<div style="text-align: justify"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“Kendell? Why are you—”</span><br/>
<br/>
Of all the things that could transpire today, what Yasmine least expected was Kendell’s presence in Max’s cabin, staggering her and welcoming her with what seemed like a tug down the rabbit hole. The sound of the locking door sealed her fate yet what fate that was remained a mystery to her. Guided towards Max’s bed, not an ounce of resistance was present in her bones as she perched on the edge of the divan. In its place was a nonchalance that was ill-fitting of a woman in her circumstances, though her usual grace and composure was infinitely more difficult to summon. The instinct to blather poorly-thought excuses and defenses like a cornered criminal was strong, and it took immense self-control not to let her dwindle to that state and incriminate herself further. She lifted her sunglasses to crown her head, revealing an amber gaze that fluctuated between her local lover and her businessman beau in an attempt to decipher the situation. None of these men were committed to her yet both of them knew her heart’s desire and each carved a home in her heart, homes that she would remember once she returned to the US and seated back at the firm.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“Ah,”</span> Yasmine sighed with a wistful curl of her bows when she removed her lollipop, testing the waters and temperaments of her paramours with an airy remark, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“my two favorite people in the Caribbean finally meeting. What a small world.”</span><br/>
<br/>
In truth, the lawyer should have anticipated the repercussions of toying with these men simultaneously. But the summer spell she was enthralled in blinded her from the consequences of such an act, compelling her to tread down roads less taken with caution thrown to the wind. She had no excuse aside from her avaricious spirit and the temptation of Max Borough and Kendell King. Fortunately, the cutthroat industry Yasmine was a part of granted her traits that would be beneficial to her in situations like this, one of which was lying through her teeth if need be. For that to happen, though, she needed to stall and gather the facts, approaching what was occurring as if though it was a high-profile case assigned to her. Her initial scrutiny of these men revealed a surprising lack of antagonism between them, only a sense of—dare she say—<i>camaraderie</i>. It was a curious revelation. Was she staring at an opportunity to make her wildest dreams come true? Or was something more sinister about to occur?<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“How long has this,” </span>Yasmine gestured towards the duo she ensnared in her amorous web and who now conspired behind her back, maintaining the semblance of normalcy afloat with conversational drivel, <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“<i>acquaintanceship</i> been going on? Kendell, did Max invite you for dinner?”</span><br/>
<br/>
The Persian femme stood and sauntered towards Max, trusting her gut instinct that if anyone could engineer this scheme it would be him. A palm lingered on his stomach, caressing the toned flesh atop the fabric that concealed it briefly before ascending to rub his chest, whilst she rose on her toes to align her lips along his ear for a stage-whisper. If she played her cards right, she just might find the answer to her prior question.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“Or did you invite Kendell to watch us fuck?”</span> Although her words were low, they dripped with honey-sweet seduction and confrontation, shattering the illusion that this gathering was anything but mundane. Yasmine was aware of Max’s urges as much as he knew hers, their pillow talks a two-way street, and she used it to her advantage before he used hers. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“I know you’d get rock hard for that, Max.”</span><br/>
<br/>
While Yasmine addressed her blond man, her whiskey irises were affixed on the ebony figure in her periphery, contemplating the reasons why he would go along with Max. She had mentioned her yearning to be filled by two men at once, to be shared even, with Kendell in hushed whispers and coy mirth while they shared fried plantains and rum punch on the quieter coast of St. Lucia. His motives could purely be as simple as <i>why the fuck not?</i> It undoubtedly fitted his blithe disposition. But, if Yasmine were to venture a guess, he was here to grant her lubricious wishes.<br/>
<br/>
<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“And you?”</span> Detaching herself from Max, the lawyer shifted her provocative attention to Kendell, the strawberry-flavored candy back in her jaw. She strode towards him with the gait of a woman under control of a situation that had previously thrown her off, a poise she only usually reserved in the courtroom. <i>Yasmine was on the prowl.</i> <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“I can only think of one reason why <i>you’re</i> here.”</span> The brunette grasped Kendell’s hand once she stepped into his personal space, maneuvering his palm to the column of her neck and letting his digits cradle her face like he so often did in the afterglow of their trysts. With theatrical emphasis, Yasmine freed the lollipop from her mouth and ghosted the slick rosy candy on Kendell’s midnight lips whilst she pitched her theory. <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#cc99ff">“You’re here to make my fantasies into a reality.”</span>​</div>