by Ashley Pullo
We reach the end of a causeway and park near a boat dock full of fancy boats and yachts. Ollie takes our bags from the trunk of the car and carries them to a shiny navy boat with a gold canopy. If it weren’t for the large American flag painted on the rear, I would’ve assumed we drove straight to the French Rivera. Adam and I board the boat as Ollie changes his fedora to a captain’s hat and starts the engine.
“Folks, enjoy the ride . . . we should arrive at Little Palm in ten minutes.” Ollie chuckles and beams with pride.
Adam and I stand near the rear of the boat taking in the aqua water and foamy waves. We’ve officially left the tiny key of Little Torch to become stranded on a remote island, not really stranded, more like romantically isolated. Prior to our wedding day, Adam offered to take care of all the honeymoon details and since I was tired from agreeing with the wedding planner, I happily accepted his offer . . . and he totally nailed it!
“It’s beautiful! The water is so blue and the air is so salty and I can see the resort entrance and I feel like I’m a kid at Disney World!” I ramble on and on and Adam smiles in agreement pointing to what lays ahead of us. The resort is situated on a small island with a private beach and twenty-eight tropical bungalows. The main house stands majestically in front of us like an exotic plantation. Ollie pulls into a circular dock and helps us with our bags, leading us to the entrance. We’re ushered into the small lobby that could pass as Hemingway’s private library and greeted by a beautiful woman dressed in white linen and navy espadrilles.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Ford! I’m Cecilia and I will be your private concierge during your stay.” She extends her hand to invite us toward a small desk near an opened breezeway.
“Bungalow Number Seven is lovely and has a stunning view of the beach. The suite is decorated with dark wood and white linens but you will also find many romantic surprises.” She hands me a small basket full of bottled sea salts, stationary with an embossed palm tree, and an old-fashioned skeleton key.
“We are very laid-back here at Little Palm, but we also pride ourselves in providing our guests with an elegant and luxurious stay. We offer scuba trips, private picnics, spa treatments and chef-created dinners. Any of these things can be arranged within the hour and I will personally see to it that your visit here at Little Palm will be memorable and pleasant.” Cecilia gives Adam a business card and leads us down the breezeway lined with lush, tropical foliage.
“My direct line is listed on the card so please feel free to use it. Your bungalow is near the end of the island and Ollie will take you by golf cart.” Cecilia waves to Ollie parked in a gold golf cart at the end of the breezeway.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ford, you’re on island time now, so have a wonderful honeymoon and I will see you only when you want to be seen!” Cecilia smiles and releases us to our golden chariot.
Our bungalow is magical! The rustic exterior is covered by lush vegetation and littered with candled lanterns. A cobbled path leads from the wraparound porch to our private beachfront, buffering the unspoiled waves of the Florida Straits. The main door and shutters are carved from a dark wood and contrast nicely with the pale colors of the painted bead board. The belly of the bungalow is protected by a thatched roof, soaring high above the tallest trees.
Ollie carries our bags inside to the living area as Adam and I follow behind him, intrigued and excited about our private haven. The living room is situated under a domed ceiling housing nautical-themed upholstery of deep navy and crisp white cotton. All the wood surfaces are dark mahogany and adorned with simple carvings and curved lines. It appears quite masculine for a honeymoon retreat but then I look up to see a large chandelier, femininely showering the room in golden warmth.
“Okay folks, welcome to Bungalow Number Seven! You will find menus for food, drinks and spa products on the desk over there and everything can be delivered or served right here in your suite.” Ollie chuckles and pats Adam’s back in a fatherly, comforting way.
“Ollie, is there anything you recommend on our first night?” I really like Ollie because he reminds me of a wise island care taker that keeps changing his hat according to his task. Ollie scratches his chin and winks at me before answering.
“Now Mrs. Ford . . . I can’t really suggest what you should do on your honeymoon, but I will tell you why I love working here . . . the sunsets are as close to heaven a man like me will ever get!” Ollie backs out the door with a nod of his head, a tip of his cute little visor and a sincere smile wishing us well.
