by Jane Henry
He chuckles. “Nope. C’mon.”
He reaches for my hand and leads me inside, but enters the shelter first in a defensive stance, as if ready to ward off the aliens if that is, in fact, who’s here. But, naturally, nothing comes running at us with probes or bulging eyes. In fact, the sound was so sudden, I would wonder if I imagined the noise if he hadn’t heard it, too.
“Was it coming from the computer?” he asks. But the computer was fried in the storm, and there isn’t much happening. No lights or noises or really anything that would indicate it was just squawking at us a moment ago.
“The thing’s dead,” I say, shaking my head. “I mean it’s like a big paper weight for God’s sake.”
Adrian turns to me and shrugs.
Suddenly, the ground tilts beneath me, letting loose a gargantuan rumble that takes my breath away. I lose my footing and stumble straight into Adrian. He tries to right me, but it doesn’t do much good, as he’s falling, too.
“Earthquake!” he shouts. “Get down!”
The chair in front of the little desk hurtles through the air. Adrian shoves me aside and pushes me to the floor, deflecting the chair with his forearm before it hits me full on. I scream and cover my head in a crouched position, trying to protect myself from any other flying debris. He’s over me, his whole body covering mine to protect me, then the rumbling and movement stops.
“Don’t move,” he orders. “I need to make sure nothing’s going to fall and hurt us. And there could be an aftershock.”
I stay as still as I can while he slowly peels himself off of me. I can feel him craning his neck, but I maintain my position on the ground. Finally, he gives me the go ahead.
“You’re alright,” he says. He stands and frowns, looking around the interior. “Looks like we didn’t suffer any major damage. It was a pretty small quake, all things considered.” Still frowning, he stalks over to the computer and points to a rectangular-shaped object next to it with a little screen. “It wasn’t the computer that made that noise,” he says. “It was this. I’m no scientist but I think this might be a seismograph.”
“I thought those were like attached to boards with balls and strings,” I mutter.
“This one’s digital.”
“Ahh. Well I guess we know why the scientists were here,” I say.
“Yep.”
I walk over to the equipment that lies silently, betraying nothing and giving no answers, on the little desk. I’d almost forgotten it was there, as it’s completely useless to us. It’s nothing like the chrome computer that sits on my desk at home, connecting me to the internet and every imaginable modern comfort I could want. This thing is ancient, and I’d hardly know what to do with it.
The memory of home hits me.
“What do you think they did with my things?” I blurt out.
Adrian’s frowning as he inspects every inch of our shelter. He looks over his shoulder at me. Dressed in nothing but a pair of shorts, tanned like a surfer, with his wild, unkempt hair and beard, he looks like an island native. He crosses his arms on his chest, corded forearms bulging as he looks me over.
“What things? And who’s they?”
I swallow. I don’t even know why I said it. “My possessions. At home. My… computer and shoes and the clothes and car. My… money in my bank account? What do they do with it all?”
His eyes harden. “Who the fuck cares?” he grits out.
“I do.” I think I do, anyway. “Have they… am I dead to them?”
He shrugs, his hand on the exit. “Maybe. And if I’m lucky, I’m dead to them, too.” He lets the door shut with a bang. I sink into the wobbly chair at the desk, my mind anywhere but here.
One morning, I wake up craving chicken. For breakfast. It’s a weird thing to want first thing in the morning, as we usually have fruit and sometimes eggs and fish.
I guess there’s only so much coconut and fish a girl can eat.
The space next to me on the bed is empty. Adrian likely went for his morning run and to catch fish. He’s like clockwork, this guy. He’s been trying to get me to go on a run with him. There are many things he can make me do but running on a deserted island before the sun rises is most definitely not one of them.
Outside the window, I hear a flurry of feathers, and sit up in bed. Adrian’s had some luck catching the large birds that frequent our island, and I got over my aversion for them pretty quickly once he cooked them.
“Tastes like chicken,” I told him the first night he stewed them. And now, it’s all I have on my mind.
