"No."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Guilt, perhaps?"

She swallowed, shifted, knew Mark was being candid, wished he was lying, wanted to hate him.

She asked, "And this is his fiancee?"

"This is the one he's in love with."

"You wouldn't sleep with the woman he loved."

"No."

"That's where you and your brother are different."

"Yes."

She listened to them, their moans slipping through the doors that separated their suites, moans that went on into the night, a moment of peace, then restarting almost as soon as they ended.

Karl was emotionally available to Kenya. He'd only give his soul to Kenya.

Jewell drank another Red Stripe, tried to numb the torture, her world becoming lighter. Done with one beer she immediately took another. Soon she was on her third Red Stripe. The world no longer real to her.

Sipping her lager and distorting what was left of her reality. Sipping and lying in the bed with Mark. Her legs bouncing as he held her from behind. Her eyes were to the wall. Staring. Looking deep into the wall. The sound of Kenya and Karl having sex was too much for her inebriated ears to bear.

It was too strong. The sounds were creating mental images that caused her to sit up and glower at the wall. Her agony so strong that she finished the lager and took to Mark. Pulled him on top of her.

In a weak accent she whispered, "Part mi walls. Give mi a proper fix."

"You're full-blooded Jamaican now."

"Mi always Jamaican, mon."

"What do you want, Jewell?"

"Agony. Mi wan de agony."

She took Mark inside her body but her mind was wanting Karl to fill that heated space with love and lust. Karl was inside her heart, inside her head. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend Mark was Karl. Mark was wicked with her, intense and envious, delivered orgasm with the aplomb of a veteran.

In the adjoining room Karl was doing the same with Kenya, their sounds now peppered with profanity and vulgarities, the kind that came when the loving was good beyond reason. Kenya. A moaner. A woman who released herself and let the world know plea sure had taken over. It sounded like they were making a pornographic movie in the next room. It sounded powerful and inexhaustible.

Mark told Jewell how beautiful she was. In the Jamaican humidity, he kissed her sweaty face, told her she was special. Said he loved the way they fit together. Said it was perfect. The way he touched her face, rubbed her, tasted her arousal, licked her arousal, the way he had given her his arousal as he savored hers, all of those new things had her feeling that this was love, that only a man who loved her would do all of those wonderful things to her mind and body, only love felt that way.

She took to Mark, allowed Mark deeper inside her, wanted him to erase the desire.

Jewell released herself, let her arousal be heard from Montego Bay to Port Antonio.

She was determined to be the last one to moan.

She would be heard last. She would be heard by Karl. She would deafen his ears.

Her voice would outlast Kenya's.

After the next sunrise they had breakfast and walked the beach, Kenya and Karl strolling hand-in-hand leading the way, creating a path in the burning sand, footprints Jewell was forced to follow in silence. Jewell's eyes were longing for the waves to erode Kenya's footprint from her life.

Many thoughts and feelings went through her mind and body, her emotions on fire as she watched the man she longed for walk the streets hand-in-hand with someone else, her eyes on him, watching him, studying him, darting away to hide shame and guilt whenever she felt Kenya noticing her lingering gaze.

No matter how many orgasms Mark gave her, Karl commoved her.

Small talk with Kenya became difficult. She wanted to dissect Kenya. Pick her apart, determine what made her special. Kenya had nothing else to say, was more interested in Karl than conversation.

And Karl, the way he took his Nikon and photographed Kenya over and over, she was all he was interested in. He photographed every little thing Kenya did, worshipped her with his camera.

Kenya. Her breasts were a strong A cup, not a bad size for her frame, didn't distract from her small waist and ass, but still she had enough cleavage to put on display, revealing their brownness.

Jewell looked at her own fair complexion, at her breasts; breasts that were unable to compete.

She took Mark's hand. Mark held her hand tight.

She moved Mark's hand to her backside, had him hold Mother Jamaica as they walked.

That part of her was born in the islands. That part of her all men praised.

The part of her that, in her mind, owned the least value, yet opened many doors for her.

Again Karl and Kenya vanished.

Hours went by.

Hours that had left her jittery, watching the clock, waiting, imagining.

When Karl and Kenya returned, Karl no longer looked like Mark's identical twin. Karl had returned with Kenya's image tattooed into his flesh, the image of Kenya with the wings of an angel.

Karl had given her attention, made her feel like a woman, then abandoned her.

Left her feeling as if her only value rested in her yoni. Inside her vagina. He only wanted her pussy; liquor and conversation was the road to seduction, his route to it being giving willingly.

The moment Kenya stepped away, the moment Karl was alone, Jewell confronted him.

With an angered smile she asked, "Why are you doing this in my face?"

"Doing what in your face?"

"Kenya. Why are you messing with her in my face?"

"I'm not obligated to you."

