by L. B. Dunbar
I suggested we take a short hike after breakfast. I wanted to show her the tree house. Viewing it wasn’t meant to scare her, but I also wanted her to know how severe that storm had been, how close we were to losing each other more than we had.
She didn’t have her hiking boots, not knowing this was our destination so stomping through the jungle in her flip-flops was laborious. The paths we’d etched into the foliage with constant trekking from one dwelling to the other had long since disappeared, swallowed up by new growth. We hiked forward, occasionally wondering if we’d passed it or not gone far enough. Either way, we fell into our comfortable routine of walking with one another, taking an adventure as we crossed under the canopy overhead. Eventually, we broke through the trees into a space where the trunks stood sparsely apart. There we found what we were looking for.
One half of the hut still remained in the tree, surprisingly still intact, hugging the thick trunk like a koala cub. The other half lay as rubble, crumbled and broken on the jungle floor. Two years didn’t seem like enough time to pass, but the vines and the foliage covering it made the wreckage appear like it had been longer. I passed Juliet to near the heap. She remained a statue staring up at the broken structure.
“It was one of the best homes I had,” she said, her voice silencing the chattering of birds in the overhead leaves. “Growing up I had a decent home, small, but comfortable in Baltimore. When I moved in with my uncle, the filth of his trailer was the worst thing I’d experienced. When I went to college, I didn’t move into a dorm. I lived with Chellie. It was a dump, because it was all we could afford. I think a pimp lived on the floor below us.”
She shivered with the thought, and my blood froze at the idea.
“I own the building where The Mouse Trap is located. Bought it for cheap and finished an apartment on the second floor. In many ways, it replicates this space,” she nodded to the fallen tree house. “Miller says it’s like a jungle.” She laughed without humor.
“I’d like to see it.” The comment startled her and she looked at me as if she forgot I was with her. Her arms crossed in a protective manner around her mid-section.
“This tree house was one of the only homes I knew after I lost my family. Not a house, a home, like when my family was alive.”
A strange question came to mind.
“Do you want a family? Want kids?” I don’t know why I even asked, but she answered instantly.
“I do.” She looked away from me, her hands cupping her elbows. Her expression pinched, as if she were about to risk something and questioned the truth. “I thought I was pregnant when I came to see you.”
“What?” I growled, as my heart dropped. My fists clenched as I took two giant steps toward her. She shrugged as her eyes flipped up to mine.
“I hadn’t gotten my period. I thought, maybe…” She shrugged again as her voice faltered. “But it was a false alarm. My body hadn’t adjusted. I was no longer taking the medication they gave me to hold off my period.”
I reached out for her shoulders and tugged her to my chest. Holding her head pressed to my heart, I enveloped her, holding her as tight as I could.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. I’ll give you babies, I thought. I’ll give you everything you want. A house. A home. Just don’t ever leave me again.
She gently pushed off my chest after a few minutes and walked toward the tree, something catching her eye. She stepped forward and her hand came up to the thick trunk. Her finger traced over what was etched in the jungle bark. J M + T C.
She spun to face me. “How did I miss this?” Her mouth curled at the edges.
“I carved it after you left. I wanted the island to remember us.” It was my turn to shrug. I blew out a breath. “But now I want to make love to you against that tree as a big fuck you to this island. Fuck you for that tree house breaking.” My voice rose. “And fuck you, hurricane, for giving you to me and then taking you away from me.” I swiped hastily through my hair, wishing to pull at it. I was so pissed about the potential of her having my family without me. We weren’t finished here, I cursed at the broken tree house.
“We didn’t have enough time,” I muttered.
My eyes drifted down to her. A sheepish grin filled her face.
“We have time now, right?” She’d positioned herself against the tree trunk just under the heart drawn around our initials. Her hand came to the waist of her shorts and she unsnapped the button.
My head tilted. “What are you doing?” My voice lowered with intrigue. Her fingers unzipped her shorts and then her hands reached to her sides and flattened against the thick trunk at her back.
“Up against the tree?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“God, I love you,” I said, the words escaping without a thought as I rushed to her. My mouth captured hers, cutting off any response. My lips greedily consumed hers, and I cupped her jaw before slipping a hand to her shorts and hastily pushing them down her thighs. She slid one ankle free, and I stood to glide a finger into her.
“So ready for me,” I muttered, working at my own belt buckle and forcing my shorts to my knees. She reached for me, stroking over the length, tugging me to her. I bent to accommodate our heights and slipped into her. Standing to my full height, she wrapped her legs around my hips and we raced to the finish. This would be hard and fast. A fuck you to this island because it didn’t beat us.
“So wet,” I mumbled as she said, “So hard. So deep.” I jostled her over me and her back fell against the tree trunk. One hand came to the massive expanse of bark behind her, covering the heart I carved two years ago. We rocked in unison, her drawing me into her, me filling her to the hilt.
“I can’t get enough of you,” I muttered into her damp neck, peppering her with kisses there. The pleasurable tension built quickly. Her legs clenched my waist, and her hands fisted in the back of my shirt. She hollered my name and feeling the familiar grip of her around me, I stilled letting my release fill her.