“Adam, I love it! Can we see the rest?” I grab his hand and we tour the little kitchenette, basically a wet bar with a small refrigerator and an espresso machine. Then we walk out to the backside of the porch to find a small rustic dining table and an outdoor shower built of solid teak and completely hidden by tropical vegetation. The porch leads us to an open doorway draped in white netting defending the master bedroom against unwanted bugs. Inside the other domed room, a large mahogany bed swallows up the space leaving little room for anything else except the crystal white chandelier gleaming above the crisp ivory linens. There are no cheesy rose petals scattered on the duvet or champagne bottles chilling on the bedside table, only a vase of orange hibiscus and a small antique clock. Adam kisses my cheek then walks back to the living area to gather our bags. I should help him, but I’m distracted by the ethereal glow beckoning me to enter the bathroom.
I take a step into the mother of all bathrooms. The one I quietly fantasize about when I get my celebrity magazines . . . my porn. I remove my sandals to walk on the mossy green slate and I instantly feel like a fair maiden in an enchanted forest. The large glass shower is situated under a high narrow window, letting in the warm sunshine to scatter across the tiny iridescent glass tiles. A heavy, rustic vanity with a pair of mother-of-pearl raised sinks flanks the shower dominating the entire wall. A free-standing medicine cabinet consumes the opposite wall filled with plush towels and spa accessories. Every available surface is sprinkled with bottles of sea salts and white vases of hibiscus flowers.
Straight ahead near a curved window, suspended in perpetual beauty, lies the most magnificent bathtub I have ever seen. I open the shutters to reveal a breathtaking view of the ocean and the warm smell of salted water. I run my palm along the edge of the tub and the smoothness of the porcelain contrasted by the heaviness of the bronze fixtures is so enchanting that I honestly think I could live here as the old woman in the tub. Another chandelier is suspended to the left of the tub, but this one is different. It’s gold with amber crystals, cascading like tiny rays of sunshine exploding into our private oasis.
“Babe, let’s go for a swim.” Adam is leaning against the vanity with his swim trunks loosely tied around his perfectly indented hips. All those years playing college soccer rewarded him with a lean, muscular body that I will never grow tired of appreciating.
“Yes! I’ve wanted to jump in the ocean since Miami!” I seductively walk past him running my finger down his bare torso and drawing a heart near the waist of his trunks.
As per Natalie, I packed five swimsuits and no underwear. I grab the modest red bikini on the top of my leather bag, appropriate for an ocean swim. I unzip my vintage floral halter dress as Adam sits on the foot of the bed watching me undress. He’s done this many times before, but something about being his wife and undressing for him is more sensual than the other hasty strip downs. He watches in complete adoration as I try my best to fasten my top in the sexiest way I can . . . I will have to adjust my boobs when he’s not looking.
We walk pinky-to-pinky swinging our arms down the stone path to our private beach inlet. As soon as we reach the shore we run into the water splashing each other with our steps. The water is so warm and inviting and the salt feels amazing against my skin that we continue splashing until we’re waist deep. I’m in a tropical paradise with my husband and we’re acting like children. Adam grabs me and pretends like he’s going to dunk me under the water but instead pulls me closer to him. I wrap my legs around his
waist and my arms around his neck and he carries me effortlessly to the shallow water. We sit in the warm water with me perched on him as the foamy waves collide with our bodies. I kiss him, taking his face in my hands and devouring every morsel of his salty lips.
“Mmm, Chloe, look!” Adam grabs my hands and delicately kisses the center of my palms. He turns me around to sit in his lap so that I may witness the most beautiful orange sunset gushing over the crystal blue water. It’s impossible to sit under a vibrant sunset and not think about eternity; the place where Heaven meets Earth and consumes the horizon’s infinite wonder.
“Oh Adam, I want this to be ours forever.” I lean back on his chest and he rests his chin on my shoulder.
“Always,” he sighs.
