invitation was understood: Sven had invited them to an orgy on the beach.

  Karen kissed Helga back, sliding her tongue into her waiting mouth. She felt a small hand caress her breasts and pinch her hardened nipples.

  The flames of the bonfire licked the sky as a hand slipped over her panties. Karen softly hissed at its touch, and found Sven’s hand stretching the elastic to gain access to her crotch. Karen sunk low into the chair and spread her leg. Helga reached up and kissed Sven deeply on the mouth, while Karen caressed her pert tans breasts. The way Helga’s flesh felt in her hands was maddening. She wanted more.

  Helga planted her mouth around Karen’s nipple, flicking, and sucking, and biting it, and sending her into a new realm of passion. Sven massaged her slit before his hungry fingers found her most sensitive spot and smacked it, sharp and fast. She had seen movies of women reaching orgasm in this manner. She felt her own pleasure build, but something was holding her back.

  Bruno. Where was he? Sven’s body blocked her view of him. She wanted to see him, wanted to know if he was traveling the same road as she, exploring and awakening.

  Karen moved Sven with her leg. He laughed. “Ah, you want him to watch you? Good, girl,” he cooed.

  The woman Bruno had been talking politics with was on her knees. She massaged his crotch over his pants. Karen felt Bruno’s eyes on her as fingers plunged deep inside of her, and lips lapped at her nipples. As she felt herself loosening her hold, her mind returned to Bruno. She she searched him out and found him through the flames. His shorts were at his ankles as the woman feverishly stroked his cock.

  Karen felt something twist inside of her. She removed her hand from Helga’s crotch and watched Bruno. The woman working on his cock had invited another woman into their tryst, a petite blonde, much younger and smaller than herself. The Australian, she thought. His gaze locked with hers, and suddenly she no longer wanted to be there.

  Helga, sensing Karen’s disinterest, turned to new willing partners, three women groping each other in the sand. Karen watched as they slid their fingers deep into each other, but her eyes kept returning to Bruno. She could not stop watching his face relax as his cock was sucked hard.

  Sven stood in front of her then, blocking her view. He held his cock in his hand, inviting her to take him in, but her mind began to betray her body. Sven stroked himself, moaning. She peered around him and found Bruno gone. Her heart seized. Had he taken to the sand with World Bank and Australia? Was he inside one of them right now? Was his tongue torturing their pussies? She covered her face, trying to wipe the images from her mind. “I can’t, Sven.”

  Sven reached out and put a hand to her face. “It’s OK. Go only as far as your comfort will allow,” he said. “We call it the line.”

  She smiled. “I’m at my line, Sven.” She kissed his hand. “Thank you for this.”

  He ran his thumb across her lips before following the moans into the darkness.

  She searched the throngs of naked bodies in the sand for Bruno. She circled the bonfire, but convinced herself he had gone into the sea with someone else.

  A hand slipped around her waist. Her breath caught. Bruno. “Do you want to be here?” he whispered in her ear.

  “No,” she said as tears welled in her eyes. “I want to be with you.”

  He slipped his shirt over his head and covered her with it. They stepped over entangled bodies in the sand, and with hands clutched, jogged away toward their bungalow; the groans and throaty cries muffling behind them.

  Seven

  As they rounded the jetty toward their bungalow, Karen slipped in the deep sand. Bruno scooped her up and carried her to their door, her face buried in his neck, and tears streaming down her cheeks. When they reached the bungalow, he released her. Her feet touched the sea-shelled path, but she was not on solid earth; she was floating out of her own skin.

  Inside their room, Bruno hugged her and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Shhh,” he said and leaned in and kissed her. He kissed her with passion that quickly turned primal. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her confusion quickly fell away, and she returned his kiss with the same heat, the same raw want. He wrapped her legs around his waist and cupped her buttocks. His wine-laced breath coursed over her skin, sending chills over every inch. Her arousal soared. Hands flailing, groping, clenching, a tangled mess of hot need, Bruno pushed Karen up against the wall. Trembling and frantic, she grabbed at his pants. He smacked her hands away, and undid them himself, and his shorts slipped to the floor. She held onto to his back and braced for contact. Her lips shook as he pressed his mouth to her puckered nipples. She couldn’t speak even if there were words to express her bestial lust for him. She felt the head of his cock between her legs. There was no smooth hesitation, no gentle prying open of her slit. He pommeled into her with a force felt all through her body.

  Karen squeezed his shoulders until her knuckles whitened. She hissed as he took her hands and pinned them to the wall, her thigh muscles aching as she held herself to him, feeling every jab of his cock deep inside her. This Bruno was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Forceful and crazed with lust, he rammed her with such a force that her back slapped hard against the wall. Pain shot through her.

  “Bruno,” she croaked, but she could barely hear herself over his grunts. This savage version of him was lost to her. His fingers dug into her flesh. She winced. His pace quickened, slamming her faster against the seashell wallpaper.

