by Candy Quinn
Still, he feels the soft give on my ass, and I feel my face burning, glancing up at the other guards for some semblance of help, but everyone looking at me just has a smug smile on their faces. None of them speak English as a first language, and I’m pretty sure the one feeling me up on his way back to my shoulders speaks the best English out of the lot of them.
But fuck, why does that make me feel so warm inside?
I signed up for this. I should have known I was in over my head this far away from another country.
“She’s clear,” the agent finally says, giving my ass a pinch as he scoots me along through the checkpoint, and I give a yelp, glaring daggers at him as I collect my things and move along. None of the other guards seem to have much sympathy, but that’s to be expected.
Not that the thought of a tall, strong islander copping a feel didn’t cross my mind on the way over here. The flight was long and arduous, and there wasn’t much else to occupy my mind than the thought that maybe, just maybe, I’ll get some action while I’m on this remote, tropical island.
And those thoughts kind of stuck with me, in kind of a big way. I thank everything there was no way for that agent to realize just how wet I was by the time I landed and reached customs.
God, I’m going to get myself into trouble here.
I keep a quick pace as I head down the long hallway towards the gate exit, and I can’t help but notice how many eyes are turning my way from the locals. I get it, it’s not that common that a traveler passes through this place, but something about the exposure keeps the heat in me burning, and I curse my body as I walk.
But this is the only island the university would pay for me to visit for research, so here I am, thousands of miles away from America and feeling more vulnerable than I have since I was a little child.
I make my way down to baggage claim, and within a few minutes, I’m clumsily dragging what feels like fifty pounds of suitcases out the airport sliding doors. Naturally, just as I’m leaving the building and turn to head to the strip of road where my ride to the research station is supposed to be waiting for me, one of my suitcases starts to tip over, and as I frantically reach to stop it, I feel a crack under me as one of my heels breaks, and I topple to the ground with a yelp, along with the rest of my luggage.
“Ow...” I groan as I get to my knees, rubbing my ass as my cheeks burn bright red, praying nobody saw that. As if on cue, I notice a shadow over me, and my heart sinks as I realize my prayers have been answered, though not the way I was hoping for.
“You look like you need a hand, miss,” comes a deep, husky voice, and I blink in surprise at the faint British accent I hear in it, and I look up.
And I never want to look anywhere else again.
Towering over me is a man with gorgeous, short brown hair, brown eyes hiding a glint of the tropical sun in them like freshly brewed coffee just at the right time in the morning, and his smile, while reassuring and comforting in a way I can’t even process, holds a hint of that smugness in it of someone who knows he’s come across a woman who does not have her shit together.
“Oh, um, hello!” is the first thing to spill out of my lip, and internally, I hear myself groaning Harper, you complete ditz.
“Hello to you too,” he says, his husky tone deep yet almost condescending, yet in a strangely fatherly way. Without waiting for permission, he reaches down, taking my hand in one of his and placing the other on the small of my back as he helps me to my feet, and before I can even get my bearings, he brushes one of those annoying tendrils of hair out of my eyes, and I feel my traitorous body blushing.
Why couldn’t this have been the guy who patted me down? my instincts ask, but my better sense fights them back.
Standing up, I can tell just how much taller he is than me—the guy’s got a head on me, easily, maybe more. He’s wearing a button-up that’s breezy and thin enough to be suitable for the climate. Now, I have a good eye for nice clothing. Maybe it’s a result of my being a starving student most of my life and pining over nice clothes in Pinterest. But I can tell that his white Egyptian cotton shirt does not come cheap. It’s rolled up enough to show off forearms that look thick enough to carry me in one of them.
After a moment, I realize I’m staring, and my face blushes even harder as his smile just grows. “Quite a lot of help, I’ll bet.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say with a laugh, covering half my face with a hand and averting my eyes, “I just got here, and it’s been a hell of a trip, and-” I only just now notice that there’s a car parked on the side of the road, one of the doors open. It’s a sleek red sedan, definitely a newer model, not the kind I was expecting to see out here, but I’m not going to question it, mostly because it’s the only car I see parked near the airport sidewalk, and my brain puts two and two together. “Are...you my ride? To the research station? I’m from the university.”