I’m legit crazy. Who the hell wakes up, wants chicken, and then throws their clothes and shoes on so they can chase a bird outside their window?
This girl, that’s who.
The birds flutter past me, and I look about me for something to get it with. A large stone looks like it’ll suit me fine. I pick it up, and without really thinking about what I’m doing, I hurl it at the large bird. Not surprisingly, I miss it, and the rock goes careening off into the woods, hitting a tree like a gunshot.
The bird turns and looks at me, and the next thing I know, it’s flying at me. For Christ’s sake, I had no idea these fucking things were so aggressive. I scream, covering my eyes, because anyone knows you cover your eyes when a bird is coming at you, and grab onto a nearby tree branch. I may not be a sunrise runner, but I do keep myself in shape, so it’s pretty easy to foist myself up the branch and climb the tree to hide from the attack bird.
Only now the bird is nowhere to be seen.
And I’m stuck way the hell up in a tree.
I swear under my breath and try to look for a way to get down, but I did a really good damn job of climbing this one, as an exit is literally nowhere to be found. I sigh.
Adrian will either laugh his ass off or spank me silly. Hopefully option A.
I look around for an escape route and I can’t quite figure out how I did this. It’s like using a zip-tie, a one-way method of getting shit done that cannot be undone when necessary. What the hell?
I hold onto the huge branch and swing my legs down, but soon realize I’m doing nothing but dangling ten feet up in the air, and I can’t just let go. With effort, I haul myself back up to a stable position on the branch, and carefully glide over to the large trunk. But here, the trunk is bare and as slick as glass, so there’s no way I can grab ahold of it at all. I think I see a low-lying branch I can grab onto, and I’m just about to find a way to get to it when I hear twigs snapping, and Adrian comes into view below me.
Shit.
“Nadine?” he calls into the shelter. He hasn’t seen me yet, which makes sense, of course, because I’m dangling in a fucking tree above his head. But I have to pee and I’m starving, so I can’t exactly stay up here forever. I’ll get laughed at or spanked, but at this point, I’ll take either.
“I’m up here,” I yell, my cheeks already flaming with embarrassment.
His head whips back and he looks around until he spies me. His mouth falls open. I wait for it, either the laugh or the stern look and lecture, but he only looks curious.
“What the fuck are you doing in a fucking tree?” he says.
The abundant use of “fuck” makes me wonder if I’m closer to the spanking/lecture response than the laughter, so I choose my words carefully.
“Well, there was this… bird,” I begin. “And I tried to catch it. But I missed, and it got angry and aggressive and tried to attack me. So… I scrambled up this tree. But I have no idea how I did it, and definitely no idea how to get down.”
He blinks. “A bird,” he repeats.
I nod, but only slightly as I don’t want to fall.
“You tried to… catch it… and it… tried to… attack you,” he repeats, raising one brow quizzically at me.
“That’s what I said,” I say through clenched teeth.
He nods slowly, and circles the tree, tugging at his beard.
“Interesting situation,” he mumbles.
“Are you going to
help me, or just mock me?” I ask, my patience growing thin. “I am starving, and I have to pee really, really badly.”
He looks up and shrugs. “I could help you, but what’s in it for me?”
I blow out an exasperated breath. “Are you seriously going to take advantage of this situation?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Adrian!”
“Nadine!” he mocks, hands on hips.
I sigh. “Okay, fine,” I mumble. “Help me down and I’ll… do whatever you want.” Already, just making this promise makes my nipples harden and my pussy clench. It’s been days since he fucked me and I’m really, really ready.
“Mmm,” he says. “Now that I can get behind. Alright, then. Jump, and I’ll catch you.”
He stands, feet apart, and puts his arms out.
“What? Are you crazy?”
There is no way!
He shakes his head. “I’m not crazy. Jump. I’ll catch you.”
“I’ll kill you!”
