Redemption Island (Island Duet Book 1) Page 4
This was all her fault.
The thought brought me up short. Was it really her fault? Had she put me in that cell? Had she forced me to lay on top of her? Had she handed me the drink I took from Rick that night? My questions didn’t need an answer and didn’t receive one, as the sharp rip of the tent zipper jerked me to the present. The flap was forced back, and she stood before me. I had only a moment to make out her silhouette. In her hand, she held a flashlight, and I pondered the amenity. Intrigue over a flashlight didn’t last long as she straddled my outstretched legs and slapped me hard with the flat of her hand. The sharp crack stung, and my cheek vibrated.
“What the fuck?” I hissed, prepared to grip her wrists, proactive against another attack, when the flashlight went dark, tumbling to the ground and submerging us both in deep black. A second hand came to my face. Not gentle, but not a slap. Rough fingers cupped my jaw and a thumb traveled my cheek before latching onto my lips. In an instant, her mouth was on mine, hard and fast—not a kiss but an assault, that was clumsy and hesitant, yet determined. Her core rested over a slowly growing length, rutting back and forth over my zipper. She pulled back to nip at my lips. She moved downward to bite my jaw. She pulled back as shaky fingers skittered down my bare chest and fumbled for the waist of my shorts.
“What the hell?” I snapped, unable to see her, but feeling her thighs on either side of mine. My hands reached out and found bare legs. Pressing upward over warm skin, the edge of a long shirt tickled the backs of my hands. Her hips rocked aggressively over me, and my body betrayed all sense. This girl was going to kill me any second, and I was going to die with a hard-on.
Her fingers dug into the waist of my shorts, tugging back on the heavy cargo material before the subtle popping sound gave testament to a button released. She scooted back only enough to pull at the sides of my shorts, and I sprang forth into air heavy with heat and the scent of arousal surrounding me.
“What are you doing, Little Mouse?” My voice rumbled, low and rushed.
“I am not a mouse,” she snapped, gripping my dick with a hot palm and tugging aggressively. The pleasure was painful. My little mouse was rough. One hand wrapped over hers, the other clasped her hip and flipped her so I was over her. My hips rocked forward, guiding her hand with mine to slow the pace as she stroked me into a thick, stiff rod.
“No,” she hissed, rough fingers squeezing my hard length. She freed her other hand and pressed back on my chest, intimating she wanted control. I didn’t release her hand that was rapidly jerking over me, but I dug my knee into the mattress and flipped us back over so she could straddle me once more.
“What do you want, Little Mouse?” I chuckled humorlessly. Thoughts of her suddenly stabbing me did not deter me from forcing her to tug my dick. Her tiny fingers encapsulated in mine, working over sensitive skin and a hard shaft was my only focus. Without words, she rocked back and stood my erection upward. The heat of her core balanced on my tip before she forced her body downward, enveloping me inside her wet warmth.
“Ah,” we grunted in unison. Whether the response was the sharp pain of my entrance or the pleasure of filling her to the hilt made no difference to the sensation curling over my toes and down my spine. It’d been months since I entered a woman, and my eyes rolled back at the euphoria. She drew to the tip once again and impaled herself on my hard length, grunting and rutting out of control, animalistic in spite of her tiny frame. A little mouse gyrating over me, nibbling at my essence as she swallowed me intimately inside her, clenching, clutching, squeezing.
“Jesus, fuck.” My fingers dug into her hips, holding her against me as she rode up and down. Her nails crawled down my chest, raking divots into the freshly sun-kissed skin. In the darkness, my eyes adjusted, and I was able to make out the shape of her head, tipped back in ecstasy.
“Do you like this, Mouse?” One hand came for my face again, but I caught her wrist. Tugging her outstretched palm to my lips, I kissed the inside of her flattened hand. “I like this,” I hissed as she worked frantically over my length, ripping from me an orgasm that raced from my lower back and burst forth into her. I clutched her hips, forcing her to hold still as I pulsed into her. Her hips struggled to rock, and I realized she was close but not there yet. She wanted control but I wanted her pleasure.