He peers at me a moment, putting a hand into a pocket of his pants and looking me up and down. There’s something about him that reminds me of some of my friends’ dads I had a crush on in high school, yet he’s so much more imposing, his body so striking and out of place yet comforting on this unfamiliar island.
“Why, yes,” he says, raising his perfectly manicured eyebrows and smiling, glancing back to his car. “The research station is a short drive from here, I hope you know—but don’t worry, there’s hardly any travel, so you won’t have to get used to the sounds of planes flying overhead.” Without warning, he reaches down and picks up my luggage as if it were full of feathers, and he starts to load them into the car neatly, leaving me blinking at him in surprise.
Is this some kind of joke? There is no way a guy that hot just lives out here in the middle of nowhere. And the more I look at him, the more I suspect he isn’t actually my ride. I mean, what kind of driver has a car like that? But he did know right where the research station is when I mentioned it...who else would know that?
After he loads my stuff into the car, he steps around to the passenger’s side and holds his hand out to me to help me in. “Please, after you,” he says, and I’m so taken aback I just reflexively reach out my hand and let him set me into the front seat.
“Don’t passengers usually ride in the back?” I say uncertainly, looking around for some kind of meter, assuming him to be a taxi driver or Uber or something. But there’s nothing like that on the dashboard.
“Call it island hospitality,” he says with a good-natured laugh as he gets in and starts the car. The engine roars to life, sending vibrations through the whole car and my seat, and I feel myself a little excited by the sheer energy he must have under the hood.
Damn it, Harper, keep it together! I rally myself, but I realize that I simply can’t tear my eyes from this guy. I’m still not entirely convinced he’s real. I mean, what kind of island has hot British men pull up in powerful cars to pick you up from the airport?
“My name is William, by the way,” he says as we pull out and onto the main roads of the island, if they can be called that. They’re still dirt roads, not a shred of asphalt in sight, and the greenery is threatening to invade every inch of space. “But please, call me Will.”
“Oh,” I said, unused to drivers introducing themselves so casually. “I’m Harper. Harper Emerson. But I suppose you already know that—not that it would be hard to mistake me for someone else, out here,” I joke, forcing a laugh, but the chuckle he gives is sincere, and he flashes a smile at me.
“I think it would be hard to mistake you for someone else anywhere, Harper,” he says, and it takes me a moment to catch his meaning. Is he...hitting on me? Okay, this guy has to be an actor.
“I was about to say the same about you!” I giggle, trying to sound like I’m totally not in over my head talking to this guy. My driver. Is he even my driver? Harper, you idiot, he might as well be a kidnapper, and here you just got into the car with him. Yet somehow, the idea of him kidnapping me didn’t seem all that bad. “But I’ve got to say, I wasn’t expecting to be pi
cked up by someone so...British.”
He laughs again at that, a deep, warm, mirthful laugh that warms me on the inside, wanting to keep him talking. There’s a sort of cool confidence in the way he carries himself that makes me want to listen to him ramble on about...well, anything.
“And I wasn’t expecting to pick up someone so gorgeous, but here you are,” he quips, and I feel my heart beat faster as a smile plays on my lips, my hand reaching up to nervously twirl a lock of hair around my finger. It figures that I’d run into a guy like this looking like, well, about how you’d expect to look like after over thirty hours on planes. Good thing I had time to gussy up a little on the last flight.
“Is that more island hospitality?” I joke as he turns a corner, his car handling smoother than anything I’ve ever ridden in.
“No, that’s just me,” he says, and I know exactly what that undertone in his voice means. Oh god, Harper, what are you getting yourself into? “Now,” he goes on, “I was told I’d be picking up a university student, but they didn’t mention were from.”
