From the pages of the book…

Slamming the door of the car loudly, I rushed to the house, flying past a concerned Nona who just sighs heavily. I ended up in the living room where my parents were.

Dad stood by the window with his back to me, slowly sipping something, probably black coffee that always allowed him to function, or so he claimed. Mom sat on the couch, flipping through a magazine, while her tears glistened in the morning sun. Both wore perfectly tailored suits, matching each other’s colors.

Nothing but the best for the Hayes family.

“You finally graced us with your presence, Emerald,” my father said, taking another sip, and Mom raised her eyes to me, sweeping her loving gaze over me.

“Darling, you’re back.” She put the magazine aside and stood up, opening her arms wide, waiting for me to step into them.

“Call the police, Dad,” I said, not seeing the point of dancing around the subject as if nothing had happened.

Mom’s smile slipped a little, but she took the step toward me and hugged me close despite my stubbornness. Instantly, her rich perfume enveloped me and I sighed, because even if they acted horribly right now, I knew they loved me.

In their own twisted, cold way. And Mom always had the tendency to stay oblivious to any shit storm that brewed around her, even if Dad and I fought. In all the years, I’d never seen her interfere in anything.

She just permanently kept a neutral position.

Leaning back, I allowed Mom to pat my head, and she clacked her tongue. “All this time in the sun made your freckles more visible,” she chastised me lightly, patting my cheek this time. “You probably didn’t use cream like I told you to.”

Removing myself from her embrace, I addressed Dad once again. “Call the police, Dad.”

Finally, he spun around, his brow raised as he put his cup on the table and motioned for me to come closer. “I don’t think that’s the proper way to greet your father, Emerald.”

Stubbornness along fear fought for dominance, but I remembered Brochan’s cuffed hands and succumbed to his request, walking slowly to him. “We did nothing wrong, Dad. He’s my boyfriend.”

“So my mother told me. A fact that I may add was hidden from us. Do you think we don’t care who our daughter dates?” Maybe I was wrong, and it was the protective instinct within him that demanded he save me. After all, I’d never had boyfriends before, even though I went on dates. Fathers could be less than thrilled about such stuff.

Maybe I misjudged my parents, and if I explained it right, they might change their minds.

He locked his arms around my waist, squeezing me in his hug for a moment before continuing. “You don’t answer your phone. Your instructor told us you haven’t sent her anything new in weeks. Then, when we come here in the middle of the night, you are nowhere to be found and once again ignore our phone calls. Do you think we as parents have no right to be worried?”

Yeah, my dad wasn’t a judge for nothing. He sure knew how to destroy his opponents by throwing reasonable facts at them. “You’re right. I did it all wrong,” I admitted, seeing the stupidity of my ways. I should have been a grown up and come clean with everything. “And I apologize for making you worry and for omitting the truth.”

“Lying,” he said, and I took a deep breath, nodding in agreement.

“And lying. But all this doesn’t change the fact that Brochan is now at the police station because of this misunderstanding. Let him go, Dad.”

“I ran a report on him.” He ignored my words, picking up the manila folder from the table. “He was orphaned at the age of three, left on the church’s doorstep. Then several families took him in, but he was a difficult child. Until his foster father who happens to be a fisherman and owns a car shop here took him under his wing, and he settled into life here once the wife died.” His voice was calm and matter-of-fact without a single emotion, and the familiar fear came back to me as I listened to his words. “So-so grades in school although he could have applied for a scholarship. Apparently, he’s considered gifted in mathematics. But that’s about all. He works as a fisherman and mechanic. Makes around one grand a month and shares an apartment with his best friend and one other guy.” He clicked his fingers, like he forgot something. “Sometimes he makes extra money by helping out dragging fish guts. Is all this information correct?” he asked, and I nodded, because what else was there to do?

“Well, he seems like a hard-working man,” Mom applauded cheerfully while Nona stood in the corner, shaking her head. “No matter what life gave him, he managed to do all right.”

“That’s true. Good for him,” Dad agreed with her, but then shifted his focus back to me. “So this is the boy you love?”

“Enough with this nonsense, Eric!” Nona shouted, standing between us as she poked his chest. “Let the boy go and forget all about this incident. Right now.”

“Now you are interfering.” He lightly pushed her to the side so he could look at me again. “If you stopped it in the beginning, none of this mess would have happened.”

“Dad, please. I know you’re angry, but Brochan—” His raised hand shut me up quick and he exhaled heavily, throwing the folder on the floor with no care for it.

“I’m not angry, Emerald. I’m disappointed.”

“I get that, but—”

“However, I understand, because it’s young love and all. All parents live through bad boys, and it was just our turn.”

Mom chuckled, nudging me in the side. “He is really handsome.” I wished for once Mom would be someone else but her, and help me out here.

Because Dad wasn’t just angry.