"So what we did, what you did to me, that meant nothing to you?"

"Don't trip."

"Don't trip?"

"Calm down."

"I'm going to tell her about me and Mark."

"Calm down."

"Let my wrist go."

"Not until you calm the fuck down."

"I'm going to tell her about me and you."

"No, you're not."

"I'm going to tell her about all of us. She deserves to know."

"Don't be selfish."

"Aren't we all selfish in some ways, at some time?"

"Then don't be a fucking bitch and start some shit when shit doesn't need to be started."

Karl talked to her without sugarcoating, spoke to her with the same arrogance he spoke to other men, which was the same way he spoke to most women. All but Kenya. He spoke to Kenya with that tone of love and subservience. He would kiss Kenya in front of her, kissed many women in front of her, but never kissed or touched another woman in front of Kenya. He would rub on Kenya in front of her, damn near fuck Kenya in front of her, but when it came to that level of intimacy, before he crossed the line, he always took Kenya away, had her to himself, as if she was the prize of all prizes.

With Kenya it was as if Karl was trying to be who she needed him to be.

With Jewell, Karl didn't hide anything. He put everything on the table.

With Kenya, Karl tried to maintain the image of being the perfect man.

Karl said, "Yes, I enjoy you and I enjoy other women."

Enjoy. His word of choice had been enjoy.

Like he had said I enjoy Chinese food but I also enjoy Italian. I enjoy riding in a Mercedes-Benz but I enjoy handling a MINI Cooper as well. He had enjoyed her and now he was enjoying Kenya. He enjoyed pussy that originated in Jamaica, but he also enjoyed pussy that originated in Africa.

He touched Jewell's face. She was angry, but didn't pull away.

He said, "Keep this between us."

"No."

Karl kissed her. His kiss better than oysters and champagne. His kiss was like chocolate and cognac. His kiss created an earthy high and was as addictive as Lady Godiva.

He whispered, "Don't trip."

The kiss left her disoriented, confused. She asked, "Will we be together again?"

"Not if you tell Kenya."

"So we will be together again?"

He repeated, "Not if you tell Kenya."

He kissed her again, gave her his tongue.

She melted.

In that moment Jewell envisioned her breasts in his pillow, her ass hiked in the air for him. She envisioned his kisses on her skin. She envisioned a victorious return to paradise.

With her. With Karl. With Mark.

She envisioned abnormal desires once again coming to life.

He told her an old Barbadian proverb, whispered, "What she eye no see, her stomach will take."

He was telling her that what Kenya didn't know couldn't hurt her.

When she had calmed down, he touched her with kindness and whispered, his voice filled with caring, filled with unselfish love as he added, "And Mark loves you. Please don't hurt my brother."

"Don't hurt your brother."

"Home drums beat first."

"What are you saying?"

"I have to think about family before I think about myself. You should do the same."

He was asking her, pleading with her to be kind, for Kenya's sake, for Mark's sake, begged her to not be selfish, to not cause pain and destruction, to allow everyone to enjoy living in paradise.

He wanted to elongate the lie they were living, stretch it from here to eternity.

She nodded.

Karl headed back to Kenya.

She went back to Mark.

That dizzying kiss on her lips. That patronizing kiss of hope making her tingle.

But still. You couldn't ask a mongoose to watch a chicken. The temptation was too strong.

She stared at Karl, the wonderful way he treated Kenya, the kissing and touching, the flirting that never ended, saw him treating Kenya how she wanted him to treat her, heard him making love to her and wishing those moans were her moans, and in the middle of the night, as Karl fucked Kenya, as Jewell made love to Mark at the same moment, her moans competing with Kenya's moans, as she held Mark and felt him swelling inside her, as she heard Mark telling her how much he loved her, as she didn't respond to his adoration with reciprocation, as Mark started to moan and come, Jewell couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand the sounds of Kenya's orgasmic moans, couldn't stand the thought of Karl touching Kenya like that and refusing her in this moment, and she pushed Mark away from her, left Mark sweating and writhing and moaning and spilling his love for her on rented sheets, and she struggled to find her balance, wiped sweat from her eyes and staggered through Kenya's moans, her body naked, defenseless against Kenya's maddening sounds, and Jewell pushed each scream of plea sure to the side, moved through them as if she was fighting through ocean waves, the tides high and strong, fought her way against the undertow of Kenya's rising plea sure, and pushed open the door to the other bedroom, saw Kenya on top of Karl, her head thrown back, eyes tight, mouth in the shape of the letter O, bouncing up and down on Karl, Karl holding her waist, his orgasmic grunts blending with her moans, adding fury to fury, creating the perfect storm, the moans now too thick to swim through, moans that were not only torrent but owned the viscosity of quicksand, moans that were pulling her under in her struggle to regain freedom.