by Jane Henry
“I also like nipple clamps. They can be moderate to severe, and also punishment or pleasure. I sometimes like using hot wax, and definitely enjoy knife play.”
I gasp when he flicks my clit again. I’m not shocked by what he’s telling me.
“Knife play?” I breathe, my need to climax ratcheting even higher. “What… how does that work?”
He bends down and fists my hair, his breath skittering across my skin when he whispers, “I’ve shaved you, Nadine. Think about it. It’s all about a little modified pain. You have to trust me not to cut you. And when you see that I’d rather cut off my right nut than harm you, you sink into that scene and make it yours.”
He’s working me up, but I’m stuck on his words. He’d rather hurt himself than harm me? Since when?
Since now, I tell myself. Now.
And that’s all that matters.
He goes on about hot wax and hoods, blindfolds and gags, but I’m so dizzy with arousal I can barely focus.
“We can try things here, you know,” he says, with a firm stroke of my clit. “We’ll have to get creative, but what the hell else do we have to do?”
“I love it,” I breathe. “Yes, sir.”
“Come,” he orders me. I’m so primed to listen to his words that at his command, I fly. My sex throbs as he works every bit of my orgasm out of me, and just when I’m on the cusp of falling down from the orgasm, I need him in me.
“Please,” I whisper. He’s too far away. I need him closer.
His cock slides through my folds. “This what you want?” he asks.
“Yes, fuck yes, please,” I say. It was fine having him make me come until I felt him in me. Now, I need to finish that way. He hasn’t fucked me from behind like this before. I like being prostrate on the bed in front of him with my arms outstretched, my pussy ready to be filled by him.
He anchors himself onto my hips and drives himself deep inside. I close my eyes and grasp the blankets beneath me. When he slams into me I realize he’s been holding himself back, easing me into this. He likes to fuck hard, but knew I wasn’t ready.
Am I now?
His cock fills my core and my walls contract around him. Every thrust of his hips sends pleasure spiking through my veins and my heartbeat crashes against my ribcage. My breath is caught in my throat as pleasure laced with pain rips through me, but I’ve come to like the little bit of pain mingled with ecstasy.
“Jesus Christ,” he swears reverently, his fingers digging into my hips so hard I can envision little finger-shaped bruises marking my skin. His breath hitches and he growls his release just as I topple into my second harder, sweeter orgasm. I arch into him as he comes but fall back to the bed when he slaps my ass to get me back in position. I sigh. This feels so fucking good. I’m floating, my heart still hammering in my chest and my body slick with sweat.
He pulls out. I’m a mess, but I don’t much care.
I still when his hand comes to my head and he rakes his fingers down my long hair.
The past is gone, and the future is uncertain. This is all we have now.
Each other.
Chapter Eighteen
Adrian
The days run into weeks and then months. Her beautiful body is tanned and muscled, from her long walks on the beach and swimming. She remarked the other day that she almost doesn’t need her modern beauty products, as the nutrients in the coconuts and fish and fruit sustain us. Her skin glows vibrant and her hair gleams. We’re remarkably healthy here on this island, feasting on fruits and fish, getting plenty of sun, and spending every waking moment with each other.
Her razor blades have long since run out, and I’ve helped her shave with the finely-sharpened blade I keep by my side. She was afraid at first, but I showed her she could trust me. I lubricate her with the coconut milk and squeeze the oil on my hands from the coconut meat. It’s a slow process, but by the time I’m done, she’s soaking wet and ready for more.
But the razor blades remind me that our time on this island stretches on forever. No one is coming to rescue us. Or her, I should say. I wouldn’t let anyone rescue me if they tried.
I’m watching her as she sleeps. When she sleeps, she’s so peaceful. So beautiful. She’s young and has her entire life ahead of her. If I keep her here, what’s left of her life? I gently stroke her long, silky hair, and she moves instinctively closer to me, with a little sigh. Her brow is soft and untroubled when she sleeps, unlike the furrow she often wears when thinking of things that bother her, as she did today.
