I shouldn’t.
I won’t.
Her hand moved toward the Velcro of my board-shorts, ripping apart the fly and pushing her hand into my underwearless crotch.
The kids.
Screw, the kids.
This was a dream...and if it wasn’t...they could watch, for all I cared. My sainthood had been revoked, and I was nothing but raging blood and throbbing pressure and hissing fuse to the largest explosion in history.
Estelle touched me.
And her fingers felt a thousand times better on my naked flesh. Stars burst behind my eyes as she stroked my length.
Her touch caused paralysis. Her touch caused every sense to belong to her.
Only her.
Some part of my brain that was still human tried one last time to stop whatever she was doing.
I garbled nonsense, I half-heartedly shifted my hips, but her long hair tickled my exposed belly as she shook her head.
“No...no more thinking. Just relax. Let me do this for you.” Her lips whispered over mine as she bent over me, her hand working up and down, swirling around. Her thumb, shit, her thumb, found my crown, pressing hard on the sensitive tip, stealing the moisture she found there and smearing it down the shaft. “Let me return what you did for me.”
Fantasy.
Nightmare.
Hallucination.
Or was this death? Some cruel joke by the devil before sending me packing to Hell?
My left hand clutched the sand as I rode out the most intense hand job I’d ever experienced while my right thrust into her hair and smashed her lips against mine.
I needed this. I needed to come. So. Damn. Badly.
I’d serviced myself a few times over the past few months but that had been a necessity to rid the heavy ache in my balls. But this...hell this was pure utopia.
My breathing turned ragged as Estelle’s hand worked harder. She wasn’t messing around. She wasn’t there to tease me. She was there to make me come. Fast and efficient. A donation.
A charity orgasm.
If I weren’t so far gone, I would’ve hated her for that. I would’ve pushed her away—no matter how incredible she worked me. I wouldn’t have put up with such underhanded manipulation.
But I wasn’t in the right head space.
I’d fallen for a girl who didn’t want me and barely accepted my friendship. If she wanted to pity hand-job me, then fine, I’d take what I could get.
My hands clutched her hair, kissing her harder, deeper, giving up and thrusting over and over into her palm.
She let me.
Her fingers tightened, giving me the perfect noose to jack off into. Her thumb swirled around my crown and her spare hand vanished between my legs to play with my balls.
Everything she did was utterly perfect. It was as if she’d been born knowing my code. That she’d hacked every part of my anatomy and owned me.
“I love touching you like this, G.” Her whisper fed my starving lungs.
I couldn’t hold off anymore.
Every muscle jerked, tightening to the point of cramp.
My balls became bombs; my cock the cannon.
I came.
And came.
And came all over her hand and my stomach.
I trembled and twitched as she kept going, milking my extremely sensitive body. I grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
Breathing hard, I slowly came back to earth and opened my eyes.
I stared at her.
She stared back.
No words were spoken but we knew.
We knew that this couldn’t be ignored.
Wordlessly, she stood, rinsed her hands in the fuselage we kept topped with seawater and crawled into her bed.
She went to sleep with her back facing me.
But I stayed awake until morning, alternating between shock and sedation. Thankfulness and plotting.
All rules were broken.
She said it was returning the favour.
I called it asking for trouble.
She’d been the one to touch me.
Now, I would be the one to touch her.
Chapter Thirty-Five
...............................................
E S T E L L E
......
I buckled. I submitted. No, I gave in.
Feeling you come apart. Watching you fall apart. Listening to you break apart.
It makes me want you so much more. Too much more. Terrifyingly more.
I failed. I lost. No, I finally let myself win.
Taken from the notepad of E.E.
...
WHAT WAS I thinking?
The sun had risen an hour ago, and still, I slept on my side, facing away from Galloway. Every time I thought about what I’d done in the dark, my body flushed, my nipples ached, and the tingle of a desperately needed release drove me insane.
The way he’d given in to me.
The way he smelled of cedar and liquorice even though he hadn’t used shampoo or aftershave in weeks.
The way his muscles trembled and body hardened and eyes fluttered and lips kissed and hands clenched and breathing stuttered and and...
An arc of desire throbbed in my clit.
I shuddered, curling into myself with need.
I’d given him pleasure. I’d taken pleasure from giving him pleasure.
But now...now, I suffered.
I was more turned on than any point in my life. I could barely move without my thighs pressing together and my hips rocking to find relief. I could barely breathe without my breasts rubbing my t-shirt and my nipples sparking with ten thousand demands to be touched, sucked, bitten.
My brain was useless. My body was obsessed. I had to. I had to. I had to find relief.
I wasn’t Estelle. I was female. I was sex.
And I wanted, wanted, wanted.
With every inhale, I promised myself the freedom to spin around and beg Galloway to take me. With each exhale, I broke every vow and huddled tighter in the sand.
You can’t.
I couldn’t remember why.
But I couldn’t execute the day, talk to the children, or pretend to be normal in this state.