  In her mind she crossed an invisible barrier, one where her body stopped trying to keep something at bay.

  “Bruno,” she growled.

  He removed his face from the nape of her neck. She clawed at his mouth and dug her nails into his back. He hissed, and bit her arm until she let go.

  Her hands found purchase in his beautiful dark curls. She twisted and pulled as he pounded her until her sex juices ran like a warm stream down her legs.

  “Yes,” she screamed. “Don’t stop. I’m coming.” She buried her head in his chest as an orgasm quaked her body. She trembled and convulsed and went limp in his arms.

  He watched her face and a proud smile creased his lips. With his cock deep inside of her, he backed away from the wall and fell onto the bed. With control now hers, she eased on his thick cock, sliding up and down, faster and faster. Sweat covered her skin as he cupped her breasts and tugged on her nipples until she whimpered. Grinding on him, she smacked his hands away, and he grinned in a way that looked like a warning of dirty things that lay in store.

  He sat up then, and rolled her onto her back. In one swift and forceful move, he swung her legs over his shoulders and glided smoothly into her dripping wet hole.

  His eyes burned into hers as his hips pistoned, Herculean and controlled, into her burning snatch. He hammered relentlessly, slamming into her as she bucked her pelvis, meeting him with
perfect rhythm.

  They panted together, heaving and gasping and grunting. She felt his beaded sweat trickle into hers. There was not enough air between them to breathe. His face tensed. He was on the edge.

  “Come for me, baby,” she whispered.

  The veins in his neck swelled as he pulled out of her and jerked his cock. Hot come spilled onto her stomach. He milked himself until his breath slowed and his hand stilled. He melted against her and she welcomed him in a perfect sweaty embrace.

  “I love you, Karen,” he said with his face buried in her hair.

  She stroked his back, smoothing her hands over his skin. “I love you more, Bruno.”

  He rolled over and pulled her on to his chest. They listened to the ocean crash into the shore. The tide was coming in, and with it all the things left to say to each other.

  “Before Marianna found out she was pregnant, I was going to leave her,” he said.

  Marianna’s name stabbed her gut and invaded her bliss. She ran her fingers through his chest hair, twirling it into soft peaks, and listened to him.

  “When Isabella was born, I knew I couldn’t leave. She made up for what wasn’t between Marianna and I. Then, I met you. I saw the same loneliness that I feel everyday in you.”

  A small tear pooled in her eye and slipped down her cheek. He reached over and wiped it away.

  “You asked why I went to Portugal?” He lifted her chin so that her eyes met his.

  She nodded. “You said you went to speak to your priest.”

  “I went to Portugal to speak to my brother, the priest. I asked him why adultery was a sin when two people are connected by love.”

  “And how did he answer? As a priest, or as a brother?”

  He cradled her face in his hand and kissed her softly. “As a brother,” he whispered.

  She clutched him, driven by a need to envelope him and not ever let him go. “What are we going to do? Jack will never divorce me. He’ll never let me take the kids and leave.”

  Jagged choked tears exploded out of her. He caressed her hair and kissed her forehead, soothing them away away.

  “Do you want to be with me?” he asked.

  “Yes, only you. Always.”

  “Then we’ll figure it out.”

  Bruno had made the past year bearable and the thought of having many more with him burned inside of her. With his arms encircling her, sleep captured her and she drifted off to find him in her dreams.

  Eight

  On the plane home to Bangkok, they sat together. Tanned, relaxed, and unashamed, they were like honeymooners returning from paradise found. Bruno held her hand. They whispered and chatted and giggled like children and stole kisses behind the in-flight magazine.

  The skinny Thai flight attendants didn’t bother her anymore. She had never felt like this, not even in her youth. This felt like the first time for everything.

  “You are going to love Portugal,” he said. “The food. There isn’t anything quite like it.”

  Karen felt a weight press upon her. “Are you asking me to move to Portugal with you?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Her breath grew shallow and her stomach twisted. She turned away and faced the window. The clouds and sky and Bruno sitting next to her were all perfect, but she knew following him to Portugal would be a mistake.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “Bruno—” she began.

  “What is it?” He squeezed her hand and threw an arm around her, hugging her close.

  “Bruno, I followed Jack around the world for fifteen years. I can’t follow you. I’m sorry.”

  He held her tight and kissed her forehead tenderly. “It’s OK. We’ll go to the States.”

  Karen considered this. America was her passport country, but it was no longer her home.

  “Or, we could pick a place, somewhere in the middle. How’s that?” he said.

  She smiled, liking the idea: a fresh start in a new country. Stranger things have happened. He opened the in flight magazine and flipped to the service map spread. Closing his eyes, he stabbed the pages with his finger. “We shall live here!” he said.

  She leaned over and inspected his find. She couldn’t help but laugh. “Phuket?”

  “I think we already know it intimately.”

