by Ann Steele
His large, masculine hand cupped my chin. Our eyes locked.
God, he's beautiful.
His breath brushed my lips, he moved in to clean the graze on my head, inching closer. My eyes closed, my inhibitions were shattered by his beauty. He moved in, is lips landing on mine, his tongue gently probing my mouth. I melted into his bare chest, the knot in my stomach unwinding. I'm stranded on remote island island and I'm kissing him.
My hands moved to his chest, forcing us apart. Without his lips on mine, the situation fully sank in. Tears stung my eyes.
"This not the time or place, Killian, I just.... I want to go home."
I sobbed, huge, gulping sobs. My chest heaved, my eyelids grew hot and sticky with tears. Silently and without motive, Killian pulled me into his lap, stroking my hair, holding me tight until the sunset and my tears ran dry. Goose pimples covered my skin.
"Did you pack any sweaters?" Killian asked, running my bare shoulders. I sniffed, nodding towards my case. I don't remember what U packed and what I did pack is probably wet. Without letting me go, he leaned forward, dragging my case through the golden sand. He pulled the zip back, revealing two summer tops, a knee length cocktail dress and my cosmetics.
"We were going to Panama," I sniffed. "What's in yours?"
"Nothing useful," he shrugged.
"Like what? You must have suit jackets or something?"
In all the pictures the media print of him he's draped in Armani suits. I can see why, they look good on him, so good Mr Armani probably gives him them for free. He's like a living catwalk model.
"Um, no," he bit his lips, glancing at his case, shaking his head. "I don't think so, like you said, we were going to Panama. I only packed short sleeved shirts."
"One of your shirts would be like a jacket on me," I said.
"No, they're all flimsy."
"Killian, show me what's in your case, now."
For all I know he could have satellite phone packed away in there. Why won't he show me what he packed? Killian looked away, kicking his Gucci hold all further away.
"Show me," I demanded, extracting myself from his hug. The cold air hit my skin. I shuddered.
"Abigail, no," he grabbed my wrist, holding me back. "It's my case, my things. I will look in it, alone. If there's anything useful in there, I will give you it."
"Show. Me. Your. Case. Killian," I growled.
"No."
We were at a stand-off. Killian, his feet wide, stood in front of his case, his arms crossed over his chest. He shivered in the cool breeze. There's one way to get what you want from a man that never fails. My lower lip trembled. I sniffed hard, wiping my eyes. Killian dropped his gaze, shuffling in the sand.
"Please, Killian, I'm scared and I'm cold and you're scaring me. What if you have a like a bomb or something or drugs or maybe you're suicidal and you crashed the plane on purpose?" Tears streamed my cheeks, dripping off my chin. I inhaled, a large shaking breath. He stepped aside.
"I'm not suicidal, Abigail. I love my life and you need to understand, it's not what you think."
"What is not what I think?" I snarled, kneeling to his case. I yanked back the zipper, whips and handcuffs spilled to the sand.
"You have got be fucking kidding me?"
"I'm sorry."
"Would you be sorry if we didn't crash? What the fuck, Killian, were you planning on chaining me to your bed and raping me?"
"Not rape, no. I would never... You would have wanted it, eventually. No woman can resist me."
My eyes widened. Did he actually just say that? I hate him, no scratch that, hate is too mild. I despise him with the power of million, angry, spitting volcanoes. Rage crashed through me, heating my skin.
"If you come anywhere near me," I snarled, stomping towards his makeshift shelter, "I will slice your dick off, roast it and eat it for breakfast, do you understand me?"
His hands moved to his crotch. He nodded his head. I turned, not able to look him in the eye. Did he even like Scarlet? Has this whole thing been a rouse to get me in a hotel with him? Asshole. Too angry to sleep, I curled in a ball with my back to him. My body trembled, my breath came in plumes of steam. I heard Killian shuffling about in the sand, emptying his case. Tomorrow, I swear if I don't wrap those cuffs around his neck and watch the life drain from his eyes, it will be a miracle. Sleep came hard, I drifted in and out of consciousness, shivering and freezing.
