by S. C. Daiko
But I couldn’t fuck Aly. 1.) Because she was a virgin and, 2.) She didn’t deserve a wham, bam, thank-you ma’am, which was my MO.
Go back to disliking her, Brash. Drive a wedge between you, or you’ll regret it. The last woman who was your friend, fucking broke your heart.
Aly’s skin had blossomed with heat under the palms of my hands.
Fuck it!
I moved my lips over her shoulder, and she quivered.
I grazed my teeth over her soft flesh, and she released a throaty moan.
I traced kisses up her neck to her jawline, and she hissed.
“Brash.” Her labored panting made her tits move up and down. “I don’t hate you so much anymore.”
“You hated me?” I faked surprise.
“You were an asshole,” she giggled.
Put a stop to this now.
“I’m still an asshole, little girl. You have no idea.” I pulled away from her and adjusted the raging hard-on in my briefs.
The slap came from nowhere, and it fucking stung. “I told you not to call me little girl!”
My laughter had an edge to it as I pulled down my boxers. She fucking provoked me. “I’m a dirty bastard at the best of times,” I growled, fisting my cock. “And this isn’t the best of times. You should stay away from me…”
She gasped and her eyes narrowed. “I can’t stay away from you. There’s no one else here.”
I carried on stroking myself. She licked her lips and a blush colored her cheeks scarlet. I didn’t know what made me do it, but once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. I continued milking my cock, my eyes locked with hers. My dick was weeping, straining under my hand.
“Don’t do that,” she muttered, but her eyes were glued to my cock like a hot caress.
“What’s the matter, little girl? Never seen dick before?”
Fuck, I was being such a jerk.
She shook her head.
Jesus, fucking Christ…
“Like what you see?” I stroked myself faster.
“It looks big and…”
“Hard? It’s very hard.” I dragged my fist up and down, tugging almost violently.
“It looks beautiful,” she murmured.
Her words were enough to tip me over the edge.
Groaning I fell back against the side of the house.
My cock jerked and streams of cum spilt over my chest. “Ahhh!”
The relief was so acute it fucking hurt.
I poured water into the palm of my hand, cleaned myself off and pulled my briefs back up. “How is your foot?” I had to ask. I might be a bastard, but I wasn’t a monster.
“Fine.” She was still staring at me, her eyes hooded. Fuck, my little girl was fucking horny.
She’s not your little girl.
“Touch yourself, Aly,” I couldn’t resist upping the ante. “Surely you’ve gotten yourself off before?”
She blushed furiously.
“I dare you,” I said, piercing her with my stare. “Show me your pussy.”
“No!”
“Chicken,” I mocked.
Looking away from me, she lifted the t-shirt, the one I’d covered her with earlier. Her cheeks had turned so red they could self-combust.
I knelt between her legs and stared at her cunt. Fuck, it was gorgeous. Puffy, pink and glistening with arousal.
“Grab hold of your thighs and spread them wide.”
She froze. “Why?”
“Think of it like a test…” And it was. I needed to find out how far she would go.
She chewed her lip, a frown creasing her brow. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. I’m sure you’re goddamn gorgeous.”
“Okay,” she whispered, blushing again.
I almost punched the air when she revealed herself to me. Her pussy opened like a glorious, dew-coated rose. Fucking perfect. I had to make a big effort not to dive straight for her; I wanted her in my mouth.
“Palm yourself.” The words came out ragged I was so fucking horny again.
Her gaze stayed on me as she inched her hand toward her slit.
“Press on it hard.”
Creamy juices welled up between her fingers.
Fuck…
I swallowed the lust in my throat.
“Put your fingers in your mouth and taste yourself.”
Her nose wrinkled. “No way.”
“Do it.” And she did, her pink tongue swirling around her fingertips.
“Good girl.”
I lowered my eyes to her engorged bud. There was something about her that was reeling me in like a fish on a line. I’d been with so many women, I’d lost count. None of them compared with the sight of Alyona Abramovich, exposed to me like a ripe peach, dripping with lust.
“I want you to stroke your clit. Hard and fast.”
She hesitated, shook her head.
“Do as you’re told.”
Her blush deepened. “I’m self-conscious.”
Was she faking the innocence, or was she really this naïve? I shook my head in disbelief.
Tentatively, however, she began to flick her bud. “This feels so naughty…”
“Faster!”
She let out a moan, writhing her hips as she set up a rhythm.
“Now frig yourself.”
“What’s that mean?”
Un fucking believable…
Gently, so as not to startle her, I moved forward. “Gonna take over from here.” Little girl.
“But…” she fidgeted with the hem of my t-shirt.
“Don’t worry. I’ll only use my mouth.” I almost laughed out loud. “You’ve heard about oral sex, I hope.”
“Duh, of course,” she huffed.
Our eyes locked again. I slid my hands to the back of her thighs and grabbed her ass cheeks, elevating her as I started licking a shallow trace along her slit. I sucked her cream, nibbled the white bud protruding from its pink hood, and wriggled my tongue into her.
Fuck, she was tight.
She dropped her head back and pressed herself against me.