My forehead came to her shoulder as I silently sent up a prayer for a small miracle. Panting heavily, we remained like this only momentarily before her legs slipped from my hips. I bent shaky knees to allow her feet to hit the ground and slipped out of her. I watched as fluid slid down her thighs. My fingertip reached for the drip, pressing it up and forcing it into her.
Stay, I commanded, although I knew it didn’t work that way. She reached for my face, palms against my cheeks and tugged my mouth to hers. With a smile on her lips, she kissed me.
“Let’s clean up,” I said, after a minute of her delicious lips working mine.
+ +
The pressure of time weighed on us, hinting at a finish line. I followed behind her as we headed to the pond. The rustle of water falling filled our ears as we stepped closer. We undressed silently and I walked into the cold water before her.
“Shit,” I bellowed. “I forgot how cold this is.”
She giggled behind me and I spun to face her, watching her descend into the water, not fazed by the chill. Her breasts stood erect, nipples peaked from the cool temperature. Her hands skimmed the surface as she lowered. She was looking at me in a way that made me shiver and it wasn’t the cool pool around me.
“Am I forgiven?” she asked, and the question startled me.
“Forgiven?” I questioned, lowering into the depths of the water, swimming backward for the ledge near the falls.
“For leaving you. For killing your best friend. For everything.” The comment brought me to a halt.
“Juliet,” I exhaled. “I’ve never held you accountable. It was shocking, and I was upset, but I didn’t blame you directly. I told you once I didn’t think he deserved to die for being a dick, but he was a dick. He wasn’t nice. He wasn’t always cruel, and sometimes he was better to me than my family, but I won’t excuse him for what he did.”
She nodded, paddling lazily toward me.
“But am I forgiven?” Her voice dropped an octave. “I never intended it to happen as it d
id. I was angry, but I never could have imagined I had the strength in me.”
“I think it was more a lucky stab,” I corrected, not mocking her, but clarifying. I didn’t think she had the physical strength either, but she cut him at the jugular, and it killed him. “But yes, I forgive you.”
The ripple of the falls filled a momentary silence between us. I cleared my throat.
“What about me?” I questioned, swallowing a sudden lump in my throat. “I don’t think I’ve forgiven myself completely for being there, for the thoughts I had. For what I’d almost done.”
She nodded, her lips pursing as she looked away.
“I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that you didn’t. You didn’t do anything. You took a horrendous experience and stopped while you could. Do I wish you’d done more? Sometimes yes. I wish it had never happened to me. That you’d stopped Rick before he started. But I think I understand the relationship with him. Once Rick did what he did, and it was your turn, you didn’t follow through. Sometimes I want to know what would have happened next, had you finished your part?”
I pressed through the water, reaching for her, firmly covering her shoulders.
“I would have never let Rory or Smack touch you.”
“You say that now.”
“It’s true. I think back on that night as well, and I know I would have claimed you as mine. Had I passed the test, I would have challenged Rick and said you were coming with me.”
“You say that in hindsight,” she corrected.
“I say that in truth.” The statement was sharp, my tone clear. Despite my headspace that night, I would not have let another man touch her after me. I was confident I’d have stopped, but there was a small one-percent that told me I might not have. It was that percent that haunted me. I’d been given a second chance to prove myself to her, and I didn’t want to waste it.
Suddenly, she dipped under the water, escaping my grasp. Her head disappeared a moment before she popped up for air. I wanted to touch her, press her against me to prove my heart raced for her, but a shaky line was dividing us.
“I love this pond,” she said. “It clears my head,” she added, brushing back her soaked hair and reminding me of the first time I saw her on the island. She was screaming at me to get away from her. Her body language was in a state of transition. I was beginning to panic that it was presently telling me the same thing.
“I remember watching you touch yourself.” I wasn’t sure why I told her that memory.
“Oh yeah,” she smirked, a devilish glint to her violet eyes. “Why did you like that?”
“First, it seemed like you wanted to tell me to fuck off.” She burst out laughing at the comment. “But then, you looked both peaceful and determined. Like you wanted me to know you were in control of who would touch you, who would control you, and maybe you wanted me to know what I’d missed out on.” My eyes playfully narrowed.
“I seem to recall you asking to kiss me in this pond and then letting me touch you.” Her tone teased, hardening me with the memory.
“You were quite the vixen. Again, I wanted you to see you could control me. It pleased me, make no doubt about that, but I wanted it to please you. Help you realize you controlled the situation between us.”
She lowered in the pond a little, covering her breasts with the cool water and swishing her arms around her, gently rippling the water.
“Do I still have the power?” she quietly asked.
“Do you want it?” I smirked. She stood tall, startling me, and water cascaded off her body in torrents. She stepped back and then turned for the flat rock near the edge of the pond.