When she asks me about being rescued and returning to civilization, I wonder. Is she meant to be here? I’m a free man, at least for now, and I’ll fucking die before I get that stripped wrongfully from me again.
But what about Nadine? She did nothing to deserve being removed from everything and anything in her life, giving up modern luxury and convenience to be here on this island with me.
It isn’t right.
My eyes wander to the entry room of our shelter where the defunct computer equipment sits. If there’s a way to send a signal to someone, somewhere… I’ll find it.
I take the flashlight and walk slowly into the entryway room, swinging the light around me. Even though it’s daybreak, it’s not too bright inside yet. The computer sits on the desk, staring at me like a time capsule, a crude reminder that we’re not truly isolated in this world, but forgotten. It’s a scary thought, really. Everyone thinks we’re dead.
Are we? If no one knows we exist, do we matter?
I tinker a little with the equipment. It means nothing to me, so I haven’t really looked at it in detail before, but I know this isn’t standard equipment. When the earthquake came before we heard the sound, though.
And then it finally dawns on me. How could I not see it before? I’ve already figured out this equipment is meant to track seismic waves. Maybe the scientists who were here were seismologists, studying shifting plates or volcanic activity. There are only fruit trees in the small area shielded from the main island, because volcanic ash or gases could have at one time killed the others on the mainland.
If what I believe is true, the scientists could’ve been harmed in an earthquake or volcanic eruption, or they could’ve been disappointed in the results of their studies and gone elsewhere.
In any event, they were here at one point. They communicated with others. There was a way and may be still.
I look once more to the peaceful woman lying in my bed.
If there is a way, I’ll have to find it.
Chapter Nineteen
Nadine
I’ve been keeping tabs on our time here, and I realize one morning, with a little jolt of shock, that it’s my birthday. Instead of filling me with joy, I find the news troubling.
Adrian finds me staring out the little window in our room, mulling. He’s whistling to himself after his morning run. Before he sees me, I spend some time observing him closely. He’s stronger, more tanned, but a bit leaner since we arrived here. He works his body hard, running and swimming, doing pull ups on the tree branches and push-ups on the sand. I’ve tried, and it’s fucking hard to do, so I have to admire it. He takes pride in keeping his body in tip-top shape, and I can’t help but appreciate that.
His beard is thick and long, growing unhindered on the island like this, but I like it. It’s sort of the hipster thing to do anyway, so much so he wouldn’t even really look out of place at home.
He sees me through the open window and waves. It’s been so long now since I’ve thought of him as my captor that it startles me when I remember. Spurred on by the memory of my birthday, I think of what future lies ahead. Is there a future, or am I destined to live on this little isolated patch of land forever?
I frown and sit with my chin in my hands while I think. At home now, I’d make reservations at a restaurant with friends, to toast another year of my life. We’d eat, drink, and be merry, then I’d see myself home and put myself to bed with a lighter wallet.
Do I really
miss that?
I’m not so sure.
I don’t like growing older here, though. Or maybe I just don’t like growing old.
When Adrian comes in the room, he finds me staring off into space.
“Everything okay, babe?” he asks. We’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm of things like an old married couple, and the very thought makes me grumpy. I never agreed to this. This wasn’t part of my plan.
“It’s my birthday,” I blurt out.
He blinks, looking at me with his hands anchored on his hips. “Is it? Well, I owe you a birthday spanking then.”
I glower at him. Oh no he doesn’t.
“I’m good, thanks.”
His lips turn down in a frown and he tilts his head to the side. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking away from him. He takes a step toward me and sits on the bed. It creaks next to me, but he doesn’t touch me.
“Do you want to celebrate?” he asks. “We still have some of that whiskey. And I bet I can make some kinda cake with the breadfruit and fruits, if I get a little creative—”
“No,” I snap. I don’t want to talk to him. I turn away, but he doesn’t let me get away with that sort of thing. I feel my chin in his strong fingers, as he pivots my head to look at him.
“It isn’t my fault it’s your birthday.”