“Didn’t the first time,” he mutters, his eyes darkening with the memory. I feel slightly nauseous. The first time I jumped on him he was an escaped convict and I leapt to prevent his escape. There must’ve been an adrenaline rush or something, because the thought of doing that now doesn’t seem as feasible as it did then.
I swallow. I’m not going to focus on that now. That was a different time and place from where we are now.
“Jump,” he repeats, still trying to coax me.
“God, no, I can’t jump,” I sputter, even though in my head I’m wondering what the hell other option do I have?
“Nadine,” he says, using that stern tone that I can’t help but obey. “Fucking jump. I can’t come up to get you, but I can catch you, and if you don’t jump by the time I count to three, I will spank your ass when I do finally get my hands on you. Understood?”
I glare at him, but he only narrows his eyes. “One.”
He did this once before and I knew then I had to obey. This time is no different.
“Just… jump? And you’ll catch me?” I ask, feeling like I’m going to be ill.
“Just jump,” he says, in his calmest voice. “And I’ll catch you. And that’s two.”
I close my eyes. I have to do it. How else will I get down.
“Three,” he growls.
With a blood-curdling scream, I leap, straight at him, the wind whipping through the air. I close my eyes and brace myself for the inevitable crash.
I hit his arms and we both tumble to the ground, but not so hard we’re injured. We land with a soft “oof.”
“Oh my God, are you okay?” I ask him.
“Of course,” he says, before he grabs my arm and yanks me over to him. He weaves his fingers in my hair, holding it so tight to my scalp that if I move it hurts. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” he orders. “I’ll whip your ass if you do.”
I know he means it. My pulse quickens and damn him, the threat stokes my need for him like embers in a fire reigniting. He’s trained me to be aroused and a little afraid when he threatens punishment.
I can’t nod with my head gripped like this so I just agree. “Okay.” He pulls, making me gasp. “Okay, okay, yes sir.” He releases my hair, spins me around, and slams his palm against my ass.
“Ow,” I say, rubbing my ass with a little pout and looking over my shoulder at him. “What was that for?”
He frowns. “It was a warning because you did something stupid and reckless. I’ll catch the birds. Got it? And no more climbing up fucking trees.”
“It was going to attack me!” I protest, but he holds up a finger and shakes his head.
“You need to be more careful,” he says, but then he spins me back around to face him. His hand comes to the back of my head and he cradles it just before his mouth meets mine. My heart flutters in my chest and I yield to him, letting him hold me. His whiskers scratch my cheek and lips, but his lips are soft on mine.
He pulls away too soon, and his mouth is to my ear. “I want you safe, Nadine,” he says. I nod, a bit more subdued and honestly grateful I’m not up in that damn tree anymore. “You understand me?”
He places his finger under my chin and tips my eyes up to meet his. The near-black of his irises makes my belly flip. I can only nod and swallow hard. His stern gaze softens, then, and he brushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Good girl,” he says. He pushes himself to his feet and reaches for my hand. “Let’s get something to eat.”
We eat our usual breakfast, and I chatter on about the breakfasts my mama used to make. It’s comfortable, just the two of us sharing like this.
“What about you?” I ask. He never speaks of his childhood or home life, and though I know from the research I did so long ago that he was poor, and his father was not a good man, I don’t know much more.
He shrugs. “I don’t have many fond memories of my childhood,” he says. “I don’t like to think about it.”
I take a sip of water and think before I respond. “Do you like it here?” I ask him.
He nods. “I do,” he says. “It’s beautiful, and I like having to work for my food. I’m not sure what the weather will bring with the change of seasons, but it feels good, working for food and shelter, and living off the land like this.” He smirks. “Well, the occasional can of stew notwithstanding.”
We mostly don’t eat the canned goods that are here, saving them for a real emergency. He looks at me. “And you?”
I don’t look at him when I respond, and at first, I’m not sure why.