She was a fast learner.
I quickened the pace, pumping my tongue in and out while I pinched her clit between my fingers.
Her hands fisted my hair. “Oh. My. God,” she moaned. “Don’t stop.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I spoke against her hole before continuing the onslaught.
I let go of her clit and snaked my hands up her body to play with her luscious breasts, squeezing her nipples at the same time as I was tongue fucking her pussy. Then I closed my lips on her little nub and sucked it so hard that she screamed.
She quivered around my face as an orgasm shot through her. “Brash,” she squealed.
God, she was sweet. I was a lucky bastard to have been the one to pop her oral sex cherry. I kissed the soft skin between her thighs, kissing all the way down to her injured foot. I examined it. The puncture wounds from the spines looked clean. “Any pain?” I asked.
She dimpled delightfully. “No, Doctor Collins. I’m good, thanks.”
I crawled up the sand and held her close. “I think we were about to hug before we got distracted.”
She looped her hands around my waist, burying her face in my chest. “I liked what we just did,” she murmured.
“It could be a way of passing the time,” I said, brash as ever. “But on one condition.”
“Oh?” She leaned back and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip.
“You’ve heard of so-called friends with benefits?”
She tilted her head to one side. “Explain.”
“We can be fuck buddies. No strings. When we’re rescued, we’ll resume the status quo.”
“What if I get pregnant?” She chewed on her lip so fiercely she was in danger of drawing blood.
Shit. Of course, she wouldn’t be taking birth control. Went with the territory.
“We can have sex and you’d still technically be a virgin.” I winked. “I won’t stick my dick i
nside you. But we can have a lot of fun all the same.”
She buried her face in my pecs again, breathing in and out. I swear a full minute passed before she answered.
“Let’s treat it like an experiment.” She sounded muffled. “If I don’t like it, promise you won’t mind if we stop?”
I smiled so hard my face almost split in two.
Whoop!
I would make damn sure she became addicted to me.
Whoa, where did that come from?
“I promise. In any case, it won’t be for long,” I reminded her. “We’ll be rescued, or we’ll sail away on the raft I’m gonna build.”
She nodded against my chest, and I kissed the top of her head.
What the fuck came over me?
I snickered to myself. Alyona Abramovich had just come over me, that’s what; she’d coated my beard with her cum. And I was going to enjoy eating out her delicious pussy every day until we left this fucking island. So help me God.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Alyona
“How’s your foot?” Brash asked from where he was standing in the doorway to our so-called bedroom. Last night, after bathing the sole again, he’d wrapped leaves around it, tying them in place with one of the cords I’d made.
I got out of bed and took a cautious step. “Still a little tender.” I hobbled toward him.
He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll help you outside then heat up some seawater. The salt will do it good.”
“I can manage,” I said. I had to go pee, and no way would I let him watch while I did that. Yesterday’s exhibitionism, for want of a better word, had made me uncomfortable.
“Sure?” He quirked a brow.
“Absolutely,” I shot back at him. “Just wanna use the facilities.”
He chuckled but took my hand, and I let him lead me onto the decking where he handed me a strong-looking stick. “Here, lean on that.”
I thanked him and headed away from the camp, the early-morning breeze cooling my skin. It would be good to have some ‘me time’, a chance to clear my head.
After I’d done what I needed to do, I found a shady spot and sat down. Hugging my knees, I thought about Brash. I puffed out a heavy sigh; he must have thought I was such a dumbass when he’d asked me to touch myself and I’d gotten embarrassed. Clearly, he was used to sexually confident women, not girls from families like mine. I couldn’t even date a guy, not even my childhood friend Pasha, without a bodyguard in attendance. Not a good way to find Mr. Right, and zero chances of giving up my v-status as a result. In addition, Mom was a devoted member of the Russian Orthodox church; she’d told me once that touching myself was a sin. I didn’t agree with her but, whenever I’d tried, I hadn’t been able to get myself off.
Pathetic.
Go figure, I experienced my first-ever orgasm yesterday with Brash.
What went down with him had shown me a different side to myself. A side I never knew existed. A side I wanted him to develop. I’d been freaking disappointed when he’d distanced himself from me after I’d told him I was still a virgin last week. Not because I’d wanted him to go further, specifically — I didn’t want to risk getting pregnant — but because I’d liked being kissed by him, liked how good he’d made me feel.
Yesterday he’d transported me to another world. A world of sensuality and pure unadulterated eroticism. A world away from the misery of our castaway existence. And I didn’t want him to stop.
Scratching a mosquito bite, I stared out to sea and shaded my eyes with a hand. Plainly we were in a part of the Maldives where no boats passed, just like we weren’t under the flight path to any of the inhabited islands. Brash had said they’d be searching for us over an area measuring thousands of square miles. My father would never call off the search, but it could take months for them to find us. Especially if they were looking for us in the wrong places…
Our life is here, for the duration.
I turned my gaze to the palm trees, their green leaves rippling in the breeze. Sweat trickled down the side of my face; the morning was warming up. A seagull squealed overhead, and then another sound cut in.
Brash is calling for me.
