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was somehow even more obscene than if she’d just taken them off altogether. Trent was fingering her, gently, adroitly. He pressed his middle finger deep into her pussy, then pulled out, slowly, slowly, his digit tracing her channel, lingering against her clit as his palm rested on her closely trimmed muff.
    A sultry moan as he contacted her clit, a sensuous gasp as he entered her again. It was almost hypnotic. I managed to tear away my gaze, looking up at them. Claire had her head back, eyes closed, her lips slightly parted as she made her sounds of pleasure. I looked at him. He gave me a cocky wink.
    “Stop it!” I exclaimed… or tried to. The words seemed to die someplace between my brain and my mouth. I reached out to push him away from her… but when I looked down my hands were firmly planted on my thighs. It felt like I was locked-in, trapped in my own body.
    “He’s watching,” I heard Trent say softly into my wife’s ear.
    She looked at me and smiled, so happy that I couldn’t help but mirror her expression, though I was still struggling to protest. She nodded and rose to her feet. As she stood, her panties fell to the ground, and she kicked them off into the sand. She turned and faced him, straddling his thighs. I looked down into his lap. He’d pulled down his shorts, his prick stood to attention, long and thick with a huge mushroom head.
    “No!” I tried to say again, but again the only sound was that of the crackling fire, the pounding surf.
    She bent her knees, lowering herself against him. He seized his shaft and rubbed the head of his cock against her slit. She moaned softly, then gasped as the tip of his prick entered her. She impaled herself on him, settling into his lap with a satisfied sigh. He grabbed her ass cheeks, his fingers digging into her flesh as she ground against him.
    Then she began to rise, little by little, his thick shaft now glistening from her juices. And then back down, swallowing his cock into her pussy. Over and over again, faster and faster. Their moans built rapidly, reminding me of the cadence of the drums during the fire dance earlier in the evening.
    I couldn’t believe what was happening. How could she do this to me? What was going on? I looked at the fire and followed a spark rising into the air. I looked up and saw the stars. They began to circle, faster and faster. I felt myself falling, falling, then felt the cool sand through my shirt, against my back.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    I woke up, shivering in the sand. Judging by the sun it was shortly after sunrise. The sky was bright and clear. My mind was fuzzy, my mouth painfully dry. I shook the sand out of my hair.
    I sat up, which made me feel a little better.
    Fuck, another one of those crazy dreams or visions or whatever. What the hell was wrong with me? God, Claire must be so pissed at me, passing out on the beach from too much weed. I wondered if I could find some flowers this early to give as an apology.
    I looked around. The fire pit had none of the magic of the previous night. The pile of burnt out logs looked forlorn, the cushions worn and stained. I glanced over at the palm where I’d seen Annabelle and the fire dancer. Had that happened? I wasn’t sure where my memories ended and my dreams began.
    And then I saw it. A small flash of white, barely visible, poking out of the bleached sand. I hooked my finger into the fabric and pulled it out. Claire’s panties. My knees felt weak. I sat back down. It had happened. All of it.
    I stared out at the sea. She’d been drunk. I remembered that. He’d taken advantage of her, the bastard. Is that why she’d left me there? Had she run away embarrassed once she realized what she’d done? Anxiety coursed through me. I hoped she hadn’t done anything crazy, hurt herself somehow.
    But then I remembered more details. She hadn’t been a passive, groggy victim. She’d been doing all the work. Riding him, slowly, expertly. She might have been drunk, but she wasn’t barely