  “Very.” She giggled into the nape of his neck.

  This was really happening. Freeing herself of Jack and finding the love and comfort she had desperately craved for so long. She didn’t care what kind of fight Jack would put up. Part of her knew he wouldn’t want the scandal. Part of her wished she had the courage to do it years ago. Her only worries lie with her children, and his daughter. Could two people stay married when only the love of their children unites them? She had tricked herself into believing it could for too long. Her kids had suffered with her silence, in her detachment from love.

  “I will speak to Jack tomorrow,” she said.

  “I will speak to Marianna tonight.”

  His words clung to her all through their landing and deplaning. Tonight. At baggage claim, they stole kisses and caresses. It didn’t matter if anyone saw them, it didn’t matter because tonight everything changes.

  Outside, they filed into the taxi line. He waited for her to get settled into hers before climbing into the one behind. When she no longer saw the outline of his body in the backseat, a tear escaped her eye. She wiped it away and tasted the salt on her fingers. In that moment, she remembered him, every wonderful inch of him. She saw his face. She felt his hands. She smelled his musky scent. She heard his beating heart. She let these memories of him swirl in her mind. “We’ll figure it all out,” she said to herself.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Bruno.

  Lick, it said.

  Suck, she replied.

  The End… For Now

  ***

  Thanks so much for reading Paradise Found. Please sign up for my mailing list so I can thank you right back by sending you a FREE STORY. Come on, you know you want to!

  About the Author

  L.E. Joyce is the real deal. At age six, she became the youngest student to get kicked out of her prestigious private school in New England for writing dirty stories in her little blue spelling book. Not only did she use each of the words assigned that week and spell them correctly, she also managed to give three of her teachers starring roles in several of her tales. As a result, she kept her stories a dirty secret until after graduate school where she earned an MFA in Creative Writing, and the right to write about whatever the hell she wants. Today, she divides her time (although somewhat unequally depending on the day) between her family, her writing, and her secret life as a dominatrix.

  Other Works by L.E. Joyce

  Love & Chrome

  At eighteen, Aubrey Watts ran from her small town of Las Verdes, Arizona, leaving behind the boy she loved, and the wild life of the Verde Demons Motorcycle Club. Seven years later, she returns to say goodbye to her dying father, and finds the boy she once loved now a very powerful man.

  Hot Ink…Coming Soon!

  When troubled tattoo artist, Walsh Jackson, finds himself the prime suspect in his ex-wife’s and shop rival Bob Grim’s gruesome double murder, he sets out to clear his own name. He follows a trail of dead tattoo artists into the underbelly of the Hungarian mafia. They want one thing: The exact location he found the vial of ink he wears around his neck. They tell Walsh that tattoo artists will continue to die if he doesn't take them to the source. But Walsh can't take them, he can't tell them anything about the vial. Whatever its source, he knows one thing for certain: the vial of ink comes from the part of his life he can't remember. Alone and out of options, he turns to FBI Special Agent Bridget Ash, lead investigator of the tattoo parlor deaths, and a hot one-night stand he was hoping to run into again. Blonde, long-legged, and aloof, Walsh can't keep his mind off her, but something gnaws at him, telling him she may not be what she seems.

  Bonus Excerpt from Hot Ink by L.E. Joyce


  If Walsh Jackson hadn’t walked into Zeek’s Bar and started a fight with Bob Grim, he would have missed the girl in the pencil skirt and stiletto heels standing outside his tattoo shop.

  He hadn’t wanted to hit Grim. It wasn’t his fault that Walsh’s wife was now Grim’s; Walsh had fucked that up all on his own. But salt gets thrown on old wounds when there’s whisky involved, or so it goes when Walsh and Grim throw down in the same bar. Grim threw the first punch. Walsh threw the last, and his hand now needed the fifth of Jack he kept in his shop office just for emergencies like these. Even though he had already sobered up, getting drunk all over again was just what he needed. There would be no going home to an empty house and a cold bed tonight. Walsh didn’t want to remember that Grim had everything that used to be his–a kickass house and a gorgeous wife who loved him.

  As Walsh rounded the corner to his shop, INK, he saw her–slim, long legged and blonde–the trifecta of his tastes. She wore a blue skirt suit and a thin white blouse untucked and lightly fluttering in the heavy Miami summer air. She looked end-of-the-day disheveled, but in an intensely classic way. Looking at her Walsh knew one thing for certain: it was too late for a girl like that to be outside in a neighborhood like this. Nobody was safe after dark in Richmond Heights.

  Walsh approached slowly. He didn’t want to startle her, yet something told him that this girl wouldn’t scare easily. As he drew near, he saw on her face a frayed sadness as if she was fighting hard to keep something at bay. Her eyes burned onto a sketch in the front window, one of his own–The Blue Woman–as Walsh affectionately named it. The girl in the suit stared at the sketch in the same inquisitive manner as he often did himself.