Free What She Needs by Lacey Alexander

the one he sent you, thanking him for last night but telling him you’ve decided to stick to your original plan—the beach, the pool, the spa. No more sex with strangers, Brent or otherwise.
     
     
    Brent walked along the shoreline in the morning sun, berating himself. He ran the place—he should know the damn rules. And the biggest? Never fuck your own guest. Never . Guides just couldn’t. It threatened to fracture the whole system.
    And in all his years, he’d never broken that rule. Until now.
    Of course, it helped that until now, he’d never been guide to a female guest. One he was attracted to at that. And one whose need he’d felt in an almost tangible way. Somehow, over the course of dinner, he’d begun to feel responsible for fixing everything that was less than perfect inside her when it came to her sexual self.
    And he was pretty sure her sexual issues ran deeper than even her questionnaires implied. He strongly suspected she’d absorbed every bit of negative sexual reinforcement more profoundly than some people might, just because that’s the kind of person she was; she felt things intensely.
    Not that seducing her had been part of his grand plan. Turned out it worked well enough in convincing her to go through with the fantasies, but nothing had pulled him up out of his chair and over to that railing other than pure desire. The entire time he’d sat across from her, he’d been admiring the way her dress hugged her breasts, the lush inner curves on display, her nipples jutting provocatively against the fabric. He’d found her blue eyes bright, pretty, expressive—and her lips had looked downright kissable. Not that he’d actually gotten around to that, kissing her—he’d been too busy touching her, persuading her, fucking her. He got a little hard again now, just remembering.
    And now he’d agreed to take part in her fantasies. Shit.
    Unfortunately, he really cared about giving the girl what she needed. And since she’d come here under false pretenses, not even knowing she needed anything . . . well, that still complicated things immensely. That was why, despite all these rules he was breaking and should probably quit breaking, he’d sent her that little breakfast greeting. Checking his watch, he suspected she’d gotten it a few minutes ago.
    How was she reacting? Was he winning her over, convincing her not to go back on the agreement? Or was she packing her bags and heading toward the airstrip at this very moment?
    And why the hell did he care so damn much?
    God knew he’d fucked a lot of women here, taken part in a lot of fantasies. It was almost all he knew. His whole adult life had been spent helping people find sexual fulfillment, and through that, finding his own—along with professional fulfillment as well.
    He’d never set out to be a sex expert, as Jenna had called him last night. No, he’d set out to be a garden-variety psychologist. But somewhere during his last year of undergrad, he’d realized his goals weren’t focused enough. He’d been unsure whom he even wanted to help—mainly just fascinated by learning about the human mind, behavior, and how it all worked together.
    And then, as graduation approached, he’d lost what little focus he’d had to begin with. That’s when another psych major, his buddy Chris, had told him he knew where they could both get what he’d called “a dream job.” Brent had soon become a facilitator at the Hotel Erotique, which was what they called the employees who weren’t qualified to be guides but took part in the fantasies. Some facilitators actually had acting aspirations and enjoyed that facet of it, but all were required to have some sort of background or education in psychology and were carefully screened to ensure they possessed healthy, mature attitudes about sex. At the time, it had been a good distraction from some recent pain—and he’d discovered that finding people who shared viewpoints on sex similar to his had felt kind