I slipped my palm over her flat belly and stretched my thumb to find that sensitive nub I thought might set her off. Circling the pad over the tender folds, she screamed. Her fingers dug into my sides, pinching my skin as her head rolled forward. Her hair draped down and tickled my chest. The only sound was the echo of our breaths, ragged and rapid in the heat of a tent filled with the rich aroma of sex.
Slowly, her hands released me to lay flat on my stomach. She pushed back her hair and I felt the weight of her eyes on me, despite the darkness. I could only feel her features, not see them. I wanted to read her face but it was shielded from my vision. Our chests still rose and fell in unison, the excursion settling slowly. My eyes closed with exhaustion, but a smile crossed my face. Languid and drained, I sighed as I slipped out of her, semi-hard, but needing a moment before I could take her again. My hands slid down her bare thighs and brushed her knees on either side of my hips.
“Mouse,” I whispered before I fell into the deepest sleep I’ve had in months.
8
Day 20 - Juliet
The sound of water falling flowed behind me as I soaked in the pond. Nature’s lullaby surrounded me with the chorus of birds and the rustle of a breeze. Lillian had warned me the fresh water would be cold, but emptying my mind would change the temperature.
“Become one with nature. Free yourself,” she told me after she first brought me to the island. “The power to change lies within you.”
On her most recent visit, she mentioned that I’d lost weight. She looked concerned, but I assured her I was fine. I wasn’t giving up on the experiment. I wasn’t ready to return home. I had more to learn about the island and myself. I don’t know why, but I didn’t mention my island neighbor.
Have you experienced anything unusual on the island?
I should have told her, so when she appeared one visit and I was dead, she’d know who’d done it. Cupping water in my hands, I poured it over my head, hoping to rid my thoughts of him. He had stared at me with venom in those eyes. I’d had the strength to kill once before, but I lost my willpower the night I hoped to take him. Kill me. His tone reeked with a hint of desire for the deed to be done. Something in his stance expressed his hope to be finished. But finished from what?
I suspected a boat came for him, and I was surprised he hadn’t left. Maybe he was in the same social experiment as me, but I doubted he’d volunteered. I knew of him only from the club. Some billionaire playboy—Daddy’s protégé—entitlement and money. Things I didn’t care one lick about in the grand scheme of life, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from him then. I only wanted a fresh start for myself and had every intention of fulfilling that goal until that night.
I closed my eyes as I settled into the cool liquid. I would not think of such things as that night, Rick Fontaine, or Tack Corbin. While his eyes haunted me behind my lids, I emptied my mind of all other things related to him. I would not think of his firm thighs. I refused to give into the pressure of his hands that lingered on my hips. I rejected the hungry taste of his lips.
My body eased into the watery haven as I inhaled deeply and released slowly. Letting my arms drift caused subtle ripples and I willed the tension of my body to dissipate. My arms floated before falling to dead weights and coming to rest next to my sides. I sat on a natural ledge within the pond and my legs flexed before unknotting the tension in them. I became one with my surroundings and aware of my breathing.
Not certain how long I stayed in this state, my mind flipped through memories like a picture book. Each negative thought turned over like an unread page. A snapshot of my parent’s two caskets. An image of the sinister smile on my uncle’s face. A photograph of Rick’s body drainin
g of blood. A video of me withering from the intrusion of his body. I did not wish to review my life. I just wanted to sit. I longed for peace.
I might have dozed. And then I felt a presence—the weight of being watched. My lids lazily opened, revealing my predator on the rocky cliff above me. He stood as he had the first time I saw him, but this time I did not scream. The coldness of the water rushed over me as the connection with nature was broken, but I did not flinch in the chilly pond.
The power rests in me, I told myself.
He didn’t speak, only stared, our eyes connecting over the valley of space. The rush of water from the fall behind me softened, slowly slipping away. The brightness of the day heightened, illuminating him. My body felt so tranquil, even his domineering stance would not rouse me from my calm. I stood slowly, letting the water cascade down my shoulders and over my breasts, dripping off the sharp, cold peaks. As I stood, he lowered to a crouch. He appeared perched to pounce, but I reminded myself I was in control. His eyes remained on me. I told myself he was bowing to a queen.
