by Kim Pritekel
* * *
The lip was released again, then promptly pulled back in, this time even, white teeth chewing lightly. Hannah ran her thumb over the cool glass, Denny's beautiful face smiling up at her. The picture had been taken during their trip to Kauai, Denny sitting on the trunk of their rental car in the strangely wooded area at "The end of the road", the beach at one end of Kauai's only highway, and where they'd spent a great deal of their time.
The researcher felt her heart pounding in her ears, blood racing through her veins, questioning her decisions of the past month. Tiffany. After the redhead had kissed her at the beginning of the month, Hannah had ran, and had run far. The kiss had felt so right, and yet so terribly wrong. She'd gone home and cried, cradling one of Denny's shirts to her chest. It had still smelled like the coffee shop owner, which made her cry even more.
After long talks with her mother, Hannah had come to the conclusion that she couldn't live her life by what should be the etiquette of grieving. She had to live by what felt right for her. She loved Denny, would always love Denny, and somehow felt she had always loved her, but ultimately, she knew Denny would want her to move on and be happy. The brunette felt she had a shot at happiness, and decided to take it.
"I love you, Denny," she whispered, kissing the cool glass, then placing the photograph in the box with the rest of Denny's things. The box was placed in the garage, with the other boxes.
* * *
Rachel chuckled at the parade of freshly cleaned bodies that walked by, each with a huge grin. It had been so difficult to keep her gift away from everyone for the few days until what they surmised was actually Christmas day, but she had managed, with Denny's help.
"Can I give it to them now?"
"No, Rachel, it's not time yet."
"But-"
"No! Come on, Rachel. Stay strong."
"What are you grinning at?" the brunette asked, seeing the goofy look on the author's face. Rachel shook her head, brushing overly long bangs out of her eyes. She couldn't wait until she could actually tuck them behind her ears.
"Just glad everyone enjoyed their Christmas gift. That's all."
"Ohhhh," Denny purred, sniffing at her own skin, which wasn't Irish Spring fresh, but was no longer oily, and smelled of nature. "You have no idea."
"I think I do, if Dean's antics have anything to say about it." They both laughed, remembering as the attorney had run to the shore, whipped his sarong off, waggling his business to God and the sea with a whoop. "I've never seen such white ass cheeks in all my life."
"Giggling girls make me nervous," the white ass cheeks owner said with a raised brow, walking up to the couple. That was how everyone on the island was seeing the two women as now, though no one had said a word to Rachel and Denny about the status. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that something was growing between the two, and had been since almost day one. Pam told Dean and Michael about their nights, when Denny and Rachel would glance over at their other two sleep mates, make sure they were asleep, then the blonde would cuddle up with Denny, the brunette wrapping her body around her, both quickly falling to sleep.
"Yeah, well your peanut flapping in the wind makes me nervous," Denny said, eyes wide as she punched her chest with her thumb. Dean chuckled.
"Eh, you're just going through dildo loss."
"Yeah, cause you keep stealing it!"
Rachel lost it at the look on Dean's face, the blush that crept slowly up his deeply tanned chest, burning his cheeks and ears, until finally, without another word, he raised his chin in defiance, and marched off. Blue eyes met Rachel's green, and both women dissolved in fits of laughter.
Pam stood on what had become toted as The Rock, since the back beach was covered in dangerous rocks and reef, where Pam, Mia and Rachel had landed, what seemed like years ago now. She was freshly washed, her skin tingling, and her hand absently running over a naked breast. She was missing Austin, her thoughts drifting to him for the first time in several months. They hadn't dated long, so the emotional attachment wasn't there, but she still missed him, and was deeply sorry he lost his life in the crash. She only hoped it was quick. She didn't remember when he'd died, or if he'd been there as the vet had scrambled her way out of the sinking plane.
Closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to drift back to where they'd been, on her skin, highly sensitive as want spread through her body. She'd kept her body's needs under wraps, but for some reason was strikingly alive at the moment. She didn't know if it was from becoming clean once more, or she simply needed physical release. Whatever the reason, she gasped as a hand brushed across one of her rigid nipples, arousal gathering between her thighs, which moved restlessly as her weight shifted from one hip to the other.
