Paradise Island

by Charmaine Ross

  He brushed his fingers over her femininity and just with that light touch, she nearly jumped out of her skin. He came up to kiss her mouth while until he cupped her with his hand, making love to her with his tongue and his fingers. He stroked her there and she moaned into his mouth. His fingers slid between her slick folds. Slowly. Softly. His tongue sliding against hers with the rhythm of his fingers. His middle finger pressed the little nub there, sending a spark that snapped intoxicatingly through her body. She couldn’t stop the soft gasp that erupted from her mouth.

  She wrapped her arms around his torso, anchoring herself to him and let her mind spin with a flood of craving, eagerness, passion. He slipped his finger through her slick cleft and lazily swirled the tip around her entrance before slipping his fingertip inside her. Her body went rigid as she adjusted to the new sensation. Her groin throbbed, pulsing with every heartbeat.

  A heavy pressure pooled in her lower gut, throbbing with need. She tipped her hips, as he slipped his finger fully into her. A deep shudder ran though her. A delicious thrill overtook her. She took her lower lip into her mouth, moved her hips and rode his finger, following the movement of his hand coming in and out of her, the agony of building excitement devouring her.

  Still she craved more. Needed more.

  He feasted on her breasts as he touched her in that impossible way that sent her soaring. She was unable to do anything but let him do what he wanted to her. Her limbs were boneless, yielding. She closed her eyes, letting the yearning build until she felt as though she were about to implode.

  He lifted his head and withdrew his hand, moving to her feet. In a far corner of her mind she knew she should be embarrassed that he see her this way, private and open, but her body glowed with need, was heated beyond that trifling thought.

  She wanted to feel him against her skin. Wanted his hands, his mouth and more on her body. She shifted, every pore screamed for him to join with her. His eyes were dark, hooded with his own passion, his own need. She never knew the intimate power a woman could have over a man with just her body. She grew still, watching him devour her with his eyes until their gazes met and locked.

  There was a ghost of a smile on his mouth, as if he knew what she felt, but held back. “Not so soon. There is more to be explored than just the final ending. You asked me to show you how a man should love a woman, and I intend to keep my promise.”

  Instead of coming up to kiss her again as she expected, he stayed where he was at her feet. His hand slipped up her leg and beneath her knee, bending it as he did with the other so that she could be more open to him. He moved between her legs, felt the heat of his breath brushed her curls then there was searing heat as his mouth kissed her there. She bucked, her chest arching, legs falling akimbo as a furor of pure sensation cascaded through her.

  He suckled her at her most intimate, pulled her into his mouth and feasted. She rode out the waves of pleasure, plunging her fingers into his hair. She opened her eyes, watching him. Then, sensing as if she were watching him, he looked up her over the length of her naked body. His eyes glinted and a smile plucked the corners of his mouth. She wondered why he smiled when his tongue swirled around her sensitized nub.

  Her mouth opened in a shocked ‘O’ and her body went rigid as the new feeling rocked her. He knew how she would feel with this new delight. His hands splayed possessively on her hips, locking her in place while he devoured her. She could do nothing else but rest her head back on the grass, dig her fingers into his shoulders, close her eyes and glory with the exquisite sensations that rode her body while he paid homage to her.

  The tip of his tongue dipped inside. She screamed as jolts cracked like fire sparks in her nerve endings, rocketing through her body. The sensations swelled, building to what she didn’t know what. It had never been like this, she had never felt so full of this increasing, pulsing tide that she could explode. Again and again he entered her with his tongue and she bucked with every commanding, knowing thrust.

  He pulled back, leaving her teetering on the edge of a passion induced cliff. Where his body had warmed her intimately, now was empty and cold. She shivered with desolation, watching him through half opened eyes. She couldn’t speak, just wanted him in her arms, needed him to somehow end this emptiness.

  He stood and it was all she could do as she watched him strip off his shirt, his boots and breeches. The firelight made his skin glow with the golden touch of the sun. The hard planes of his chest were chiseled in shadow and light. Her eyes feasted on him, as he had feasted on her.

  His erection jutted proudly, engorged and thick with his own unspent need. It was that, she wanted, that she craved. She wanted, desired, him, inside her, moving with her, filling her, taking her to where she wanted to go. She craved to be held in his strong arms, his body as one with hers, yearned for him to be at one with her.

  Hungry for him.

  She wordlessly lifted her arms, silently begging him to join her. He wasted no time, not needing to be asked again. He bent between her legs, arms either side of her waist then rested onto his forearms either side of her chest. He poised over her, leaning down to take her mouth in his. He slowly let his weight down, pressing his hips against hers then his torso. She took his weight. Pleasured in feeling his bare skin connecting with hers.

  She felt the head of his erection jutting against her entrance and she opened her legs to take the width of his body between her thighs. He broke the kiss, their gazes locked. The muscles of his shoulders strained. She held onto his arms, fingers biting into his skin. He tipped his hips and entered her with the tip. She felt herself stretch to take him in, positioned herself so that he could penetrate her more fully.