“Bath,” I say, happy to be talking about something I know how to handle myself in, unlike flirting, “but yeah, I’m American,” I add hastily as he flashes me a smile. “I’m an environmental scientist. There are some plant species on this island that are entirely unique to the ecosystem, and—well, I don’t want to bore you with the details,” I trail off nervously, but he just laughs at my discomfort.
“Believe me,” he says, “you can’t bore me. This is probably the most interesting thing in a few years to happen to this little island, and I dare say that you are too,” he adds, and I’m astonished by how brazen this driver is being. And yet I can’t quite tell myself that I’m not enjoying myself. Being a full-time grad student has me overworked and underappreciated, and as much as I’m pretty sure this guy is either a dream or about to murder me, I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts. Once I’m holed up in my research station, I probably won’t ever see the guy again. That thought hits me, and I feel a little sadness as we take a turn down a path that I realize is probably our stop.
“Well, here we are, Miss Harper Emerson the biologist,” he says, making my name sound so heavenly on his accented tongue. He stops a few dozen yards from what I realize is the station, and my heart sinks. It’s basically a trailer with a cabin next to it, but some of the equipment visible through the windows tells me this is the place. “Your... luxury suites, I see,” he adds, noticing my disappointment at the site of the place. “Just remind yourself that this island has plenty more to see than the inside of that dingy trailer,” he says, and I smile at him, savoring that husky voice as much as I can before he drives out of my life.
“Th-thanks, Will,” I say, cursing myself for stammering. Am I really so horny as to be flustered by a simple goodbye? Yes, yes I am.
I step out of the car with him, and he helps me unload the trunk and get my luggage. “I can take it from here,” I say, and I regret it the next minute — damn it, why didn’t I ask him to help me to the trailer? He looks a little surprised by my haste too, even as I’m blushing, but he smiles nonetheless.
“I can see you’re in a hurry to get some rest, so don’t let me get in the way of that,” he says, perfect teeth sparkling as he walks around to the car and gives me a wave. “Do take care, Harper. I think we’ll be seeing each other again sooner than you think.”
“Wait,” I say, confused, “what?” But he’s already getting into the car, the engine roaring to life again as he pulls off down the road, leaving me on my one. Alone, nothing but the gentle rustling of the tropical trees all around me to keep me company.
Frowning, I trudge off to the trailer, hardly taking notice of the exotic, breathtaking wildlife all around me. There are plants nearby I’ve only ever seen in obscure textbook photos, and a dozen more I genuinely don’t recognize. This place is going to be a gold mine of research.
Now, if I can just get rid of that damn persistent need I feel between my legs so I can clear my head…
I walk up to the trailer door and see a note taped to the front: Key Under Mat. That’s it. Not even something to confirm that I’m supposed to be here or what this place is. And no guarantee there aren’t squatters inside. Awesome.
I retrieve the key and open the place, and the stillness within tells me I have nothing to fear from squatters. Or visitors, by the looks of things.
I am definitely going to lose my mind out here, I realize, my heart sinking. As I unpack my things and get comfy in my home for the next year, I can’t get the thought out of my mind — what the hell did Will mean by seeing me again soon? What even does he do out here? Drive people around? This island can’t have a population of over a thousand, so it wouldn’t surprise me, but you do not afford a car like his on that salary. Can you?
Once I’m settled in, I see to the next priority: a shower. The bathroom in the trailer is, uh, cozy, but it’ll do. And as I’m stripping off my clothes and feeling the warm island air on my naked body and start running the water, I don’t care in the slightest.
To my surprise, there’s a tub in there, though it takes up most of the bathroom. I step into it with one of my long legs, and the hot water makes me grateful for at least that feature in my cramped quarters.