“Of course I know that,” I snap.
“Nadine,” he says warningly. He hates backtalk and rudeness. I’ve accepted that it’s part of his nature. I’ll never be like one of his submissives, but some things aren’t worth fighting, especially when there’s literally no one else to talk to. He expects me to behave a certain way, and for the most part I do.
“What?” I ask.
His black eyes narrow and he still holds my chin. “Your birthday is no reason to get all bitchy.”
I smack his hand away. “Oh yeah? You’re not the one who just hit thirty with absolutely nothing to show for it.”
He nabs my wrist. “You’re on thin ice,” he warns.
I plow on anyway, though, “Thin ice my ass,” I say. “I didn’t agree to this. I didn’t sign up to be tossed in the middle of nowhere with a convict who has a penchant for control and pain,” I rattle on. I want to stop myself but can’t seem to shut my mouth. “I didn’t choose to spend my thirtieth birthday eating fish and fruit again.” My voice hitches. This milestone of age seems to have knocked a rock loose in my mind and an avalanche of thoughts comes tumbling down. “I didn’t agree to play house with hardly any modern conveniences and to drink fucking disgusting coconut water out of a fucking coconut shell. In fact, this is utter bullshit.”
I try to push out of the bed so I can march off and do my little tantrum justice, when I’m lifted straight up into the air and plunked upright on his lap. Strong arms wrap around me like restraints, and even though I protest, it’s no use. He’ll win, every time.
“I said enough. You’re cruising to get yourself punished instead of that birthday spanking you have coming.”
“I didn’t—”
“Enough,” he orders, placing a finger on my lips. I huff out a breath and try to look away, but he won’t let me. Damn him, he’s so fucking sexy when he gets all growly and bossy, and my body knows what to do. His stern tone and firm touch makes my nipples pebble and my pussy dampen.
He told me he would train me. At the time, I was horrified and figured he meant punishments of some sort, and he did. But there was so much more to it than that.
“Look at me,” he orders. With a sigh, I do what he says.
“It isn’t my fault you’re stuck on this island with me,” he begins.
“I didn’t say—”
But he holds up a finger to my lips to silence me.
“You’re snapping at me, and I had nothing to do with this,” he says. “And we’re here. I can’t send you home today any more than I can command the sun to set now, even if I wanted to.”
This is true.
“So it seems the best choice at this point is for you to listen to me,” he says with practiced placidity that makes me scowl. Why does he have to be so patient?
“Alright, then,” I grumble.
He waits until I’ve settled myself quietly on his lap and holds me to his chest. “Do you want to celebrate today?” he asks.
I nod quietly.
“Good. Then we’ll find something celebratory to eat, and have a makeshift cake,” he says. “I’ll even have you blow out fucking candles somehow.”
That makes me snicker.
“But you’re going to behave yourself,” he says. “Or I will have to give you more than a birthday spanking.” He tickles my side and I can’t help but smile. I squirm on his lap.
I can feel his cock pressing into my ass. “It would be a shame to get a spanking at this stage.”
We make our plans for the day, which does eventually end up with me strewn over his lap while he counts out thirty good smacks plus one for good luck, but he’s so good at this it only turns me on. We make slow, sweet love, then he tucks me in bed for a nap during the hottest part of the day, while he hikes all the way to the falls to gather ripe fruit for me.
He’s a good man… the man I thought was a monster cherishes me.
When did this happen? How did the tables turn?
I don’t know if I can really think about it or want to. The truth is, I’m here. With him. I’m embarrassed by my little tantrum this morning. It’s just hard to turn thirty in a time and place where you never expected yourself to be.
I close my eyes, lulled to sleep by the warm air that wafts in the window. I’m deep in slumber when a sound like a scream wrenches me from sleep. I wake with a start, my heart pounding, and toss the light covers off. Was it Adrian? Or was it part of my dream?
I run out the front door. That’s when I hear him cursing, his growls and curses coming from behind the shelter. I turn the bend, and blink in surprise. He’s standing by the propane, but the little lean-to area’s caved in.
