And I loved the way he spoke of grand plans of building a raft and sailing us to freedom—even though we’d had many conversations about how suicidal that would be: leaving the safety of land to bob around an ocean with no navigation or propulsion.
Ignoring logistics, Galloway was adamant he would rescue us.
And because of that...I loved him.
But was I in love with him?
Was it love with a use-by-date? Would it fade the moment we were found and returned to separate worlds? Was it love born of survival or truth? Or perhaps was it our circumstances and the fact that I’d have no one without him? Or was it providence...fate?
Despite perpetual hunger pangs, my body constantly desired him.
I’d wake from a dream with resonating clenches from a sleep-enjoyed orgasm. I’d excuse myself and swim when my turned-on wetness threatened to be noticeable on my cotton shorts.
He drove me insane; he drove me happy. He made me want to care for him while accepting his care in return.
Was that love?
I’d lost everything and been dropped in the middle of nowhere with strangers. Strangers who’d become the most important people in the world.
I love them.
And because of that, I wouldn’t let them perish from malnutrition.
I had to do something.
Today.
Unwinding from my position, I shrugged out of my black t-shirt and slipped down my shorts. Skinny-dipping wasn’t normally done, but everyone was asleep and I didn’t want to wear wet clothes once I’d finished.
Wading into the warm tide, I exhaled as I dropped below the surface.
The current flowed around me, some cool, some hot, all of it gentle and protective. Swimming bare allowed the sinful sensation of water against my sex and nipples. I felt naughty. I felt turned on. I felt beyond ready to invite Galloway to take the next step.
He’d been the perfect gentleman the past few weeks. Never pushy, no matter how much lust crackled between us.
Swimming upward, I took a deep breath and floated a few metres before scooping a handful of sand and scouring my body. The exfoliation method kept my skin super soft, but without moisturizer, I had to accept the tightness of having no age-defying protection.
Along with growing closer to my crash-mates, the island had become a friend, too. A living entity that provided for us, sheltered us, and ultimately kept us trapped.
It was a prison and salvation all at once.
Why haven’t they found us yet?
Where were we? Was Conner right with how many uninhabited islands there were? Was it possible to vanish in this day and age?
Obviously, it was.
We were living proof.
In the month we’d been here, not a single boat or plane had passed by. The ocean was silent as if the world had ended and we were the only ones remaining.
Ducking for another handful of sand, I scrubbed my hair and reclined in the water to rinse it out as best I could.
Cleaned, I paddled back to shore.
Wringing my hair out, I left the sea and shook out my t-shirt to get dressed.
The air evaporated droplets from my skin, and I was ready to face the quest of finding more food.
Pippa barrelled down the beach just as I hauled my shorts into place. “You went swimming without me.”
I bent and hugged her. “You’re up early.”
“I know. I had to pee.”
I was probably the only person alive who loved the fact she had to pee. It meant she had enough water to drink and her body wasn’t dehydrated. “Well, you can always swim now. I’ll watch you if you want.”
She shook her head. “I’m good. I’m too cold.” Rubbing the goosebumps on her arms, she reminded me that sleeping on the chilly sand wasn’t preferable even if we did have a fire.
She cocked her head, her copper hair turning a light auburn the longer we lived beneath the sun. “What were you doing?”
“Ah...I can’t say. It’s a secret.”
Her childish face scrunched up in frustration. “Tell me. I won’t tell anyone.”
Another reason I loved the children: they made me make an effort rather than waste away begging for rescue.
If Pippa and Conner weren’t here, Galloway and I would probably have resorted to grunting barely uttered syllables, unwilling to converse.
We might not talk, but we’d have lots of sex. Lots and lots of sex.
We’d probably never leave our sandy beds, utterly addicted to indulging in an activity that felt so good versus a life of drudgery.
How do you know it would feel good with him?
I hid my smile. Oh...I knew. I’d seen him in his boxer-briefs. I’d stolen glances as he stretched in the morning and the delectable muscles of his chest rippled with power. And his kisses....no one could kiss like that and not be good in bed.
“Tell me,” Pippa moaned when I didn’t reply.
I pressed her button nose. “Well, if you promise to keep it a secret. You’ve caught me. I’m really a mermaid and just came back from visiting my father King Trident.”
Her mouth fell open, literally smashed into the sand. “Really?”
The childlike awe on her face made me happy and sad. Happy that I was able to grant some magic and sad that it was all I could offer.
“Yes, and if you’re very good, he said he’d come visit you someday.”
Suspicion chased away her belief. “Are you sure?” She poked my leg. “Where’s your tail? I’ve never seen you with a tail, and we swim lots and lots.”
I didn’t know if I should keep up my fib or shatter her imagination with the truth.