Michael hummed under his breath, deep voice almost graveling in his song. He was on the search for more vines, making the women necklaces for Christmas. He was amused at himself, being stranded on an island doing nothing to improve his tendency toward procrastination at the holidays. The Texan spotted exactly what he was looking for, the bright, white and pink flowers winking at him in sunlight and shadow through the trees. He could hear the crash of waves on rocks getting louder as he neared The Rock.
Pam's eyes remained closed as the hand squeezed her entire breast, then her palm rubbed over her nipple, her other hand sliding down over a newly flattened belly, the skin hot to the touch, to the tie of her sarong. She was aching now, allowing her mind to bring up fantasies and memories of being touched.
"Oh," she sighed, the material of her covering sliding down her thighs, pooling at her bare feet. Her fingers slid further down, tickling the wiry hair between her legs, shocked at how wet she was.
Michael's hum turned to a soft whistle when he broke through the line of trees, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the naked back and butt of Pam, standing on the beach, both of her hands blocked from his sight, though he thought he saw slight movement from between her legs.
Michael Dupree had an unusually high sex drive, and this island had been like a death sentence to his manhood. He'd sneaked off to the jungle many a night, groaning quietly at the quick release, but nothing would ever replace the softness of a woman, the feel of her heat surrounding him in a pocket of softness. He felt himself growing hard from the thought, and from the vision before him. He knew he should walk away, go get off in the trees, then finish his task, but the mechanic felt rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes off the visage of Pam, obviously pleasuring herself, soft sighs and groans able to be heard above the sound of surf.
Pam froze, suddenly have the feeling that she was being watched. Shame filled her as she took her hand away from her sex, covering her breasts with both arms, and then turning. She gasped slightly at the sight of Michael, standing in the shadows, a predatory glint in his eyes. That look spoke to Pam's physicality, and she felt new wetness gathering.
Without a word, she slowly uncrossed her arms in silent invitation, which the Texan made no mistake about. He walked onto the beach, hands reaching down to his fly to swiftly unzip what was left of his jeans, his intent blatantly clear.
Pam felt her heart pounding in her chest, her breathing quickening as she slowly backed up, her eyes beckoning him to follow, which he did. In a heartbeat, the mechanic pounced, his mouth roughly taking the veterinarian's, feeling hands pushing at his pants, one of his big hands reaching down to wrap around the back of her leg, roughly pulling her leg up, Pam's heal latching onto the back of his own thigh.
Pam groaned loudly as she felt the intense heat as Michael entered her in one quick thrust, both breathing out of control as they basked in the bliss of human contact and sexuality. Never in her life had Pam experienced anything so satisfying, though brief, Michael groaning into her neck as he thrust one last time, their bodies plastered together by sweat and desire.
It took a moment, but they began to come back to reality, realizing what they'd just done. Michael's eyes widened, sickening guilt consuming him as he pulled out, turning his ba
ck on Pam as he resettled himself. Pam ran a shaking hand through her hair, noting the posture of the man before her. She had a feeling what was going through his head.
"Michael," she said softly, grabbing her sarong and retying it, then placed a hand on his back. "Michael," she said again, when she got no response. He glanced over his shoulder, giving her his profile. "Please don't let this make you feel guilty. It just happened."
"I promised," he said, his own voice shaky.
"Promised?"
"Promised my wife I'd never do that again." He looked down, hating himself.
"Honey, Melissa is gone." Pam gently turned the big man around until he was facing her, eyes sadder than any puppy she'd seen. "Don't beat yourself up over this."
He nodded, but didn't convince the doctor. Without a word, she gathered him in a deceptively strong embrace, holding him as he dealt with his pain and guilt of self-imposed feelings of betrayal. Pam rubbed his back, thinking about what they'd done, and trying to figure out how she felt about it. She knew it was a simple act of physical release, and nothing more, but would never want to make Michael feel this way.