Let me just say, sex on the beach is amazing. At first I was a little nervous about being seen, but the nearest bungalow is a hundred yards away and our beachfront is completely shielded by vegetation. Misconceptions from Hollywood movies have done a great job keeping me opposed to such tasteless scenarios, but in reality there were no huge waves crashing against a cliff or sand creeping into uncomfortable crevasses, a little uncomfortable maybe, but extremely erotic.
This morning I was awakened by the heat of the sunrise and Adam’s tongue licking my bare stomach. He’s already showered and he smells deliciously salty with a hint of lime. I, on the other hand, have not showered or brushed my teeth and I really hope his hand doesn’t slide any further up my thighs. We had sex three times last night; once on the beach with me on top, once in the outdoor shower with me bent over a teak bench and once in our king size bed with Adam pounding rapidly on top of me. Needless to say, I would like a shower and coffee.
“Mmmm, babe, you know I love when you wake me up this way, but I would really like to take a shower . . . with soap this time.” Adam raises his head and his dark eyelashes flutter with amusement as he smirks.
“I’ve claimed you. You’re mine. You will be my sex prisoner for the next forty-eight hours and you will bathe when I allow it.”
If any other guy said something like this I might laugh, but with Adam, everything is so serious and real, that I have no choice but to believe he’s about to take me for his pleasure. Adam sits on his knees and pulls me up to him. My nipples are hard against his bare chest and my inner thighs are screaming at me for pushing away his possessive hands earlier. He stands up, his shorts barely hanging on his hips and aggressively drags my naked body off the bed. I’m confused and thrilled by my sexual awakening as I try to balance myself. He steps behind me and places his hand around the back of my neck, squeezing gently and pushing me toward the bathroom. He stops me by the shower and turns on the bronze faucet, never releasing his grasp around my neck. He flicks his longs fingers in the water then runs the wetness of his hand across my lips. Adam releases my neck and moves authoritatively to my naked front, visually inspecting me from head to toe, possibly to consider which part he will ravish first. His face is dark and serious as he steps closer to me and I can feel him breathing on me, making my body tingle. I’m hungry for his touch and he knows it.
“Chloe . . . you may shower.” Adam smiles arrogantly then walks toward the bedroom.
The entire time I’m in the shower I keep thinking of Adam’s little stunt and all the ways I will get back at him. Is it normal to seek revenge on the third day of marriage? Probably not, but we’re different and I gladly accept his challenge. I put on a fluffy white robe hanging near the shower and use a little of the Sea Mist perfume near the sink. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, dab on some red lip gloss and head to the living area.
“You look fantastic, babe. Breakfast arrived while you were in the shower, and I called Cecilia to arrange our scuba diving excursion.” Adam pats the seat next to him on the couch and I happily curl up in his arms. The food looks delicious, but I suddenly feel nauseous at the idea of diving into dark waters with creatures nipping at my legs. Maybe I can convince him to snorkel or I could just pounce on him and hold him captive for my pleasure.
“Um, fun? What about snorkeling or kayaking?” I wrap my arm inside his as he’s trying to take a bite from a cranberry scone.
“Chloe, are you scared? I don’t want you to do anything that causes you to panic. How about this . . . I will tell Cecilia we want to take the boat out in the ocean as planned, but we can just have a nice swim and some cold drinks.” He’s so intuitive and understanding that even my crazy behavior doesn’t faze him.
“Yes, I would like that very much.” I feed Adam his scone, have some of the fruit and yogurt then retreat to the bedroom to find the perfect bathing suit for a non-diving scuba diving trip.
When we return late in the afternoon from our fabulous boat trip we stop by the outdoor shower to rinse off the remnants of our coastal adventure. Cecilia had stocked the pontoon boat with fruits and cheeses and an array of cocktail concoctions fit for an elegant party. She and Adam outdid themselves and it was truly the perfect afternoon in paradise. Adam washes my back and rinses my hair then turns me to face him. He’s relaxed and tanned and his dark hair has flecks of copper sprinkled evenly like expensive highlights. My shoulders are red and raw, and my expensively highlighted hair looks yellow and crunchy, but I’m too relaxed and too happy to even care.