“Mouse,” I called softly, worried I’d offended her. My heart raced with her retreat. She climbed up on the rock and sat facing me, legs spread, knees bent. I had a clear view of the center of her, her skin puckered and pink. Her eyes focused on my face, and I blinked at her only briefly before her fingers slid over her middle and down to those precious folds. Slowly she strummed herself. Her other hand braced on the rock, casually holding her upright.
“Holy fuck,” I mumbled, wrapping a thick palm around myself and beginning to stroke as I watched. I’d been so hard the past twenty-four hours, I was beginning to worry I had an issue. I realized she was it. “You own me,” I blurted. She proved it time and again. Her current display was confirmation.
She smiled that devilish smile, taking pleasure in knowing she turned me on by turning on herself. Her head fell back, and her mouth opened in that perfect O, the same cylinder that engulfed me and swallowed me last night. The thought made me stiffen further, and my dick ached, on the edge of release.
“Mouse,” I hissed, warning her that I was there just watching her. Her head rolled forward, and her mouth curled as she slipped a finger inside herself and moaned deliciously. Her lids lowered lazily, and I burst at the sight. She was the best porn I’d ever watched, and I meant that as the greatest compliment. I stepped forward, kicking water as I moved toward the rock. Her finger made a slicking sound.
“I want my turn,” I said, tugging back her hand. “Move to the edge.” She carefully came forward until her core neared my face. Lifting up on my toes, my lips lunged for her folds. My tongue dove deep, parting her, sucking at the slickness. My arm curled under her thigh, and my hand clapped over it. I tugged her forward, hungrily lapping at her as her hand came to my head for balance.
“Tack,” she whimpered, but I wasn’t letting up. My tongue flattened, and I licked upward.
“You.” I breathed over her heat.
“Own.” I pursed my lips, exhaling onto her wet skin.
“Me.” My mouth covered her entire clit, drawing her into my mouth before flicking her with my tongue again. She purred like she had last night, the rumbling animalistic growl building before her hands cupped my head, and she held me still while she came against my lips.
I reached up for her waist and pulled her to me, dipping us both in the water. My mouth found hers, but the kiss was brief.
“I want more than one kiss. I want them all.” I kissed her again, and she followed my lead. Desperation grew between us, the kisses harried and frantic. We were both spent. We couldn’t make love again, so our mouths had to say all that was left unsaid.
I see who you are.
I’m looking at you, she responded.
The conversation was reminiscent of the night she tried to kill me. A night of two frightened people on an island begging for attention, begging to be seen and understood by the other.
A boat-horn peeled in the background, announcing the need to leave soon.
I released her lips, tenderly pecking a final few.
“I will never stop wanting you,” she told me and my heart shattered with joy.
20
The Island tastes your sorrow
She stood at the stern, watching the island grow smaller as the boat cleared the distance. His arms wrapped around her from the back. Their silence was louder than the catamaran engine, both lost in their own thoughts.
What next? she thought. For some reason, she couldn’t pull her eyes from the island as if when she stopped looking it would all be a dream. The moment it disappeared from her vision, nothing would exist again. He tugged her tighter to him, as if he read her mind. Kissing her shoulder, he spoke.
Want to sit in the sun on the bow? She shook her head.
Too much heat, she replied, feeling exposed by the bright day, but her answer had a double meaning. Had it been too much, too fast? Were they going back, only to return to whom they were? Or were they moving forward, allowing themselves to finally be set free?
Thank you, she whispered to the curve of the hip, the dip of the mountain side, and the hint of breast from the foliage. Thank you for strength and peace of mind. And him. The curse of him had become her blessing. It made no sense, and yet, she would not trade him. Sixty-nine days or twenty-four hours. She would not trade one minute of either.
He tugged at her arm when the island w
as no more than a sliver, and she followed him inside to a large bench seat along the back of the cabin. He patted the space next to him, and she sat. When he pulled out the book, tears filled her eyes. His rugged voice read to her, drifting in and out, as her head came to his thigh. His fingers toyed with her hair.
“To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you…But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of other roses: because it is she that I have watered;…because it is she that I have listened to when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.” He read the words aloud, but he spoke them to her. A tear escaped.
In her head, she told him he was more than a hundred other little princes. He was hers. She tamed him.
God, I love you, he exploded in a moment of lust.
I wildly love you, she thought, but didn’t have the voice to speak. Fear rattled inside her that they were not headed for a beginning but had shared the end. Returning to the island turned back the clock, only to bring closure to what they had when they were not allowed to finish the relationship at the designated hour.
One year.
How cruel time had been.
The breeze picked up around them, blowing sharply through the cabin. Her hair whipped across her face. It was as if the island sighed, exhausted and exasperated, exhaling her back to where she belonged. Not on the island. Not in his heart. Alone.
She was her own island, adrift in the sea of life. Content, but not happy. Stable, but not firmly planted. Lying in wait like the island they left behind.
21
Tack
I followed as she silently walked up the dock to the car waiting to drive us to the resort. Back at the hotel, I handed my bag to the resort manager and continued trailing her up the elevator to her door. I entered her room after her as she dropped her things and stood at the window, still not speaking.