Page 23 of Redemption Island

Her hips rolled forward, brushing her core dangerously close to the heavy weight of my stiff dick. It had to be an accident. On the verge of denotation, I groaned. I wanted her too much, too fast. My fingers folded into the sheer material of her skirt, clutching at her dress.

I can’t do this, I thought. I was on the verge of taking as a way to prove I needed her, but I wanted her to willingly give herself to me. I wanted her permission, but I didn’t have it yet. She didn’t trust me, and I sensed it with the stiffness of her movement, the ragged inhale of her breaths, and the moisture leaking onto my chest. She was crying, and I was to fault for the salty liquid streaking her face. My breath hitched.

“I can’t do this.” The words were harshly stated as if more to myself than to her. It wasn’t rejection. I was saving her from me. She rolled to her back, and I followed her, reaching for her face, swiping at the tears moistening her cheeks. Her hand came forward and pressed against my wrist.

“Get off me,” she whispered. My chest pinched with her misunderstanding.

“Mouse, I didn’t mean—” The motion of her sitting up cut me off.

“Get off me!” she yelled, and I scrambled back from the bed, swiping a hand through my hair as I stepped to the front of the tent. I couldn’t look back. I wouldn’t be able to see her face. I wouldn’t be able to look her in the face. After all that I’d done, she’d never forgive me, and I had to accept these facts.

21

The Island Hears Your Sorrow

Like the tiny mouse he called her, she scrambled from the tent and scampered through the jungle forest. Her thoughts were a jumble of recollection. She’d reached for his hand during the night and covered her heart, hoping he could feel the racing within—the fear and excitement—that rippled through her veins, tickling the fine hairs of her body with hope. No one had ever spoken to her in that way before.

It’s dark without you.

The words slithered through her as she trekked through the dawning day, still dark within the heavy bush of the island. He hadn’t meant what he said, she decided. He couldn’t know how empty the darkness was for her. How lonely she felt, longing for someone.

I’d love someone to care for me. A sob escaped as she traveled stealthily through the greenery, climbing higher, away from the beach, away from his tent, hoping to lose herself in the island. She admitted one of her darkest secrets to someone who could use it against her. And he rejected her.

He did not care about her. He cared about nothing. If he couldn’t take her by force, like one of his businesses to be bought and broken, he wasn’t interested. She could give herself willingly, but that wasn’t how he wanted it. He held her back against his warm chest, but he wanted to take her, even in his sleep.

Another sob escaped, and she covered her mouth, though there was no one to hear her cries. He had been a dream. He wasn’t real, she told herself. His sorrow. His repentance. It was a lie.

He’d shown he could be caring when she was sick, sharing with his steak feast, but he could not care about her. She shook her head. He wanted to control someone.

I can’t do this. His words ripped a chasm through her chest, her heart pierced with pain. She tripped and fell among the thick roots and twisted limbs at her feet. Pressing upward, she continued to scamper through the brush, seeing light up ahead. Bursting through the thickness of greenery, she came to a small, open clearing and fell to her knees, feeling the warmth of the sun on her clammy skin. She lay flat on the surface of rich earth, letting the heat of the dirt press against her cheeks, damp from the tears she hadn’t notice falling. She hadn’t given them tears before, but now they fell. Her heart raced, pressed against the island floor, and she willed herself to become one with her surroundings.

Take the power from him, she heard whispered in her head. Closing her eyes, she felt the beat of her heart, the pulse of the island under her cheeks, and the sound of the breeze overhead. She imagined him at her back, enveloping her in love, not control, and she wrapped her hand over his as she had last night. She slid it downward, covering her breast, feeling the sad beat under her skin.

“Juliet,” she heard whispered in the wind, but she kept her eyes closed. She had no words to speak. She only wanted to imagine she could dominate him. She wanted to speak through touch—controlling his over hers. She pretended it was his fingers squeezing, ripening her nipple to a sharp peak. A steady beat increased between her thighs, and she took slow breaths to match the tempo. Her teeth bit back a moan threatening to escape. She arched her back, recalling the connection of his excitement pressed along the seam of her backside. In her head, she lowered his hand, letting the heat of his palm cover her belly. She used her free fingers to pull up her dress, guiding his hands under the material. She wore bikini panties under her dress. How stupid she’d been. To think she’d risked herself again, and with him, of all men.

She pressed two fingers between needy folds, increasing the achy pulse. She imagined his fingers moving in a circular motion, a pattern of friction, similar to the slow tap of a drum.

The breeze picked up, caressing her neck. Like touching you, Mouse, she heard him murmur against her skin. His fingers took control, but her hand covered his. The sensation was so real. The pressure so intense. He could please a woman. She wanted him to please her.

Show me how, the wind whispered. The words mixed with the breeze, brushing back the hair at her sweaty temples. Her tears had subsided for the moment. Her concentration was on the physical connection she shared with this man. The mere thought of his fingers between her thighs heightened her pleasure. An exhale of air escaped her lips as her body moved in a dancing rhythm. The beat of island drums rang in her head, matching the pulse at her core. Her hips followed the thumping, vibrating over fingers nimble and greedy. Her body became an instrument. Suddenly, wild with need, she clamped down on the back of his imaginary hand at her core and thrust a finger inside, feeling the length of his digit filling her. She’d climbed to her knees, panting in need, clutching her thighs together. A second finger forced its way inside and she let out a grunt as her free hand dug into the hard, packed dirt at her tips.

Her body became something other than her own. She was an island goddess, paying homage to herself, using him as her fantasy. She would not allow him to stop the rhythm, the touch, demanding it until she reached her peak. His imaginary fingers danced inside her, a sliding movement creating its own music. Her fist pounded the earth as she screamed to release. An animalistic roar rolled from her throat, and she called out his name. She refused to be his mouse. She did not want to be tamed by him.

Her name whispered in the air like a lullaby, lilting around her ears. It didn’t match the slowing tempo between her thighs, but the sound sent a wave of anger through her.

“Just one,” she yelled aloud, repeatedly his words. Just once, she wanted a man to care about her, and she hoped her voice carried down the slope of the island, directly to him. Hear me, she whispered in her mind.

Just once, she thought again as she felt wetness slick down her inner thighs and sweat curl down her hairline. Tears filled her eyes again, and she lowered herself to the ground in exhaustion, like a mouse hidden in the field. No, she told herself. She was a lioness, and she would rule over him. But as the pulse within her lessened, and her heart rate lowered to a normal beat, she felt the calm rhythm of the island under her tear-stained cheeks. Her lips sought the dirt like they reached for his chest, and she knew it was too late.

She cared about him, and that meant he ruled over her.

22

Day 41 – Juliet

Seven full days I’d gone without a visit from him. I didn’t hear his voice or seek him out. It wasn’t healthy focusing on him, I told myself. I’d already followed him once, and that had been the mistake of a lifetime. It was all because of him that I entered that room.

I remained holed up in the tree house or took long treks through the jungle as I had a week before. My discoveries led me in circles, winding and weaving through areas that one moment looked similar and another seemed diverse. It never mattered. I was on a small island without much land mass. One inch appeared the same as the next except for the white beach near where his tent stood and the small enclosed cove with Lillian’s dock. I wandered letting the exercise distract my thoughts.