***
I woke slowly, the violent shivering tormenting me subsided. A suit jacket lay over my shoulders. Strong arms wrapped around my body. I was in Killlian's arms, warm. I wanted to move him, kick him, scream at him but he's so warm, so comfortable and I'm so sleepy. I rested my head on his shoulder, he tightened his grip on me. Heat flooded my core.
Chapter Six – Killian
Abigail's gentle snoring woke me. It took me a moment to realize where I was. Only a moment, a California King bed, in an expansive, air-conditioned room, equipped with a mini fridge and coffee machine, is a whole lot more comfortable than a pile of crunchy leaves covered with a plane blanket. The company almost made up for the lack comfort and coffee. Abigail shifted in my arms, pushing closer into me, the sun beating through the canopy warmed our night cold bodies. Drops of sweat glistened on her skin, pooling between her breasts.
I tried to tear my gaze from her tits but they're just too damn perfect. Perfectly round, much more than a modest handful to enjoy, oh the things I could do with those tits. Marked with whip lashes, they'd be simply delicious. Her lips parted, drawing my eyes to her face. I spent so long admiring her scrumptious curves, I almost missed how stunning she is. Without her trademark, condescending scowl, she's gorgeous with smooth, tanned skin and cute freckles dotted over her nose. A few joined together under her right eye, begging me to lavish them with kisses. Her hair fanned behind her, in soft golden-brown waves, kinda curly, kinda wild and a hell of a sexy. Her lips are lush and full, perfect for sucking cock.
In my arms, she felt right, too right. She fit perfectly. Almost like she was made to be held by me, but I don't hold women, I fuck them, I whip them, I taste them, I make them scream my name and beg me for more, but I don't hold them, I never hold them and I sure as shit don't love them. I inched away from Abigail.
I rubbed the back of my neck, shifting on the hastily constructed leaf bed, fighting to get comfortable without Abigail in my arms. My stomach tensed, if I'd eaten I'd throw up. Abigail is dangerous. I want her, I want to fuck her senseless and claim the only woman who ever turned me down, if for no other reason than to maintain my streak of never facing rejection. So, why do I suddenly want to hold her? Why am I imaging waking up with her in my bed and why am I smiling at the idea? I don't love, I don’t even believe in love and if I did, I would believe Abigail deserved someone better than me. I shrank back, scuttling to the edge of the leaf bed. Abigail stirred, her peaceful face crumpling as the sun bounced into her face.
"Killian," she whispered my name. The color drained from her cheeks, her limbs tensed, she jolted upright, her wide eyes taking in the solid turquoise horizon. "I thought I dreamed it," she sighed, rubbing her eyes.
"Sorry, sweetheart, it's real."
I was torn between going to her, comforting her or staying the hell away from her. I need to end my pursuit of this woman, get to know her as a person. It's not ruining my streak if I'm not offering right? Abigail, if I let her, will shatter my world. Women want men for one reason and one reason only. Kids. I am not going down that path, not for all the money in the world. I'm fucked up enough without bringing mini Killian's into the world. Plus, kids are sticky, grubby and dirty. My house is clean and white, and ram packed with expensive trinkets. I do not want kids, I don't believe in love and I don't want more from Abigail but a quick fuck in my home dungeon. And once I get to know her, I won't even want that. Women are never as sexy and mysterious once you get to know them, they're like men but more emotional and needier.
Turned of
f by the idea of not fucking her and experiencing her curves first hand, I rejected the idea. If, once I get to know her, she's not completely intolerable, I'll use her as long-term sub. Loads of Doms have long term subs. It's normal in my world. We'll be fuck buddies but with whips and chains.
Abi stood, stretching her long limbs, arching her back. Her tits popped out, her nipples hard under her tight vest. She lost the blouse in the crash.
"Are you hungry?" I asked her, reaching to the modest pile of plane snacks.
"Thirsty," she croaked, "and in need of coffee and a shower."
"There's an entire ocean to freshen up and coffee I can help with."
"We shouldn't waste our water in coffee," she said, frowning at the bottles of water propped under the shelter.
"We don't have to," I grinned. I grabbed a tin of peanuts, emptying them to a pile on the leaf bed.
"What are you doing?" She frowned.