PART 9
THE SKY WAS perfect, absolutely perfect. Black velvet with diamonds of stars and the moon a giant, full pearl. Two sapphire blue eyes studied the stars and sky, hands tucked behind her head as she lay on the cool, soft sand of the beach. The sound of the ocean twenty yards away was soothing.
She thought back over her Christmas, and vastly different it was from the year before. She'd been thrilled over gifts of seashells, soap and vines mere hours ago, when twelve months ago, she'd happily opened a new espresso machine for the house, clothes and a new pair of Columbia boots. She and Hannah had spent the rest of the day making love and just enjoying the company of the other. This Christmas was started out with the routine of survival: gathering food, making repairs to the shelters, clothing and washing out in the open, cold waters of the waterfall and pond. She'd created and eaten dinner with five people who had been total strangers to her this time last year, but whom have become her family. They fought together, they played together, they had survived together.
Denny sometimes wondered, if they did get rescued and returned back to their lives in New York, Texas and Oregon, would they remain in each others lives? Or would they all disappear into the recesses of the others' mind?
"Looks serious."
The brunette glanced up into the smiling face of Rachel, who had somehow managed to step within two feet of her, and Denny hadn't even heard. She smiled, nodding.
"Oh, it is."
"Do tell." Rachel gracefully fell to her knees, then sat on the sand, legs stretching out and holding herself up on her hands.
Denny tore her gaze from the blonde and turned it back to the sky above. "Just thinking about this time last year, and how amazing it is just how quickly your life can change." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that."
"Thinking about Hannah?" Rachel was surprised at the sound of her own question, a bit more harsh than it should be. Tucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she hopes Denny didn't pick up on it. She didn't.
"No," Denny said softly, "Not totally." She had been questioning herself over the past month or two. Hannah had taken less and less of her thoughts, though the brunette didn't want to admit what, or who had taken up residence instead. She glanced over at Rachel, who was staring at the ocean, watching as the moon-capped waves danced their eternal dance.
Rachel felt eyes on her, and looked down, meeting Denny's gaze. It would have been amusing if the blonde didn't sense it was so serious, the look on the coffee shop owner's face. She looked deeply confused about something. As she continued to study Denny's face, the beautiful features, Rachel felt the pull again, the pull she'd been feeling almost since day one. It was a physical pull, a spiritual one, something that tugged at her higher being. She felt her weight shifting to the arm closest to Denny, body leaning, but stopped it, sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest, effectively closed off.
"So was it me or was there some tension at dinner?" the blonde asked at length, keeping her eyes to the sea.
"Yeah, I felt it, too. I wonder if Michael and Pam had a fight or something. Hell, he refused to even look at her. Must have been a doozy."
"I hope they can get past it. This isn't the place to be fighting with someone." The author rested her chin on her knees.
Silence reigned once more. Denny's eyes kept stealing glanced at the blonde, the curve of her back, the moonlight glinting off the smooth skin, the perfection only broken by the strap of her bra. Her gaze strayed to the sides of Rachel's breasts, pressed against her folded legs, thighs strong and tanned. Even though the blonde wasn't able to shave her legs, as none of them were, Denny still thought she was perfectly beautiful.
"Denny?" asked Rachel's soft, almost wistful, voice.
"Yeah?" Denny tore her gaze away once more.
"If we make it back home, do you think all of us will stay in contact with each other?" The author glanced over at the prone woman, who sighed.
"I don't know. I was thinking about that, too. I hope so. I don't know, it's like everyone has become part of me somehow, bonding in a way that you just can't in regular life, you know?"
"Yeah. I know. Denny?"
The brunette shivered slightly at the softness of Rachel's voice. She loved her voice, letting it fill her. She said nothing, just met the green gaze again.
"Do you," the blonde swallowed, not sure whether to finish her question or not.
"What? Do I what, Rachel?"
"Do you miss Hannah's touch?"