Hurling myself out of bed, I kept my back to Galloway and fled into the forest.
I ran and ran until I was far enough from the camp and sprawled against the bamboo thicket I’d adopted as my writing nook. My cotton shorts came down. My hand disappeared into my wetness.
And I fingered myself all while my thoughts belonged to Galloway.
Galloway.
Galloway.
Galloway.
Chapter Thirty-Six
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G A L L O W A Y
......
SHE RAN.
I saw her. I watched her. I didn’t move as she bolted from her bed and into the forest. She had a habit of disappearing into the trees for reasons I couldn’t fathom.
But this reason...I understood completely.
I knew what she was doing.
I pictured exactly how she would look.
And I grew hard all over again knowing she had to relieve herself from the need compounding every day between us.
After last night, after what she’d done to me, she couldn’t deny it anymore.
She wanted me. Far, far more than she let on.
She’d put me out of my misery for a few hours. One day (hopefully soon), she’d let me put her out of hers. And when that day came, I’d take my time. I’d tease the hell out of her before finally transporting her into heaven.
I didn’t say a word when she returned, face flushed, and breasts swollen in her black bikini top. I pretended I didn’t notice the damp spot on her cotton shorts or the way she washed her hands guiltily in the sea.
I let her believe I didn’t know.
After breakfast of coconuts, a salted fish from yesterday, and some cooked taro, Estelle guided the children to the water’s edge where we’d scr
atched our messages into the sand.
I took my time, limping after them with the aid of my walking stick.
Estelle might’ve given me the best orgasm of my life last night and removed the annoying splint, but she hadn’t been able to save me from the heart-destroying conclusion.
My ankle hadn’t healed properly.
The ache in my bones hurt every time I put weight on it. An odd bump remained where the joint had broken and I couldn’t deny it anymore.
I could walk, but I might never run.
I could move but not without the aid of a walking stick.
I was a damn invalid and nothing in the world could change that.
Pushing my anger and grief away at never being whole again, I caught up with the others, looking for the messages.
Only...they’d vanished.
The tide had wiped the slate clean, leaving behind a virgin beach with no marks, no terrors, no confessions of any kind.
Pippa turned to me with her forehead scrunched. “Where—where are they?”
I grinned, hiding my depression at my disability and playing up Estelle’s party trick. “It’s magic.”
“No, the tide washed them away.” Conner pouted, clearly unimpressed with the game. Pointing at my leg, he added, “Hey, you removed your brace.”
“Yep.”
That topic wasn’t for young boy’s ears. He could see it was off. End of story.
Estelle flinched. “You’re right, Co. But that’s what the ocean does. It washes away the bad and brings only good.”
“I don’t get it.” Conner squinted in the new sun. Overnight, the drizzle that’d haunted us for days had finally broken; we all slowly thawed out and dried off.
Pippa stuck her thumb in her mouth, something she’d started doing a few weeks ago, reverting to childlike behaviours.
Estelle gathered her close, hugging her tiny head against her side. “It means those fears...they’re gone. Don’t you feel lighter? Knowing that you don’t have to be afraid of sleep anymore?”
She tensed. “I don’t know.”
Estelle looked at Conner. “Don’t you feel better knowing you don’t have to worry about tennis anymore?”
He shrugged. “I guess.”
Her eyes landed on mine. “G?”
I waited for her to bring up my leg and recently removed splint, but she surprised me by bringing up my other fear.
“Don’t you feel better knowing whoever you want to apologise to no longer needs to know you’re sorry. That whatever it is that you’ve done has been forgiven?”
I laughed coldly. I couldn’t help it.
If only she knew what I wanted to apologise for...then she wouldn’t be so sure a high tide could fix it.
Her face turned an odd shade of crimson.
Swallowing my morbid chuckle, I nodded. “You’re right. I feel a lot better.”
Not at all. But thanks for trying.
She cocked her chin. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I do feel better.”
The defiant way she held herself sucker punched me in the heart.
“I was afraid I’d lose my voice, lose my ability to write songs, and fail at my love of putting tragedy onto paper. But I don’t have to worry anymore because lyrics are a part of me as much as my heart beats and my blood flows red.”
Wait...write songs?
She was a poet?
A singer?
How did I not bloody know this?
Same reason why she knows nothing of you—you’re a self-centred asshole who refuses to share.
Pippa slowly smiled, her face filling with awe as she let Estelle’s promise gain power. In her childish, whimsical mind, it was entirely possible for her fears to be swallowed by the ocean, her safety guaranteed by the waves, and her life guarded by merfolk and fantasy.
I was glad. Happy for her. Relieved that her little heart would be lighter.
God knew, she needed it.
The messages in the sand hadn’t done what Estelle had intended, but it taught me something. Her visiting me in the night. Her touch on my body. Her lips on my lips.
She’d shown me what a hypocrite I’d been.
I hurt because she wouldn’t touch me. Wouldn’t let me touch her. I hated that she kept me at arm’s length physically.