"Making water," I shrugged, revelling in my chance to prove I was more than a pretty face and massive cock. I grabbed the gas bottle from the life raft, twisting out the top. making sure to tense my arms so my muscles bulged. Abigail rolled her eyes. Muscles might not impress her but I can make fresh water from the ocean, plus I kind of need a coffee myself. We're stuck on this island for who knows how long, we might as well be awake enough to enjoy it. I filled the bottle with seawater. Abi tilted her head, her brows knitting together as she watched me work. Now, a fire.
"I don't suppose you're a smoker, are you?"
She shook her head.
"Do you wear glasses?"
"Glasses?"
"Yes, eye glasses."
"Um, I have some reading glasses."
"Great, give them here."
She grabbed them from her case, dragging her feet over the sand. I snatched the glasses, pocketing them, leaving the gas bottle out in full sun as I wandered off to find dry shrubbery. After coffee, I thought, we should explore this island. There could be people here, or an old radio station or anything. I dragged a pile of dead, dry branches and leaves to the beach, gathering them in a pile. Around the pile of leaves, I placed sea stones I collected in a circle, in part to drag out Abigail's curiosity and in part to keep them all together and the fire burning longer.
Abigail rested on a rock, her elbow rested on her knee, her chin rested on her palm, studying me intently, her lips curled up at the sides. Confidence bolstered by my audience, I held her glasses aloft, searching for the sun. The lens caught a ray, magnifying it onto the pile of browning, crisp leaves and twigs. I glanced over my shoulder, Abi's rich chocolate eyes were locked on the pile of leaves and sticks. A tiny plume of smoke drifted from beneath the glasses, I pursed my lips, blowing gently on it. A flame flickered, its orange glow crept over the shrubbery, trailing slowly. The sides of the leaves started curling. I grabbed a stick, poking at it.
"Well done, cave man," Abi teased, "you've just moved up a rung on the evolutionary ladder. You made fire now, what?"
"Now I make water from sea water," I winked, playing deliberately on the words of the holy book. Abigail groaned, shaking her head, a small wry smile on her lips. With parts from the life raft, I made a hose, connecting it to the top of the gas bottle.
"Those are rubber, Einstein, rubber melts," Abigail said.
"You were saying," I laughed as I buried them in the sand protecting them from the heat of the growing fire, leaving only the end of the hose exposed. I propped the end on the tin can, placing the gas bottle on the fire. Within a few minutes the gas bottles bubbled, steam hissed from the hose, collecting in the tin can as pure, fresh water.
"Alright, Bear Grylls, I'm impressed. Where did you learn that?"
"An outdoor retreat I went on with my employees, it was a team building thing."
Her eyes lit up, she jumped to her feet, "how often do you do that?"
"Once, once was enough," I shuddered at the memory of long, cold nights outdoors without coffee, whisky or a hairdryer and stranded with simpering employees and women, who worked for me who wouldn't stop cooing over me.
"Oh, Mr White, you're soo strong. Oh, Mr White, you're soo brave," they simpered, thrusting out their non-existent tits. I basked in it at first but after the initial ego boost, it got old quickly, not helped by the fact all the guys in the group excluded me, all but the one whining idiot desperate for a raise to pay for his snot-brat to go skiing with their high school.
"So, Mr Grylls, how do you get the water hot for the coffee?"
"Um, in the fire..." There's something obvious I am missing.
"And how do you propose you get the hot tin out of the fire?"
"With sticks?"
"Go for it," she challenged, crossing her arms.
"I will."
I grabbed the tin of water, resting it in the fire. It juddered a bit as the flames licked the sides but it stayed upright. The water rolled in the tin, tiny bubbles raced to the surface. I took a deep breath, grabbing two long sticks. If this doesn't work, I still made fire and water and the Hell will I let Abigail forget it. I clutched the boiling tin between two sticks. It tilted, the fire fizzled and hissed as water spilled from the can.
"Fuck," I hissed, adjusting my grip. We practised this at the retreat. I never figured it out, dexterity is more a woman thing, I believe. I grabbed harder, slowly raising the tin from the flames. It swung between the sticks, but I managed to still it. Abigail held her breath, fixated on the wobbling tin of boiling water.