“Would you like to have dinner on the beach?” Adam asks me as he runs the water over his face.
“Yes! Fresh fish and Key lime pie would be wonderful!” Having a romantic dinner on the beach is super clichéd, but we don’t have a lot of options on this deserted island and I’m starving.
“You know, I’ve been dying to take a bath in that big tub.” I pull at the waist of his red swim trunks and smile playfully. “Join me?”
“Um Chloe, I’m not really a bathtub guy.” He gestures to his tall, muscular frame with a little flush of embarrassment. “Please, go enjoy the bathtub! I’ll call Cecilia to set up the dinner for eight o’clock.” He kisses my forehead and wraps me in a white towel.
I run the water in the tub while gazing out the magnificently large window. The shallow, turquoise waves of the ocean move like sequined dancers in the fading sun. Soon the sun will be setting over the Florida Straits, and I will once again have a front row seat to God’s divine presence. I remove my towel and lower myself in to the warm abyss, resting my head on my arms near the side of the tub.
What is there not to like about a bath? It’s a place for honest reflection, a place to foster potential dreams and a place to be cleansed. I close my eyes for just a few moments in fear of falling asleep, to think about my life thus far and the life ahead of me . . .
“Chloe.” Adam’s voice startles me but his presence is soothing.
As I open my eyes, the blinding sun forces me to shield my face and squint so that everything appears black and navy. But as I slide around in the tub to find Adam, the room is radiantly transformed into yellow, orange and rusty beams of luminosity. He’s standing under the blazing crystal chandelier that appears to be burning with fiery flames, casting golden shadows down his naked body. Adam steps carefully into the bathtub across from me and as elegantly as possible, positions himself at the opposite end.
“Hi,” I say. “What made you come to the dark side?” Adam smiles and reaches forward to tap my nose.
“Your freckles.” I’m confused by his statement and respond a little baffled.
“I don’t have freckles!” Adam laughs as I scrunch my nose.
“Exactly my point. I didn’t want to stay in the bedroom another minute not knowing everything about you. Like the fact that four hours in the sun gives you the cutest little freckles on your nose and your eyes change from bright green to blue green when you’re near the water.” I move to his end of the tub and lay against him, kissing his neck and nibbling his ear.
“Then I want to know everything about you,” I whisper to him.
“Like what? You know everything there is to know.” Adam wraps his arms around me, gently avoiding my burnt shoulders.
“L
ike . . . your scar,” I probe.
“Chloe, I told you how I got the scar, jumping over a fence when I was a kid.” He sounds annoyed, so I need to tread lightly to get him to crack.
“Oh, I know how you got your scar, but I want to know everything about you, starting with the day you got your scar.” I look up at him and he’s staring flatly out the window.
“It can be a game! Like this tub is the pool of truth. Anything asked will be answered and everything answered will be untouchable. I’ll even go first . . . ask me something!” I can tell he is very hesitant about playing my game but he sinks further in the tub and kisses my head.
“Okay, but this was your idea. Why are you afraid of succeeding?” His question catches me a little off guard as I was expecting him to ask me if I ever kissed a girl or some nonsense.
“I’m not afraid of succeeding . . . I’m afraid of failing. Like, when I sing and perform in front of an audience, I give those strangers a little piece of me. What if I’m not liked or even hated? What if I succeed momentarily, then crash? Will I still exist . . . all those tiny pieces gone . . . what’s left? I’d rather share my music with people that love me or at least can respect the intimate nature of my art and not take advantage of my passion. I guess I’m afraid of my own hypothetical failure.” Adam cups his hands in the warm water and slowly pours it on my pink shoulder.
“Chloe, your emotions are raw and vulnerable yet your character is impulsive and confident. This is the very reason why I’m proud of you . . . why I’m honored to protect you and why I want to spend every moment watching you surprise me.”
“Hey, that’s better than our wedding vows . . . my turn! Tell me about your scar.” I demand one more time.