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls when he sees me. “Get over here and take this fucking thing off me!”
It’s then that I realize the roof is on his shoulders, and he’s bearing the weight of it all. With a little gasp, I run to him. He turns, trying to lift the roof off his shoulders when suddenly things happen so quickly, I can’t process what I’m seeing. There’s a pop, a burst of flames, Adrian screams out loud then falls to his knees. The wreckage of the roof collapses around him, the entire structure igniting.
“Adrian!” I scream, my voice cracking as I run to him.
“Stay back!” he shouts back, but his voice is swallowed in the rush of air and crackle of fire, his hoarse screams breaking me.
Shit. I try to get to him but the heat and flames lick at my bare skin, singing the hair on my arms.
“Jesus,” I mutter, tears blurring my vision as I wrack my brain, trying to find a way. I remember the large bucket of water we boiled the night before for drinking, and lug it over from the corner, lift it with everything I have, and heave it at the flames. They flicker, a patch going out, and I can see him pinned in the small kitchen flames all around. With a scream, I run at him, tearing at the wood with my bare hands. My fingers grab splinters, flames scorching my skin. It hurts so goddamn bad I scream out loud, tears blurring my vision. I tear the flaming planks away as quickly as I can, throwing them behind me. Adrian slumps over.
He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. Jesus God, he has to be alive.
I fall to my knees, trying to get away from the smoke, and grab at him. I wrap my hands around his legs, ignoring the way the flames beat at me so badly I can smell the stench of burnt hair and flesh. I know I’m injuring myself, but I’m immune to feeling. I need to get him out of here.
He’s huge and muscled, so much bigger than I am it’s like moving a rock, but I have to do it. I pull at his legs, one by one, and with a herculean effort and a scream that splits my own eardrums, I pull him away from the flames. His clothes are o
n fire. I tamp it out with my hands, smacking at the flames and ignoring the pain that flares on my bare skin.
I have to see if he’s breathing, if he’s okay. His skin is bloodied and burnt, but when I put my ear to his mouth, I can hear him breathing. I push my fingers to his wrist and feel the responding beat of his pulse beneath my fingers as reassurance.
“Thank God,” I say in a choked whisper. “Thank fucking God.”
I roll him over on his side, so he’s turned away from the flames and can breathe in clean air, then look back at the shelter. If our shelter goes up in flames…
But the fire is apart from the shelter. Now that I’ve torn the planks off his body, the blaze flickers into the woods, since the entire structure of the little lean-to came apart. I turn to him and roll him back over on his back.
“Adrian,” I murmur. “Wake up. Please wake up.” He’s badly burned and needs to be bandaged. Did something else hurt him? He wears only a pair of shorts, but his bare chest only bears the marks of burns. Nothing protrudes where it shouldn’t. I reason he inhaled too much smoke and it made him pass out.
“Wake up,” I whisper. “I can’t lift you.” He’s way too big for me to lift.
I look over and the stupid flames that attacked him have almost died out.
“Jesus,” I whisper, my voice shaky and choked with tears. I don’t know what to do. He’s damaged and unconscious, his huge, muscled frame charred and broken. “Adrian,” I whisper, gently shaking his shoulder like a child trying to wake the dead, a fruitless endeavor that barely moves him. “Wake up.”
I place my cheek on his chest, close my eyes, and listen to his reassuring heartbeat. He’s alive, just unconscious.
I don’t know how to wake him, and I can’t carry him to bed to care for him, but I can tend to his wounds. I get to my feet and race inside for the forgotten first aid kit we haven’t had to use in months. I fall to the floor, tear at the latch, and stare at the contents that spill onto the floor. I’ve been trained in first aid, so I know what I’m looking for. I grab sterile water to irrigate the wounds, non-stick bandages, and ointment, then run back to him. When I get there, he’s just beginning to sit up. My heart soars with hope and my vision blurs with unshed tears. I’ve never been so happy to see him open his eyes.