  He slid into her, easing himself so that she could accommodate him. She bit her lower lip as he filled her so fully. When he had entered all that he could, he kissed her slowly, with tenderness, with care. He moved his hips, slowly retreating from her then just as he was about to release her, driving into her again until they rode each other in that ancient rhythm.

  She bucked beneath him, quivering, until her body splintered as she exploded. Her muscles tensed, locked, as it was all she could do was just feel as sparks ignited her body. She screamed out loud as he rode her then, entering her in a faster cadence until his own body went rigid and he groaned into the night air, falling on top of her and burying his head beside her cheek as he rocked through his own orgasm.

  She wound her arms around him, locked her legs around his waist and together they floated through the paradise they could only create together.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She floated through mists, a warm tropical breeze touched her hair, taking it from her face with gentle fingers. She breathed in deeply, savoring the temperate air, sweet with the smell of fresh flowers and damp earth. Her Paradise.

  Orange and yellow fuchsia grew abundantly contrasting colorfully with the bright green foliage. Small black bees buzzed from the large stamens of each flower, drunk on pollen. The sun beat through the large leaves of palms, creating a sunny patchwork on the ground below. A breeze ruffled the leaves and the patchwork danced.

  It was so real; she could feel the soft earth beneath bare feet. She never wore shoes on Paradise. Her clothes usually consisted of a light muslin dress with the arms cut off and the hem coming to her knees. Scandalous in most countries, but in this tropical weather, it was necessary.

  How she missed her home. The only place in the world where she could simply be herself. There were no threats here, no one meaning harm, no intent to kill. She didn’t have to work at the tough facade she adopted as Captain of the Wanderlust. Didn’t have to harden her heart against the boatloads of women she couldn’t save from slavers.

  She could forget about the evil of the world.

  Here children ran wild through the mossy pathways beneath the trees. Here, they were allowed a childhood. It was an unsaid rule here,
that each child should be a child as long as possible. All of the women here understood and happily abided by it. All had been stripped of their own childhood, and in a way, watching their children learn and play as the young should, it allowed them to heal their own painful bridges.

  Here there was laughter, real peals of joy that mingled with the song of colorful native birds and the singing of women from all over the world. A child bolted from beneath a low growing palm, chased by his friends. He ran so close the hem of her dress caught on his shoulder.

  She frowned. In dreams, you shouldn’t be able to feel. She was standing on the pathway in front of her own house on Paradise. She turned full circle as the other children raced behind and away from her until she once again faced the steps that led up to her front porch. The temptation not to run up them was overpowering. She placed her bare foot on the first step. The well-worn plank was warm underfoot. Taken from a wreck, the solid boards had more than suited her need to build her house.

  She looked up at the wide verandah. Bamboo beams laced by whitewashed hardwood kept the heat away, leaving the breeze to curl around the corners. She saw her comfortable cane sofa, the rose patterned cushions had been recently plumped.

  Curious that she should find herself here, she stepped slowly up the stairs until she was in the cool shade of her verandah and waited for her eyes to adjust from the brilliant sunlight. Everything was as she remembered. The furniture, the small pot plants the children had planted as seedlings and given her for her birthday. They had been freshly watered, the run off had wet the floor boards. The watering can had been left in the middle of the verandah.

  There was a loud raucous squawk. “Peg leg!” she exclaimed and ran to the stand that was inhabited by her favorite parrot. The bird had stayed with her while she’d been building her house, and now it was a regular sight. She placed her hand beneath the bird’s feet and it stepped into her hand. She adjusted with his familiar weight and brought him to her face. He nuzzled his beak against her cheek. The sleek feathers were so soft against her skin; she sighed the release of comfort that only being at home could bring.

  There was a low moan from inside. The soft noise was enough to bring her out from her stupor. She placed the bird back onto his stand and went to her front doors. As she was about to turn the handles, when the doors slid open of their own accord, revealing the gleaming central passageway that divided her house, bedrooms at the front, living areas and kitchen beyond.

  She stepped into the corridor, the small hairs on the back of her neck prickling with the tension that rode out on waves and engulfed her. She turned to her right and faced the main bedroom. A breeze stirred the muslin curtains, partially obscuring the figure in her bed. Estelle stepped inside. The person turned her head and a long silvery blonde strand fell across the starched white pillow.

  “Claire!” Estelle exclaimed.

  She ran to her friend’s side, sat on the edge of the bed and picked her limp hand between hers. She brought her knuckled to her lips and gently pressed her lips to them.

  Estelle could see her friends face clearly now. It was pale, too pale to be healthy. Her collar bone stood out through her thin nightgown. She’d lost weight. Far too much from her already slender frame.

  As Estelle pressed her lips to Claire’s hand, her eyes opened and widened. They were pure blue and filled with pain. “Estelle, is that really you?” she asked and half rose. There was such joy on her face that Estelle’s eyes immediately filled with heated tears. “Are you real?” Claire’s fingers squeezed her hand.

  Estelle gentle pressed her friend back to the bed. “You are unwell. What has happened to you?”