He was freaking livid if his voice and the pulsing vein in his neck along with his mood were any indication. “He’ll be out by noon.” Relief washed over me, and I swayed to the side from the impact of it.

Oh my God.

“Dad, thank you so much,” I said, but he wiggled his finger.

“I’m not done yet. For that to happen, a few conditions apply.”

Coldness slipped into every bone, because I knew what one of the conditions would be before he could even voice it. “I won’t break up with him.”

His green eyes darkened and he rubbed his chin. “You won’t?”

“No. I love him. I’ll never break up with him.”

“Then I guess he’ll stay in prison forever.”

“Eric.” Nona’s stern voice did nothing to calm him though. He stepped closer to me, looming above me, but I held back the instinct to cry and run away, because running away was what had brought me here in the first place. “You have no power here, Dad. I’m eighteen. He did nothing wrong, and you have no grounds to keep him inside.”

“Don’t challenge me, child of mine.”

I lifted my chin, crossing my arms even though I could feel my heartbeat in my throat from the prospect of his actions. “I’m not. I won’t break up with him. And after twenty-four hours, you will have no reason to keep him.”

He just laughed, finding my outburst hilarious. “Don’t underestimate the lengths a parent is willing to take for his child.”

“I love him!”

“Please, in a year, you will hate him, and I won’t allow my daughter to mingle with a boy who will destroy her future. I understand it’s exciting right now, and oh-so romantic, but real life will get in the way. He’s no life partner for a Hayes.”

“Do you even hear yourself? It’s bullshit! You’ve truly become an asshole like the newspaper claimed.” The slap came so quick I didn’t even see it coming.

My cheek burned from the pain as I covered it with my palm, looking at my dad, shaking my head in disbelief. He’d never hit me in all my life. Never. But I shouldn’t have spoken such words to him either.

“Do not disrespect me,” he seethed, but then sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose while I still glared at him with shock. “You are my only child, and I love you. But I won’t tolerate this. We can do it peacefully without destroying the boy. Or we can do it the hard way.”

“I’ll never forgive you for this,” I replied, wiping away the tears. “And I won’t break up with him. Think what you want. Brochan and I are forever.” And with that, I rushed upstairs, desperately wanting to run into Brochan’s arms instead.

Back then, I was so naïve, so stupid.

I thought I protected Brochan, our love, our future. Even if no one believed in summer love.

I just had no clue what people were capable of doing if enough money was dangled in front of them.

Or how little human life mattered to some people.

Island, United States

July 2019

Emerald

I wince at the disturbing smell under my nose and shift my head to the side, moaning as the softness of the pillow registers in my brain. I dig into it deeper, but the disgusting smell follows, nagging at my mind and demanding to be acknowledged.

“What is this?” I murmur, but then the smell is so close I have to open my eyes. I’m in shock to see Micaden looming over me with white cotton pressed up firmly to my nose. I can barely breathe through the freaking thing.

I push it away, swiftly rising onto my elbows, about to question him about being next to me, when the throbbing heat registers like someone placed hot stones on my calf. I cry out. “Sweet mother of Jesus! It hurts!” I glance down to my leg, only to see my ankle all red and slightly swollen, which makes even wiggling my toes hard. “What happened?” The last thing I remember was passing out in his arms.

“You got stung by a jellyfish and fainted. I need to put vinegar on it, and you have to be awake for that,” Micaden informs me matter-of-factly, with a completely blank stare and flat voice.

No sympathy for my pain from this guy. “You could have spared me my misery and woke me up afterward.” I would have prefered that, because this pain is a total bitch. “I didn’t know I could faint from that.” I’m not an expert, but in biology class, they told us it can be treated at home and only to go to the doctors if there’s some allergic reaction. There was no mention of fainting.

“You do.” He states it so firmly like it’s God’s honest truth. “I removed the barbs from your skin with tweezers while you were unconscious, so you can be grateful for that.”

Despite the agony my leg is going through, I can’t help mocking him. Placing my splayed hand on my chest, I sigh dramatically, “Be still my heart.” His hands skim down my legs, leaving goose bumps in their wake, and he raises my wounded ankle, pressing his finger on the wound a bit too much for me. “Ouch. Careful.”

He chuckles, finding it funny for some reason, and then slowly starts to apply vinegar, and I use this time to study the place. Only now, I see we aren’t in the inn’s room.

It’s a small villa with a spacious bed I’m currently on, a chair, and a couch with a flat-screen TV nearby. The wide terrace opens up to the ocean and appears to have some space to sit too, but I can’t see it clearly through the white curtains flying in different directions from the midnight breeze.

I thank God that with time my sight has become better under harsh light. I have more trouble seeing during daylight than in artificially created light. Some doctors even say I may get it fully back someday, not that I hope for it much.

Most of the walls are made out of wood. A few paintings, which seem to be made in haste without any specific direction in mind, are scattered on the walls.