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I miss things. I’m almost out of soap and toothpaste, and the idea of brushing my teeth with… coconut water or whatever the fuck… sort of turns me off.” I sigh. “Yeah. I miss a lot of things. But there’s no use of focusing on any of those things if I can’t escape.”
He’s quiet for a minute before he speaks. “And if you could?”
My belly swoops. “What?” I whisper.
“What if you could escape? Be rescued?” he asks.
Would he let me go? Just like that?
“I don’t know,” I tell him. I remember how bereft I felt when he told me he’d hide me from rescuers if they ever came.
Would I feel the same now?
And I truly don’t know how to answer the question. What would I even do now if I were rescued?
“I wouldn’t turn you in,” I tell him, and it almost embarrasses me to admit it. “Not anymore.”
I wonder if it’ll make him angry, reminding him of our roles and pasts, but he only nods and says a quiet, “thank you.”
He cleans up the remains of our breakfast, stands, and stretches.
“Don’t forget you owe me for rescuing you.”
I stand in front of him, suddenly very, very aware of his large, muscled frame, tanned, corded forearms, and the dark trail of hair that goes all the way from his chest, down his abdomen, and into his shorts. I need to touch him.
I reach for his arm and gently stroke the fine, dark hair that covers his forearm. My eyes are on him. Is he going to push me away? When he doesn’t, I continue to touch him, running my hands along the muscles in his back, then cupping his ass. He moans, and his shorts tent. My pussy clenches and my clit throbs.
“What should I do to thank you?” I whisper. I smooth one hand down his abs, and reach for his cock, cupping it in my hands. I gently squeeze. He lengthens in my hand through the fabric, making my panties dampen. I love turning him on like this. I knead his cock and palm his balls through the fabric. He hisses and moans, reaching out to grab my hair with one firm, strong hand.
“Get on the bed,” he growls. He’s fucked me four times since that first time on the grass, and he’s getting bolder and bolder every time he does.
I get onto the bed and wait for the next command, but he doesn’t say anything this time. He lifts me straight up in the air and flips me onto my belly. This is a first. My breath hitches when I remember, this man is a dom.
&nbs
p; “Adrian?” I ask, then more tentatively. “Sir?”
He bends down and brushes a kiss across my cheek, thanking me for that. I swallow hard. In my former life, I’d have died before I’d call a man sir, but who the hell cares? It’s just the two of us here anyway, and no one to come in between us.
He’s arranging me on the bed by gently pressing my chest down, then taking my hands and pulling them so my arms are stretched out in front of me. “Good girl,” he says. “What is it?”
I swallow. I’ve been meaning to ask him for a while, but now sounds as good a time as any. “What… sort of things… did you do at the club?”
I wonder if it’s a sore spot. After all, he was sent to prison because of what happened at the club.
He gently swats my inner thigh to get my legs to open. God, I’m soaked already. He fingers me and grunts his approval. “Lots of things,” he says. “Impact play. I like giving out spankings of all shapes and sizes. Whips, canes, paddles, straps, my hand. You name it, I’ve used it.”
I close my eyes, and he fingers me as he tells me the things he’d do to me. “If I had you there, I’d strap you to a bench and let you really sink into a good spanking. Maybe with something moderate like a crop.”
He flicks his thumb on my clit and I arch, but he quickly slaps my ass. “Chest down,” he orders.
“What else?” I breathe.
“I like the furniture for a good spanking,” he says. “The benches, the cross, whipping post or spanking horse.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “And the sybian’s a favorite as well.”
“Sybian?”
He plunges fingers into my core and my muscles contract around them. I gasp and writhe. “A sybian is like a saddle, but for orgasms.”
I gasp. “What?”
“It vibrates and has an attached dildo, and I control the settings. It can be used for punishment or pleasure,” he explains, pinching my clit at the word punishment. I hiss, but when he releases me, blood flows back through my clit and I squirm against his hand. “As you’re very well aware, orgasms can be a form of punishment or reward, just like a spanking.”
I nod, my own need to climax building with the expert strokes of his fingers. “Mhm.”
