Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Then he’s stalking out of the cave, grabbing the empty coconut shells on his way, and I’m staring at him.
What the hell just happened?
He’s at the mouth of the cave now. “You have thirty more seconds.”
I take five seconds to wipe the angry tears from my eyes before I fumble with the clasps of my shoes and yank them off.
He really is no better than the man who lies dead.
I have to get off this island.
Seven
Cy
I’ve been on this island for God-knows-how-long, I haven’t seen a woman in fucking eons, and the first one I see has a death wish, a smart mouth, and a fucking agenda.
I’m used to being obeyed. I commanded an army of men before I landed on this island. I have no patience for people who make no effort toward self-preservation. If she were my subordinate, I’d punish her.
Hell, I still might.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been on this island so long. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost touch with civilization and polite society. Or maybe, somehow, this island is poisoned, affecting the mind in insidious ways. Because being around Harper inspires the filthiest, basest desires in me.
When I fisted her hair in my hand, and her mouth parted in pain, I could imagine that mouth wrapped around my cock. When her eyes flashed at me and dared to defy me, I imagined her strewn over my lap, bucking and kicking while I held her down and spanked her to tears. I want to dominate this woman. Punish her. And the harder she pushes against me, the more insistent the urge becomes.
I remember now. Parts, anyway. I’ve always been a dominant man. Not the most popular in school, you might say. But when I enlisted, I found my place. Deeply dedicated to discipline and structure, welcoming pain and rising to the challenges before me.
She poses a challenge, and I fucking like it.
After she takes off those stupid shoes, I stalk toward the watering hole and gesture for her to follow me. I rub a hand across my sweaty brow. I haven’t thought much about my past recently. Starvation and the lack of real human companionship made survival prominent in my mind.
Now that my belly’s full and there’s another human with me, I start to remember things I haven’t thought of in a very long time, as if my mental clouds part and my vision clears.
I remember who I am. And how I became the man I am today.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on her.
But when I look over my shoulder at her, I see a fragile creature who’s too young, too beautiful to die. A woman who could grow to be a companion on this island. I don’t want to see her injured, or worse, fucking killed. And my patience has all but fled.
“Keep up,” I snap. She winces when she steps on a tree root, and I toy with the idea of swinging her up onto my back and carrying her to the water. But no. She wants her independence. I’ll give her that.
When we’re paces away from the water, I hear a sound that makes me freeze. I hold up my hand for her to stop, and she does, looking at me with wide, fearful eyes. And for one moment, I feel badly for her. She shouldn’t be here. She should be vacationing, kicking back with one of those drinks with a tiny umbrella in it, listening to the sound of waves crashing on shore, her only concern how even her tan line is. She shouldn’t be here.
Not on this unpredictable, godforsaken piece of earth.
Not here with me.
If Will is hiding, he knows where the cave is. He knows where this water hole is. I don’t trust the motherfucker for a second.
I wish I had a goddamn gun.
But I know how to use my knife.
We stay immobile, waiting for another sound, but nothing comes. Finally, I shake my head. If the asshole attacks, I’m ready, but it’d be damn stupid of him.
I finally gesture for her to come nearer, wordlessly pointing to the water below. She nods, and steps toward it. I hand her one of the coconut shell halves and take the second, kneel beside the cool water, and scoop it into the shell.
“Don’t you have to boil it or something?”
“No,” I mutter. “This particular water source is clean, a freshwater spring.”
“How do you know?”
I sigh. “We found out the hard way. This is the only one we can drink straight.”
Frowning, she follows my lead and takes a cup of water to her lips. I realize as I hold her gaze with mine that this is an act of faith. An act of trust. She has to believe that I’m not lying to her, that she can bank on me telling her the truth.
“Drink up,” I order. “It’s important not to get dehydrated.”