My hands rose to swipe back my damp hair, the movement accentuating my breasts, forcing them forward. More water rippled off of them and his eyes didn’t leave the display. I slipped my fingers across my chest, reaching for each opposite shoulder in preparation to cover myself and then decided against it. He would not control me. A sense of empowerment flooded through me, and I lowered my palms, allowing each to caress a breast. Cupping myself, the weight of heavy globes filled with achy need, peaked by the heated desire in his eyes. The subtle roll of his throat alerted me to his struggle. He hungered for me.
After pinching each nipple, my hands skated down my sides, dipping below the water line that covered the tip of curly, black hairs. I left him no doubt where those fingers traveled, and I focused on him as I stroked over tenderly bruised skin. I’d worked my own flesh too often lately, but I couldn’t give up the strength I felt watching him, watching me.
The pressure built slowly as each finger took a turn combing over deep folds. The cold water was a new sensation as I concentrated on it, like a refreshing breeze between my thighs or a soft rush of breath from a lover. I’d never experienced love before, but I imagined gentle touches would be part of it. I didn’t want to look away from him, but the intensity of the green eyes narrowed on me forced my eyes to close. The spell wasn’t broken. Circular brushes and the ripple of water between my thighs increased the slow build-up. The crawl of pleasure took its time, fluttering down my belly and licking up my legs before releasing from me. One hand reached forward for the rocky backing to this natural ledge. Steadying myself, my fingers continued to separate me as I took sharp, short breaths with each clench. Finally subsiding, a sense of peace came over me. My legs quaked. Slowly, I lifted my head.
He sat in a relaxed position, perched on one hand, looking down at me. His expression stoic, his eyes danced, sparkling in the reflection of the sunshine. I bit the corner of my lip, refusing to give him the smile fighting to curve my mouth and hint at my satisfaction. Empowerment reigned over me. My fingers retreated from between my thighs, and I turned for the water’s edge opposite him. Climbing out of the pond, I did nothing to hide my naked body. I bent at the waist, giving him a full view of my backside as I picked up my clothing. Then, I walked away from him.
9
Day 20 - Tack
Mother of all things holy and more, that was the sexiest thing I’d ever witnessed. If I considered her a water nymph on our first meeting, this performance proved she was the goddess of temptation. If I thought I dreamed her coming into my tent and taking what she wanted from me, the look of her in broad daylight proved she was more than a fantasy. Rock hard and gripping the real rocks under my palms, I watched her display, taking pleasure in the show without touching myself for the release I craved. I worried the slightest movement might interrupt her, and I wanted to allow her this moment. She stood like a mythical creature, ensnaring me in her game of show not tell. The rapture on her face made me ache and I was thirsty for a taste. I wanted to drink in her expression and witness it again and again. But then she walked away.
I should have followed her, but I didn’t trust my legs. My body vibrated with the need to expel the pent-up orgasm, but I relished the tremble. She had me, and I didn’t suppress the smile as she stalked away. I’d never wanted anyone as much as I wanted her. Physical. Raw. Aggressive. Her body would fulfill mine in a hundred ways and more, but I didn’t want to take her that way. The steady strength exposed as she took her time to please herself, the way she slowed her pace, filled me with a strange desire to fill her repeatedly in a manner that would reproduce the peaceful rapture I witnessed moments ago. Her lips parting. Her eyes closing. Her body causing slow ripples in the water. Sensual and innocent, I wanted a piece of it.
My eyes followed her path, but I knew I’d lose her again. I assumed she wasn’t much farther than the pond, and I wanted to make this a regular stop in my daily discovery of the island. If she was all I saw each day, I would consider myself a fortunate man. As my heart rate lowered, and my erection subsided, I found the strength to stand. This day was the day to track her, and I crossed the upper edge of the rocky cliff to trace her retreat.