Especially the one right in the middle of the wall with a beautiful sunset, where the evening sun kisses the glistening ocean, and for a moment in time, they become one, reflecting off one another as a red boat passes under them, flying its white sails.

The technique is not so great, and there are smears of different paints that could have been used differently to better showcase the natural beauty, but even with all these little things, the painting is mesmerizing. “It’s beautiful,” I murmur, and Micaden pauses, raising his gaze to me, so I add, pointing at the painting, “The art. Is it your work?” His hold on me tightens, and instinctively I try to wiggle my leg free, but he doesn’t let me.

He resumes his actions, and the throb finally becomes dull, but still sensitive. “No.”

Sighing in exasperation, because I can’t be rude to the guy right now since he’s helping me out, I try a different approach. “So is it a local artist’s work?” I wonder, and decide to get to know the person if he gives me the name. I love meeting people in my field; some kind of inspiration can always be found in their work or the techniques they can teach me.

Art is done in different variations and understandings, where people can express themselves freely. And nothing excites me more than trying to figure out what they had in mind.

“No. She’s not a local artist.”

She?

As in… oh.

I sit up on the bed, adjusting the shirt on me better, because suddenly I feel uncomfortable. I acted like a fool around the guy, but he probably has a girlfriend who drew it. A burning in my chest and a slight fury confuse me, as if he has no right for such a thing.

Who cares if my rude savior has a woman or not? The one who gave him paintings at that.

But I do, and the thought unsettles me so much I shake my head, and offer, “I think it’s fine now. I should go back to my room and maybe check with the inn’s nurse. You have someone, right?” When I was making a booking, the website assured me they always had a medic on hand in case medical assistance might be needed.

Around Micaden, my insides become a crazy mix of emotions. Anger and, yeah, attraction, and all those feelings make zero sense considering I’ve known the guy for only two days. And most of that time, he’s acted like a total asshole to me.

“Stay still, Emerald,” he orders, but I have this deep need to escape his company that doesn’t let me act rationally. So I jump to my feet and sway a little from the action as dizziness surges through me. He growls from next to me. “I told you to stay fucking put.”

The annoyance I felt earlier for him comes crashing back at me, along with the green-eyed monster; so without thinking, I poke his chest, and say, “I’m not your servant to stay fucking put.” I add air quotation marks on the last words. I’m trying to move in the direction of the door even though this freaking leg starts to burn again, when something unexpected happens.

His strong hands lock around my waist, and he turns us around, pressing me against the wall rather painfully. My back hits the wood hard, and he plasters his body against me, my softness accepting his rigid muscles easily.

Our raspy breaths fill the space between us, and he tips my chin up, our gazes clashing while he leans forward, murmuring softly, although it has a dangerous edge to it. “What did I tell you about touching me, Emerald?” His hand travels down from my collarbone to my breast, where he pauses, then circles the underside with his index finger while all I can do is stare.

It’s like he has me in a trance, because his touch doesn’t feel unfamiliar. No, my body burns, sending prickles all over my skin as if it’s waiting for Micaden to do that. “I didn’t do that intentionally,” I murmur, although my words are barely audible.

He chuckles coldly, but then his thumb traces my lower lip, brushing back and forth, and he pushes in, opening my mouth wide. “Such a sassy mouth deserves a lesson, don’t you think?” he asks, although I doubt it’s a question.

More like a fact.

Heat spreads through me while my breath hitches, my stomach dropping as his splayed hand continues to move lower and lower, until he reaches my navel and hikes the shirt up, his fingers settling on the edges of my bikini. “If I say something, Emerald, you need to listen.”

My mind clearly has gone insane, because instead of breaking free, I ask, “Or what?” A beat passes as he raises his eyes to mine, and for the first time, I see something else in them beside hatred or cold indifference. Deep and rich desire along with an emotion I can’t place, but it unsettles me. “Let me go,” I whisper, wrapping my hands around his on my bikini bottoms, even if my core dampens at his closeness. “Besides, don’t you have a girlfriend?” We can add cheating bastard to the list of insults I mentally throw his way too.

“You would have liked that, wouldn’t you? So you wouldn’t want me so much. Don’t worry, mermaid. I’m not taken.” He slams his mouth on me at the same time as his hand slides into my bikini bottoms, covering my heated core, and a moan slips past my lips.

A moan that disappears inside his mouth, because he keeps mine wide open, thrusting his tongue as far as he can, sweeping it along mine, demanding compliance.

At first, the kiss is very awkward: our teeth clash, his push is painful, and I can’t focus on anything. But then he softens it, slowly causing me to cooperate with him.

His tongue delves deep, probes inside, and holds my mouth prisoner to his desires. It’s like he stakes a claim and punishes me at the same time while awakening my body to all the wants and needs that have been dormant for years.