"Careful, Killian, you'll burn yourself."
"Relax, Abi, it's under control," I said with more confidence than I had. I tilted my naked torso away from the can, lowering it to the dry sand. The plane stocked sachets of coffee. I grabbed one, emptying it into the tin, stirring it with a spoon from the plane.
"Your coffee Madame," I beamed, puffing out my chest.
"And how do I drink it?"
"Jesus, Abigail, do you need me to drink it for you?" I dropped a straw from the plane into the tin of hot, rich coffee.
"We'll drink it together," she smiled, plunging a second straw into the coffee. Laid on the warm sand on our bellies, nose to nose, we sipped tentatively at the boiling coffee. Abi kept her eyes down, only glancing up at me from under long, glossy lashes occasionally as she blew the steam from the tin mug through pouting lips. She suckled the straw, inhaling the rich aroma, her lips sealed around the straw, her nose touching mine. My dick burrowed into the soft sand under us.
"Killian," Abigail sighed, seating herself, leaning back so the sun beat down on her freckled face. Its fierce rays highlighted strands of gold in her deep, brown hair. "I think that was the best coffee I ever tasted."
"Yeah," I muttered, adjusting my dick in my pants before sitting myself up. She has no clue how distractingly attractive she is. Back arched, tits jutted out at the sun, her slim waist enhanced by her sitting position. If I didn't know she hated me, I'd swear she was deliberately trying to seduce me. And it was working, it took all I had not launch myself at her feet, begging for a chance to kiss her killer body.
"We should have a walk around the island, while it's still light," I said, turning away from her. No woman ever affected me the way Abigail and I've bedded supermodels. They're normally vacuous, skinny and frankly, without make-up, a bit odd looking, Abi could give them a run for their money if she gained a few inches in height.
"How tall do center fold models need to be?" I mused out loud. Abigail's face dropped, she crossed her arms, hiding her perfect tits from view.
"Let's walk, Killian," she growled. I didn't mean to say it out loud, it just kinda slipped from my lips as my mind ravished her curves but I'm glad I did say. When she's mad, she's hotter than ever. She strode ahead, her arms swinging by her sides, her ass swaying like two perfectly formed peaches. I longed to sink my teeth into the lush, round globes and make her scream. She turned, gazing at me over her shoulder, her nostrils flaring, and her cheeks red.
"Are you coming or
not?"
"Yeah," I was just enjoying the view. I didn't say the last part out loud, I wanted her mad, nut murderous.
We hiked over large boulders, Abigail relented after the third one, finally letting me help her to the top. I flexed my bicep, more to frustrate and annoy her than to tease her with my Alpha masculinity. And I really did want her to get to the top without injuring herself. For a woman, I kind of like her company, even if she's not naked or close to getting interested in getting down and dirty with me and my handcuffs. I still held high hopes for those cuffs. It faded as we gazed out over the island.
A lush, green forest filled the center, hemmed in by miles of golden sand, warming under the amazing sun. A pure, turquoise sky sat above the calm, clear ocean. A group of gulls flew overhead, cawing and diving into the ocean.
"How far from land do gulls fly?" I asked Abigail.
"We're on land," she whispered. "They could've hatched here," she pointed her foot to an old disused bird nest teetering on the side of the rock. From our vantage point high above sea level, we could see for miles. The unspoiled view of Calm Ocean, cloudless sky and acrobatic sea birds would be breath taking under any other circumstances. Stranded on an island, miles from anything close to civilization, it sent chills down my spine. Abigail moved closer, gripping my hand.
"We're fine," I promised her, "they'll find us." I crossed my fingers behind my back. I set the tracker and distress signal off on the plane but how knows how far the damn thing drifted before sinking to the deep blue depths? We definitely flew way off course, despite me following the compass religiously. From up here, if we were we are supposed to be, we'd see the US and South America. The sickening realization my plane was sabotaged whacked me in the gut. Someone wanted me dead and they wanted it enough they didn't care who they hurt on their quest to kill me. I knew I'd made enemies in my time, but Jesus, this is taking it too far. There' more than enough Scarlet Red's to go around. Wannabe pop stars are not a limited resource.
