Page 18 of Return to the Island

12

Tack

I turned off the shower as she stepped around me, reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself. She rushed for the door, and I heard Miller as he passed the bathroom.

“Are you okay?” Miller questioned her. “What’s taking you so long?”

Silence followed and I couldn’t decipher if they were speaking low or simply communicating in signs of some type. I dried quickly, redressed, and entered the room.

“Mother of all things holy,” Miller squeaked. Juliet and he stood in a face-off with one another and I leaned on the bedpost. I hadn’t finished kissing her, not by a long shot, and I wasn’t leaving this room until I got a little more from her.

“I guess, I’ll just…” Miller’s voice faltered as a hand flapped out between Juliet and me.

“What did you want?” I asked, sharper than I intended.

“I came to take Juliet to dinner.”

Shit, I thought as I glanced at the bedside clock. We only had fifteen minutes. I needed to get dressed. I needed to relieve some pent-up pressure. My dick still stood at attention as I took in the sight of her in her towel, the hint of her firm breasts peeking over the terrycloth. I didn’t like Miller’s presence so close to her, gay or not.

“I’ll take her,” I stated.

“I’ll meet you both there.” She reached out and patted Miller’s chest before tipping her head for the door. He brushed past me and the door slammed.

“He’s pissed?” I questioned. She shrugged in response, and another thought occurred. “Has he seen you naked?”

“What difference does that make? It’s not like that for him and me.” She laughed humorlessly.

“It matters to me. I want to be the only one.” I took one giant step toward her and cupped her jaw.

“Well, you haven’t been.” The comment startled me, and my face stung like she’d slapped me.

“I’m the only one from now on.” I tugged her to me, my lips crashing over hers. My tongue invaded her mouth, refusing to release her. She was mine and only mine.

“What is wrong with you?” she snapped, breaking the kiss by firmly pressing back on my chest. “’You are beautiful, but you are empty.’”

“Stop quoting the fucking Little Prince at me.”

“Well, I’ve had two years to memorize it.”

“And who’s fault was that?” We glared at one another. We’d already established she left, and she already said she was sorry. What was wrong with me suddenly? I didn’t want to be fighting with her. Her shoulders slumped, and her head lowered. I stepped back.

“I didn’t mean that,” I said, swiping a hand through my hair.

“You did,” she said defiantly, holding her head up again to face me.

“I guess I still don’t understand. And I’m afraid I’ll walk out that door and it will all be as it was. You’ll feel like a dream.”

“Maybe that’s all it was,” she said, lowering her voice. I reached for the towel and tugged at the material, loosening it enough to fall to the floor. My hands covered each breast, squeezing them within my palms.

“I’m. Not. Dreaming.” I hissed, and her breath hitched, but her lids lowered. She sighed. “Baby, you have no idea how real you are to me.”

“Then show me,” she said, her confidence shaky but her determination something I recognized.

I spun her so her back braced against the foot of the bed.

“Hold onto the bar,” I demanded, motioning for the brace between the two posts, and she did as I said. Recalling our discussion about submissives and dominants, I remembered she had been curious. I didn’t know how far we’d get in fifteen minutes, but I wanted to show her who was in charge. She was. She could have what she wanted from me.

I knelt before her and spread her knees. My palm shot up her thigh and fingers dove into her warm center.