Jamie Parker paused outside the get-acquainted lounge at Wicked Desires resort, the place to go when you wanted to be bad. She stared, not moving, as though facing the portal to Hell.

Come on, you can do this.

She hadn’t sweated it out at the gym for months, poured thousands into this trip, and flown from Seattle to Jamaica to chicken out now. Her fantasy awaited, as the online brochures gushed.

Those photos of grinning men and women seemed wonderfully exciting on her laptop.

Now that she was here, anxiety constricted her throat. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation, she gulped her frozen cocktail that a staff member had slapped into her hand minutes before, no doubt having sensed her panic. The drink—known as a lava flow—stalled in her chest. An ache like a muscle cramp sent a new wave of pain shooting to the center of her forehead.

Gawd. Gritting her teeth at the piercing ache, she pictured herself having a heart attack or stroke before enjoying one second here.

In this palace of hedonism, a guest wasn’t supposed to suffer but to indulge in reckless excess, whether it involved fucking, shopping, countless sports activities, theme-oriented wishes, or food, particularly chocolate. A regular Fantasy Island, just like the old TV program. She’d signed up for the chocolate-food package. In between mouthfuls of sweet or high-calorie delights, she hoped to have a little fun... talking and laughing with guys, hugging, kissing, possibly wild monkey sex.

Her legs wavered.

Growing up, she’d never been the pretty, petite, always-desired girl. Oh no. She was wholesome looking, at best possibly cute in a Katie Couric way, and definitely curvy. Ordinarily, she accepted herself for who she was. If guys didn’t like how she looked, big deal.

However, the more she stared at the perfect women in those online brochures...

In preparation for this debauched jaunt, she’d starved herself and exercised her butt and thighs until they were rock hard, so she could have fun like everyone else before her time ran out.

Several days from now, she’d turn thirty, and she already felt older than the universe. This coming week was a birthday gift to herself, and by god, she was going to enjoy this place if it killed her.

Licking pineapple juice from the corner of her mouth, she blinked at the guy who strolled up to the lounge entrance, naked as the day he’d been born. One of the few no-no’s at Wicked Desires. This lounge was for newbies, a designated prude section. The clothing-optional parts of the resort surrounded it.

She hadn’t yet decided whether to keep on her duds in those spots. Could be taking peeks of everyone else’s assets would have to be enough.

Naked Guy seemed unaware of his nudity as well as the resort rules as he casually perused the new guests, most in their twenties or thirties. White sand stuck to the backs of his thighs and ass, looking like granulated sugar. He wore leather sandals, a seamless tan, coconut-scented suntan oil, and a beginning erection, his cock blossoming from a nest of dark brown curls.

She suspected he’d spotted the young women in the lounge, their boobs and asses spilling out of their microscopic bikinis. His display of virility wasn’t to impress her. Given her floral crop top and sarong, she’d practically dressed like a nun.

Sucking more of her drink, she waited for his cock to go from a flaccid three inches to five or six tops. She had no idea what the rest of him looked like, unable to tear her attention away from his rod and balls, as if she’d never seen a set before.

Ha. She was an old hand at finding photos of naked men on Tumblr and other online sites. As far as perusing a guy’s equipment up close and personal... In the fifteen years she’d been dating, she’d gotten down and dirty with four men. She wasn’t a virgin.

“Sir.” A female staffer hurried to the guy, then smiled apologetically at Jamie as their eyes met.

Given the young woman’s crisp white shirt, walking shorts, knee socks, and Oxfords, she looked like a hospital attendant for lunatics in this part of the world.

“Our lounge requires you to be dressed,” the staffer said to him, very gently as if she didn’t want to bruise his ego.

Jamie peeked at his face. He appeared to be in his early twenties, cute in a Justin Bieber kind of way, and totally nonchalant about displaying his nudity.

Shrugging, he then scratched the pelt above his shaft. “I couldn’t find the concierge. Thought he might be in here.”

“He’s in the Wicked Wishes room. Please, follow me.”

The guy’s ass cheeks bounced like rubber balls as he trailed after the staff member.

Hauling in a deep breath, Jamie dragged herself into the lounge, her legs feeling as though concrete encased them, while her stomach continued to roll. So much for having a great time.

Loosen up, dammit. Mingle.

She downed more of her drink, then considered the best way to approach this get-acquainted time. Even though scores of men surrounded her at work, she’d never learned to flirt. The guys at her IT security job were as nerdy as she was, most of them openly hostile because she couldn’t pee standing up.

None of the men here looked particularly tech savvy, thank God. Getting laid seemed to be their thing. To the right, four guys surrounded three women, each already sharing hugs and prolonged kisses as sensuous music poured from the sound system. On the left, three men laughed loudly with a girl built better than a Playboy centerfold. In the corner, two young women kept their distance from the others, seeming to prefer their own company.

She reached inside her purse for her smartphone... that she’d foolishly left in her room. During her time here, she didn’t want any distractions.