“Aly, are you okay?”
Holding onto the improvised crutch, I levered myself to my feet. “I’m fine,” I shouted. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
There was patience and kindness under his asshole façade, I knew that now. Thank God or being trapped here with him would be a million times worse.
After breakfast, we settled into our usual routine. Brash went fishing while I braided coconut fibers. He caught two small fish for our lunch, and we grilled them. While we ate, I asked him about his family. He sat opposite me, on the other side of the fire, but my skin prickled with awareness of him. When his face lost the arrogant scorn that it had worn when I’d first met him, he was so freaking handsome he took my breath.
I stared at his mouth, remembered where it had been on my body, and a flutter clenched between my legs. My cheeks heated as I wondered how I’d tasted to him, what I’d felt like. Would he have preferred it if I’d shaved myself? Zero chances of that happening here.
He started telling me about his early childhood in England, but I was finding it hard to concentrate on his words; the things he’d done to me yesterday jangled in my mind.
“So, Aly. Have you always lived in the Big Apple?” His eyes gleamed indigo blue under the dappled shade of the palms.
“I went to a Swiss boarding school, same as Valentin,” I explained, gazing at his bare chest.
“Ah, that would account for your accent not having much trace of New York.”
“Your accent has a slight British sound.”
He flashed me a look. “What do you mean?”
“When you pronounce the letter a, it’s kinda softer than how we say it in the States, more an ah sound than an a.”
Laughing, he switched into a full-on UK voice. “I had to adapt when we moved to Colorado. The lads at school bullied me for speaking posh.”
I clapped my hands together. “I freaking love it. Please keep talking like that!”
“I can’t,” he snickered. “I’m out of practice.”
We smiled at each other, the tension between us dissolving. “How’s your foot?” he asked.
“Fine, thanks to you. Think I’ll take off the leaves later and go for a swim.”
He creased his brow. “I’d better come with you. Just in case.”
“In case of what? I can look after myself, Brash.”
He’s patronizing me again, and I don’t like it.
His eyes narrowed. “Remember there are sharks. You’re injured. They might scent your blood.”
“But I’m not bleeding anymore,” I countered.
“I. Am. Coming. With. You,” he growled. “No argument. There are dangers here and I’ll protect you.”
“God, you can be such a freaking alphahole,” my voice shook.
He glowered at me. “And you can be such a silly…” He stopped, shook his head. “Idiot,” he finished the sentence.
I stared at him, my eyes spitting tacks. I bet he’d been about to call me little girl again. I opened my mouth to speak, I knew how to set someone straight, but he got in first.
“I’m gonna make a start on building that raft. It will give me something to do.”
“Yeah, sure,” I huffed, throwing the breadfruit tree leaf I’d used as a plate onto the fire.
He took the hammer we’d found in that tin chest and went to remove the nails from the wooden planks on the other side of the house, the part we didn’t use.
Workaholic didn’t even begin to describe him. Even here, trapped on a deserted island, he pushed himself way beyond measure. He couldn’t wait to escape, couldn’t wait to put an end to what we’d started and return to the status quo.
See if I care. I’ll bring him to his knees, if only he’d stop making me weak in mine.
I wanted my life back, too. I missed my family. I
missed my bestie, Emma. I missed taking photographs. What I wouldn’t give for a warm shower using my favorite beauty products. How I’d love to dress in nice, clean clothes. I wanted proper food in my belly instead of fish, breadfruit and coconuts.
Coconuts.
I’d tried rubbing my skin with them, like Brash had suggested when we’d arrived on the island, but they’d been too tough. I pulled at my lower lip. How the hell did they make coconut oil?
For the zillionth time, I wished I had my freaking phone.
I’d experiment, I decided, picking up a coconut and husking it. Using our precious knife, I cracked it open and drank the liquid before scraping out the flesh. I placed the chunks in an empty shell, picked up a rock we used for mashing breadfruit, and started pounding the coconut to mush. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades and breasts from the effort. The mush wasn’t liquid enough, so I added some water and squeezed the pulp between my fingers.
Yay, it looks like coconut milk.
I whooped to myself. We could drink it, but how to turn it into oil? I scrunched up my face, remembering a lesson at school when we learned how to make aloe vera lotion. With a smile, I poured the liquid into our tin cup and placed it on the fire. I stirred it while it boiled until a thick layer of oil was bubbling on the surface. After removing it from the heat, I set it aside to cool, fanning myself with a palm leaf I was sweating so much.
I braided more husks while I waited. The sound of Brash ripping down the far side of the bungalow tore through the space between us. He was doing the best he could, in horrible circumstances. I should apologize for overreacting. He’d wanted to protect me, not patronize me.
I hunched my shoulders; I’d behaved childishly earlier.
Like a little girl.
The noise of hammering came to a halt, and he appeared from the side of the house.
He stood and rubbed a hand through his curly, dark hair— his brilliant blue gaze on me.
“I’m sorry for being an idiot earlier,” I blurted out.
“No worries,” he lowered himself onto the sand. “I guess the strain of our situation got to ya.” He sniffed the air. “Smells like suntan lotion.”