But I’d done the same to her. I’d barricaded my emotions. I’d buried my past and locked up my secrets. I’d cut her off emotionally.
My shoulders sagged as an even more heart-destroying conclusion found me.
If I was to earn Estelle’s permission to finally have her, then I had to give something of myself in return. I had to be willing to share.
I had to be willing to let her in.
I had to be willing to let her judge me for herself.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
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E S T E L L E
......
Time is measured more than in minutes and hours. Time is more complex than dials on a wall or hands on a clock. Time is contrary.
Twenty-six years, I’d been alive. Two years, I’d been a successful songwriter singer. Three months, I’d been island-wrecked. Two weeks, since I’d touched him.
So why did two weeks feel longer than every year I’d been breathing? Why did three months seem like an eternity?
Taken from the notepad of E.E.
...
FOURTEEN WEEKS
SOMETHING CHANGED IN Galloway the night I’d touched him.
He thawed a little. He smiled more. He made an effort to converse.
In the beginning, I’d been wary—looking for a trap. Then I’d been besotted, drinking in everything he let slip. His revelations were nothing earth-shattering. But I valued him opening up to me, to us. I finally believed we could become true friends and not standoffish survivors.
I learned he didn’t like hard liquor but loved craft beers brewed right. He didn’t like large cities but loved working in wide open spaces on his own. He got headaches when he was stressed. He suffered from claustrophobia. He was an only child and his dad was still alive.
Such simple things but I hoarded each one as if they were the key to unlocking him. Unfortunately, the more I learned about him, the more I wanted him.
My trip to my bamboo spot to pleasure myself became a regular occurrence and the desire to orgasm never stopped tormenting me.
I knew what I needed.
Him.
But no matter how many invitations I gave him: lingering glances, fleeting touches, desperate wordless hints to take me.
He never did.
He permitted my fingers to touch his when we cooked together. He allowed my thigh to rest against his while we carved bowls from coconut shells and weaved another blanket to sleep on.
Yet, he never accepted my solicitations.
He did, however, throw himself into building us a home.
Ever since the week of dismal dusting of rain and shadows, he’d announced we’d waited long enough for a roof over our heads.
Now his splint had come off, he moved more, but he couldn’t hide the anger at not having a fully healed leg and ankle. He limped (he tried not to), but his body was broken and there was nothing we could do.
It didn’t stop him from working with Conner. Together, they slowly dismantled the helicopter’s rotor blades with the aid of rocks and axe, smashing them free from the mast and dragging them through the forest to our beach.
It took them three days to get the two rotors to the sand and another afternoon to dig deep enough holes to ensure the blades stuck proudly from the beach like joists for a wall.
We only had two, but it was better than nothing.
Galloway took his time.
He asked for a page from my notebook and scribbled calculations and schematics, coming up with a draft for our island house.
Once the blades were sturdy and the markings for walls and entrances were drawn by our toes in the sand, I took Galloway to my private zo
ne with the bushes of bamboo.
His eyes lit up. His hands twitched to touch me. And my heart knew if Conner and Pippa hadn’t been with us, he would’ve kissed me.
And if he’d kissed me, I wouldn’t have let him stop.
Pregnancy or no pregnancy.
With the axe, he hacked away bushels of long, strong stems, carting them back to begin the arduous task of erecting walls.
Conner turned out to be a perfect protégé.
Pippa and I took over hunting while the boys spent every daylight hour hacking, splitting, tying, and constructing.
Pippa, apparently, was the chosen one with fishing. She wasn’t strong enough to use the spear, and I had no coordination. But together, we used my tatty t-shirt and a Y-shaped frame to drag the material through the water and catch the smaller silver fish in the shallows.
She became so fast, she could tickle them from the water with her bare hands.
The first meal with the smaller fish had been awful with crunchy scales and bones. But every inch of the creature (minus the entrails and head) was nutritional. The calcium from their bones, the protein from their flesh. Nothing went to waste, and slowly, we invented new ways to cook.
While the boys steadily turned our roofless camp into a home, Pippa and I experimented with menus. We forced ourselves to think outside the box. We wrapped fish fillets in leaves (like nature’s tinfoil) and broiled in charcoal. We pan-fried on rocks and buried pockets of ingredients in hot ash.
Some trials worked and others didn’t. But we never stopped trying.
One afternoon, we shredded three coconuts, warmed some water, and pounded the mixture together. Once a gooey paste, we wrapped it in a purple muslin scarf we’d found in Amelia’s tote. Squeezing the goo as tight as we could, we painstakingly drained the concoction and made coconut milk.
We used the white liquid to boil crabs and fish, and dinner had never tasted so decadently delicious.
Little by little, meal by meal, we were adapting, evolving.
Soon, we wouldn’t recognise ourselves.
Soon, we would be ruined for any rescue.
Because as we adapted and evolved, we found more and more happiness in the simplest of things. We gradually, grudgingly accepted that this was our home now.
Unseen Messages Page 30