+ +
Unfortunately, I found nothing. For three days, I came to the pond and found it empty. And for three days, I took all manner of directions on the opposite side in search of her. I wandered through foliage so thick it suffocated me, triggering a claustrophobia I hadn’t had prior. One day I reached an open space of sparsely situated trees. I stood a moment, feeling lost both literally and figuratively, even though I sensed I’d been in this spot before. I’d tried to journal again and had only gotten as far as writing—she is a wonder to me. Three days without her orgasmic display, and I’d come to terms with wanting to learn more about her as a person, not just physically.
I paced in a small circle, placing my hands on top of my head. My eyes focused on the soft, black dirt under my feet. That’s when I saw it. A subtle imprint of a fire circle, the ashes scattered to cover the evidence. My neck twisted, spinning me right and left as I searched through the trees.
“Come on,” I groaned, looking up to the barely visible blue sky. Two fists gripped my shaggy, unkempt hair and then I saw it. A platform part way up a tree. I stepped back to take a better look. There, in the middle of the tree line, a platform of sorts circled a trunk, highlighting it as the center. A square in one spot suggested a ladder might descend to the ground to allow occupants. Otherwise, there was no other visible way to get to that height than the proximity of other trees and some thick vines hanging between them. How very Tarzanish, I thought as a smirk graced my face. I’d walked this place a few times before and never noticed that she’d been above me all this time.
10
Day 23 - Juliet
A strip of vibrant blue, star-shaped flowers lay at the threshold of my door. For a moment, I thought they’d fallen there or possibly been blown onto the landing, but the flowers lay too perfectly posed. Bending, I picked up the ribbon of blue blooms and rubbed the stem between my fingers. I couldn’t recall the image of this particular flower from the list of poisonous ones Lillian had given me. The beautiful cascade of five petals spun in my fingers—simple, brilliant, unique—and I inhaled a sweet fragrance, having no other word to describe it than tropical.
The thought gave me pause, and I looked over the low railing of my abode. Searching the ground below, I suddenly questioned how he’d found me and how he’d climbed my tree. The ladder was pulled each time I entered for security. More so for safety, since I knew of his presence. I thought back to the other day, his eyes on me as I touched myself. He was a predator, and I was still his prey. Was he enjoying the chase, or did he no longer hunt me? His gaze seemed intrigued as well as appraising, but that could have been my imagination. Just like I imagined he wanted to protect me that terrible night in the club.
I re-entered my tree house and dropped back on the bed. I’d drawn
up the mosquito netting, allowing the air to circulate easily over me. I’d been writing for days, collecting my thoughts on the surroundings of the island and the concept of living a solitary life. Without a computer, the writing was painstakingly slow. Handwritten journals were tiring, yet strangely refreshing. Growing up electronics-free, I didn’t have a cell phone until high school. I never owned a computer until after I applied for my Master’s degree. I wanted to be a scientist of people—an anthropologist. How quickly life changed.
In my journal, I wrote about my fear of others, although I hadn’t been attacked by a gang, just a small group of surly, drugged men who wanted a plaything for one night. My fear was something that Lillian promoted in order to secure my placement—she refused to call the island a punishment.
“We recommend Juliet for this experiment. She’s the perfect candidate. She has no prior felonies or convictions. Jail time would be a detriment to her. If this process is to reflect and renew, we believe she has the intellect and compassion to follow through.” The ‘we’ Lillian mentioned was herself, as my mentor, my uncle was the sole family member, and my probation officer. Jared Michaels had been the one to bring the restorative justice experiment to Lillian’s attention.
“It’s a program of rehabilitation. It’s not a punishment, but a reformation. Not punitive but restitution. A person must buy into the process, like AA or drug rehab, and Juliet has the commitment. This is her consequence. She made a poor decision. How will she make whole on that choice?” Jared was a Native American descendant of the Algonquin First Nation, and proud supporter of the Native heritage in modern times. As a public defender, he’d been known to bring Native practices into courtrooms as a way to give retribution to both victim and offender.