Once I’m inside, I pull the hair tie out of my mane and let the hair fall over my shoulders with a deep sigh. Hot water caresses my tired shoulders, running down to my breasts and swollen nipples, still on edge from all the excitement of the day. The water runs down between them to the smooth skin of my stomach, then down between my thighs, mingling with the wetness the drive with Will had built up on its way down my ample hips and generous ass. I cover my face with my hands as I feel the burn of embarrassment hot inside me.
I’ve just gotten here. This is the opportunity of a lifetime. I know myself well enough to know when I’m crushing on someone, and I know that the feelings sparking inside me for that mysterious, towering guy aren’t just because he happened to walk into my life when I was pent up and horny as hell.
Not that he’ll be interested anymore when he finds out I’m a virgin.
My brown hair gets wet and drapes over my shoulder as I lie down in the tub, letting the hot shower water patter on me gently as I just kind of let myself trance out. Putting school first my whole life has left little room for a love life. Yeah, I’ve been on dates, usually with colleagues, but I’ve never made it past making out and copping a feel, and a hand job here and there. And I’ve never considered myself gorgeous, personally, even if the constant hounding from other students and even my professors has told me otherwise.
But Will? He just dove right in — I know flirting when I see it, and he was going after me hard. Is this just how things are on the island? There must not be many other women around, that must be it. But I wonder if that’s enough to keep me away from him. Those thick forearms I could see were fantastic, and I just know the rest of his body must match it — I could guess that much from the way his shirt hugged his torso. God, what I wouldn’t give to fall into those muscles.
As I’m trancing out, I realize my hand has drifted between my legs, and I withdraw it a moment. I just got here, am I really about to do something like this on the university’s dime in a brand-new location?
As much as I fight them, my instincts make my answer for me, and I feel my fingers slowly sliding back to the top of my puffy labia, and I shiver hard as soon as two fingers brush against the swollen nub of my clit.
Wow, just how wound-up are you, Harper?
The tips of my fingers swirl around my clit as warmth from within me swells up, mixing deliciously with the steam and heat of the shower as I press my legs against the cool sides of the tub, my bare feet pressing against the far end as I get comfortable. My free hand goes up to my nipple, and my lips part, a quick, hot breath escaping me as I feel electricity run through my body at the touch.
The second I start touching myself, the girlish fantasies of Will are in my head, and I know it
’s useless to resist them. They’re as persistent as his aggressive flirting, and I’m in no place to resist my inner will as I keep stroking myself, feeling tension already building up inside me. I bite my lip as I picture him coming into my trailer with me, those smouldering eyes of his looking down at me as he stoops to enter the little trailer, looking like a giant next to me before he rips my blouse off and seizes my hips…
“Aahh — ahhhh!” I gasp as my first orgasm rockets through me like a lightning strike, over a day of travel’s worth of stress melting away from me and running down the drain with my honey as I feel the first real, blissful smile in weeks tug at my lips. I realize I haven’t even taken my makeup off, and that just makes me feel all the more irresponsible for using my first free moment to touch myself. But I keep going, and I feel my stomach tense and relax over and over again with more ease than I’ve ever known. What the hell is it around here that’s making me so fucking horny?
But I know the answer, and he drove me here.
My legs are nearly shaking from the excitement by the time I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around myself, but I’m ashamed to realize I could go for a lot more if I wanted. But I need to get settled and ready for work tomorrow. I’m surprised to see my phone blinking, and I pad over to it and see a voicemail on it.
Furrowing my brow, I hold it to my ear and listen to the unfamiliar voice.
“Ah, hello, Miss Emerson? This is your driver for the airport, do I have the right number? I’m here waiting for you, but a security guard says you left with someone you seemed to know. Give me a call back. Thanks.”
My eyes widen, and I nearly drop the phone. If Will isn’t a driver...then who the hell was he?!
The sound of heavy construction equipment right outside my window wakes me up with a start, and I nearly fall out of my tiny bed, rudely interrupted from the dream I was having that left me with a hand unconsciously drifting between my slick thighs.