Denny was stunned by the question, and noticed that suddenly Rachel could no longer keep eye contact, instead her gaze dropping to the sand that separated them. "I miss being touched," the brunette finally said, her voice just as soft.
"Do you like to be touched?" Rachel felt like something was taking her over, making her ask such probing questions, but she couldn't stop.
"Yes," Denny whispered. "Very much." She slowly pushed herself up to her elbows, noting a change in Rachel's breathing, as well as her own. Damn it all to hell, she was so drawn to her! "Do you?"
Rachel's smile was sad and somewhat rueful. "I didn't, we didn't," she sighed, looking away. "Matt and I hadn't been together in months before I left."
"Oh, Rachel. I'm sorry." Denny scooted over to the author, their shoulders nearly touching as the brunette mirrored Rachel's position.
"I'm not even sure I ever really liked sex. I don't know. To me, it just never reached me on a level that I needed it to. It was just physicality. I don't know," Rachel shrugged. "Maybe that's all it is."
"It's not. Trust me, it's not. When it's right, and you've connected with that person on more levels than just skin on skin, it's incredible."
Rachel turned her head, resting her chin on her shoulder to look into Denny's eyes. "It sounds wonderful."
"It is."
Rachel felt her breath catch as she studied Denny's lips, those two words so telling. Suddenly she could imagine what it would be like to be touched by this woman, the author allowing herself to give herself freely, something she'd never done with Matt.
Denny was falling further into needy green eyes, losing all sense of self or propriety. Thoughts of Hannah were dangerously far from her mind, filled only with the vision of beauty before her. She was surprised to feel flesh against her fingertips, not realizing she'd brought a hand up until it already rested against Rachel's flushed cheeks.
"You're shaking," she said to the blonde, who nodded. "Are you cold?" Again, the blonde nodded, but they both knew she was lying. All the same, it was a good excuse to stop what Denny so badly wanted to do. "Maybe we should get some sleep, then."
"Yeah," Rachel said, her voice hoarse. She allowed herself to be helped to her feet, wiping the sand from the back of her sarong.
Silently the two women made their way to the shelter, where Mia and Pam were already getting situated for the night. The older woman loo
ked up, noting in the light of the small fire lit in the corner, the flush gracing Rachel's features, a flush very similar to the one she had been sporting earlier in the day. Twin brows raised in question, though neither woman would meet her eye.
* * *
"Where do you want these, Hannah?" Lisa Baker asked, box filled with napkin dispensers in her arms. The brunette walked over to the high school student, looking into the box.
"Uh, those can go in the truck. Tyson doesn't want any of the decorative stuff with DiRisio's stamped on it."
"'Kay." The girl chomped on her gum as she did as asked.
"The tables are staying, right?" Tiffany asked, wandering into the kitchen, where her friend was packing up ingredients: bottles of syrups and chocolates. Espresso beans, ground and un-ground.
"Yeah," Hannah said absently, marking off on Denny's order forms what was present. The redhead stood beside her, watching for a moment, then studying the brunette's profile.
"How are you doing?" she asked softly. Hannah sighed, shrugging tired shoulders.
"Okay, I guess." She met the concerned gaze of the woman she'd decided to give a chance. They'd not been intimate, and she knew she wasn't quite ready for that, but her walls and heart was slowly beginning to mend and soften. It was a matter of time. "I absolutely hate selling the shop, but I just can't do all this. Plus, this was Denny's dream, you know?"
Tiffany nodded. "Yeah, I can understand that." The accountant felt guilty sometimes, so tired of hearing about the dead Denny DiRisio, but at the same time, the coffee shop owner, whom she had to admit was stunning, seemed like someone she would have liked to know, like they would have made good friends. The workers at DiRisio's adored their boss, and the entire place was still grieving her loss. Seemed everyone in the woman's life was.
Dark eyes landed on Hannah again, noting the way she chewed on her lower lip as she turned a bottle of peach flavoring in her hands, gauging if there was enough o save, or if she should just dump the remnants in the huge, stainless steel sink, used to wash used dishes and equipment.