  Claire sighed. “They are coming. I can feel them bearing down on us.” Her fingers gripped tighter. “Estelle, they are evil through and through. They mean for us all to die, every last man, woman and child that lives here. They will not stop until we are all gone. There is a power. Too big for one person to defeat. So much magic. Dark magic.”

  Estelle slipped a strand of Claire’s hair behind her ear. “What of Dalia?”

  “She had been hiding us for so long she is weakened. She can’t go on much longer.”

  Claire’s eyes drifted to the other bedroom on the opposite of the passageway. Dalia sat cross-legged on the bed, as still as death. She was dressed in the colorful robes of her culture, violet silk pantaloons and matching blouse which brought out her olive skin. A translucent headscarf covered her head and was tied at her nape with a golden thread. As though sensing Estelle’s attention on her, she opened her eyes. A smile appeared on her lips.

  Estelle held a free hand out to Dalia. She slowly uncurled herself from her position and walked towards Estelle so smoothly it was though she was gliding over the floor. She took Estelle’s hand, pressing it between her warm hands. “My friend,” she said, inclining her head. Her low tones were a peaceful tonic that went to Estelle’s heart.

  “What is happening here, my friend?” Estelle asked.

  “It is as Claire tells. The evil forces are coming swiftly. I fear I am weakening. They are on Paradise and I have been able to keep our home a secret. They will be here soon. Claire has been sick with The Terror. It is as bad as I have ever seen her. So bad it is making her unwell,” Dalia said.

  “My dear friends, how it pains me to see you like this,” Estelle said. She felt so powerless, so helpless against the great force that threatened to end her world.

  “I thought you were dead,” Claire whispered.

  “I have been helped by a witch, and there is so much deep, strong magic.” Estelle looked into her friends clear blue eyes. “My father is here!”

  “Oh, Estelle. He is alive?” Claire gripped her hand to her chest.

  Estelle nodded. “Barely. He didn’t recognize me. He was under some sort of spell or enchantment.”

  “What of Gregory Marshall.” Dalia stared at her.

  Estelle kept her eyes from her friend. “He is also with me.”

  “It is a sign,” Dalia said. “This is something that both of you need to do together.”

  “You cannot trust him,” Claire said.

  Estelle paused. “Things … have changed.”

  Dalia straightened, bringing her hand to Estelle’s shoulder. “You trust him,” she said.

  “He has given me reason to change my mind,” Estelle said.

  “That is good. That makes you stronger,” Dalia said.

  “Still, how am I to help you?” Estelle said as a wave of helplessness crashed on her.

  “You are strong. You will find a way. There has to be an answer on this land. There is a reason why you first chose this island amongst so many. You are the only one who can save us,” Dalia said.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” Estelle said. “I am home and I am staying. I will protect you here. I will protect Paradise and everyone living here.”

  Claire uttered a low sob, bending double around a pain in her stomach. “They know you are here,” she said.

  “But how?” Estelle asked.

  “It is the magic. You are bound. I can see it linked to your fate and your soul. You must leave us,” Dalia said.

  “I don’t want to go. I am not going,” Estelle cried. She laced her fingers though her friends fingers, one hand with Claire one hand with Dalia.

  “You must. You were chosen. There is a journey you have to follow.”

  “I need to be here,” she said.

  “There is no choice. They will find the village if you stay,” Dalia said. She closed her eyes and a tear fell from the corner, running down her cheek.

  Estelle’s body was picked up by invisible hands. She drifted towards the roof, clinging to Claire and Dalia’s hands. “I will not go. I want to be with you.”

  “Be safe my friend,” Dalia said.

  “Be strong,” Claire whi
spered.

  They let go of her hands and the mists closed in.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The fire had died and the predawn morning held its chill. Gregory stirred. Estelle slept with her back to him, spooned tightly against his body. Her bottom was pressed against his groin and looking at her, stretched gloriously naked in his arms his body kicked into an immediate heated reaction.

  Their lovemaking was more than mere physical attraction. It had gone far further than that. His response to her, wanting, desiring, to give her all that he could so that she may feel safe, cherished. Loved.

  She breathed lightly in her sleep. He brushed aside a stray wavy strand. Her lashes created auburn shadows beneath her eyes. Her mouth was rose bud pink, full and sensuous and entirely kissable. As she was, her features relaxed in sleep, she looked young. Vulnerable. None of her life’s experiences pressed onto her face as they did when she was awake. Asleep, she was as she should be, carefree and unscathed by life.

  He wanted to keep her here in safe in the cocoon of his arms, safe within a fire’s light and the magical circle of the runes the old woman had provided them with. He was overwhelmed with the need to protect her, even knowing that she could more than look out for herself.

  The woman who had been ignited with such passion by his touch that it swept his own consciousness beyond words to a world filled with touch, sensation, tenderness — love. It was the only word he could name to that feeling that had him wanting to hold her in his arms until the end of his life, to not let her out of his sight for even a moment, to heal her wounds, physically and mentally, to keep her by his side, not as a possession, but as a companion, a partner, a soul mate. For the first time in his life he was content to lie still and just be, to stop the constant searching, the relentless duty, his marriage to the Navy.