Key West Lacey Alexander (sad books to read .txt) 📖

to judge, so ladies, grab a banana and show us how many inches you can take.”

Every girl on the stage looked eager to perform, snatching up the sizable bananas and beginning to unpeel them. She watched, her attention as rapt as any guy in the crowd. She’d never seen anything like this before.

Several girls wrapped their lips sensually around their bananas, some going slowly down on it, working to get as much as possible into their mouths, others bobbing their heads, moving the pale fruit in and out between their lips. She heard guys in the audience whistling and calling out, “Oh yeah, baby.” Carrie crossed her legs on the stool, trying to blot out the pulse beating like a heartbeat between her thighs. From watching girls with bananas? It seemed insane. But there was something wholly carnal about it, something raw and dirty.

Things got even dirtier when two girls began sharing one banana, holding it between them, each licking up its side. When their tongues met at the tip of the banana, they engaged in a sensuous French kiss that brought wolfish calls from the crowd.

“Oh yeah, fellas, these girls like to share,” Scott’s voice boomed through the microphone.

Carrie took a long drink of her punch, glad she was facing the game, her back to Chris. She felt stupid to be so embarrassed, but she was unaccustomed to witnessing sex acts—even on a banana—in front of anyone. Hell, she was unaccustomed to witnessing them, period.

As the two girls continued to divide their attention between the banana and each other, another girl with large, round breasts which were nearly bared by her slinky snakeskin bikini top began to slide her peeled banana slowly up and down between the two lush mounds of flesh. Carrie’s own breasts ached for attention and she could scarcely believe it, but as she watched the act, she was almost tempted to reach up and rub them, squeeze her nipples through her top and bra, right there.

She didn’t, of course—she might be drunk, but she hadn’t lost her mind completely. Yet the ache only grew worse as the girl squeezed her breasts together, holding the banana in place without using her hands, even as she leaned over to take the top of it into her mouth and begin sucking.

God, it was like a river had just opened up in Carrie’s panties. She was so wet from watching the sensual banana contest that she almost worried she’d end up with a damp spot on the back of her skirt when she got up.

A few moments later when the girls had done about all they could do to the bananas, Scott held his hand over each girl’s head, letting the crowd cheer for their favorite.

“So who do you think should win?”

The deep voice came warm in her ear and when she turned her head, Chris’s face was only an inch from hers. One part of her wanted to be mortified that he would ask her such a question, while another part yearned desperately to just lean in and kiss him. Drunken reasoning allowed her to take a middle ground—although her answer felt more daring than anything she’d ever said. “Well, the girls who shared were hot, but I’d have to vote for the one who used her tits.”

God. Tits? Had she really just said tits? She never used that word. And yet it had just come out of her as naturally as if she said it every day.

Their faces still close, Chris flashed a sexy smile. “I like the way you think.” Then he gave his head a playful, doubting tilt. “But I’m beginning to suspect you were pulling my leg about being such an angel.” He glanced over her shoulder, down at her chest where the word was emblazoned, his gaze making her nipples draw tighter.

She lowered her chin, trying to hide her smile. “It’s the punch. I’m not usually into girls with bananas.”

He leaned closer, spoke lower. “What are you into?”

“Guys. With…uh…” she laughed, “well, not bananas.”

He chuckled, as well. And stayed close. He smelled of rum and musk. “What would you do if I said you’d just made me hard?”

Oh God, she wanted to kiss him. More than that. She wanted to press herself against him. She wanted to get on her knees and take him into her mouth.

I’d say show me.

But she wasn’t quite that drunk yet. The shy, angelic Carrie who had existed up until yesterday was still calling some of the shots here, and a veil of heat ascended her cheeks. She grinned. “I’d blush.”

“You’re damn pretty when you blush, angel.”

She was saved from replying when Scott’s voice blared through the microphone, calling a pretty girl in an ultra-skimpy bikini onto the stage. Carrie moved her gaze there, but her entire body stayed aware of Chris, so close to her. Hard for her. Mmm, wow.

On the stage, Scott explained the next game was the Party Barge’s version of Spin the Bottle. He brought out a carnival-type wheel, the pointer attached to it designed to look like a beer bottle. “Give it a spin, then pick someone from the crowd who fits the description.” Squinting, Carrie could see some of the designations the bottle might point to were “blond,” “tall,” and “wearing something red.” The scantily clad girl on the stage spun “dark hair” and wasted no time drawing a raven-haired guy onto the stage and pulling him into a long, passionate kiss using her tongue.

“Wanna play?” Chris’s raspy voice whispered in her ear.

The game, or with you? She turned a coy expression on him. “I’m beginning to think you tricked me onto this boat to see if you could make me misbehave.”

He grinned. “Misbehave. That’s an awfully nice word for it, angel, but no, it wasn’t a devious plan. Although now that I know you a little better, I’d be real interested if you decided to.”

She bit her lip. “Decided to do what exactly?”

He spoke each word as if it were a