His hand molds to my pussy, and I gasp into his mouth, but it doesn't stop him. Instead, he hikes my leg over his hip while his middle finger slips inside, pushing deeper and fueling my blood with each touch. He rubs my sensitive skin, spreading wetness on me while his thumb flicks my clit, a moan slipping past my lips. “Look how wet you are for me. This pussy is begging to be fucked.”

“You are so—” I try to find the words, but the heel of his palm presses on my clit and I cry out, swaying a little and arching my neck as he licks under my chin.

“So honest? Emerald, I have a tongue, fingers, and a hard dick. And I want to fuck you with them all.”

Oh my God, why do such crude words that should make me want to run, only increase my desire?

He squeezes my core tighter, his hand grabbing my ass cheek and digging his fingers there. “Do you want that? For me to fuck you with my tongue?” He doesn't wait for a reply, because he kneels in front of me, securing my injured leg over his shoulder while his fingers open me up, the light breeze nipping at my skin.

“This is madness,” I whisper.

But he only chuckles, and then orders, “Don’t scream. We don't want the neighbors to hear you, do we?” And then his hot mouth presses against my heated core, and with his first lick, I cover my mouth with the back of my hand, whimpering into it to hold back a moan. He spreads his tongue through my folds, licking me up and down, sucking on my skin before scraping my clit with his teeth. All I can do is breathe through my nose while pleasure spreads over me. Suddenly, the swimsuit and shirt feel too heavy on my skin.

Without thinking, I take it off and then fumble for the straps of the top while he groans approvingly. “Play with your nipples,” he orders once again and then pushes his tongue inside me. I moan, unable to hold it back while my hands lace in his hair, my hips grinding to his every move.

It’s like he’s making love to me with his tongue; he swirls it inside, darting, driving me crazy with need.

His hold on me tightens, his fingers probably leaving imprints on my ass while he brings me closer, inhaling my scent. He looks up, taking his tongue away, and I whimper in distress. “I told you to play with your nipples,” he repeats, and I let go of his hair, placing my hands on my aching breasts, and the minute I thumb my hardened peaks, two of his fingers sink inside me while he sucks on my clit, and sensations assault me from all sides.

My skin burns from all the touches, my body seeking relief only he can give me in the moment, and all I can do is let go of the sensations. Every lick, every move only adds to the building pleasure as if gasoline is added to the fire.

My toes curl, and I bite my lip, my head resting against the wall while I concentrate on his attention.

Just a little bit more and I’ll reach the….

He raises his head to my protest and slowly gets up. He lifts my other leg on the way and wraps both my legs around his hips, and then he presses me against the wall, while we both groan at the impact of his cock against my wet pussy. His mouth is still coated with me, but I don't care, so I bring him in for a kiss, both of us consumed with need. I hear him rasp, “I need to fuck you through the wall and then some.”

“Yes.” I scratch his back, tightening my hold on him when he growls.

“Greedy, so greedy,” he says, and then he takes us to the bed, where he throws me on it. I catch my breath when he takes out a condom from the bedside drawer and removes his shorts.

Dear God, is there any other man as handsome as he?

He is about to roll the condom on his hard length, when I see precum leaking from the tip. I lick my lips. He tasted me; I want to taste him too. Feel his length inside my mouth, drive him crazy like he drove me. “We don’t have time for that,” he replies, but swipes the tip of his cock with his thumb and presses it against my mouth so I can lick around it, moaning at the taste.

“Fuck,” he growls and then rolls on the condom, joining me on the bed. Micaden spreads my thighs wide and settles between them, running the tip of his cock over me, slicking it with my wetness.

“Don’t tease,” I say, and he sucks on my breast then bites on the underside of it.

“Oh, I want to tease for hours, Emerald. You have no idea how much.” Then he takes my hand and wraps it around him, and I moan feeling the heavy length in my fist. As I slide up and down, he groans, pushing a little with the motion, but then warns, “Enough. This can’t wait. Who made me this hard, Emerald?” he asks, pinning my hands above my head while his tip is nudging inside my entrance. “So hard I can barely think.”

“I did,” I murmur, arching my back and moaning when he rewards me with a lick to my nipples. “That’s right. And because of who is this pussy so wet it practically drips on the bed?” It’s hard for me to concentrate on what he says, because with every touch, all thoughts fly from my mind. “Answer me,” he demands, and I catch his stare, finding the deep pools of blue that hold so many secrets I think I might drown in them.

But it doesn't stop me from needing him to feed this madness that he ignited. “You. Because of you.” The minute the words slip past my lips, he slams inside me and the headboard hits the wall from the momentum.

I cry out; he’s deep, so deep it burns, but at the same time, I experience such relief that I can’t even explain it. “So fucking tight,” he murmurs, and for a second something flashes in my mind. Sort of like déjà vu but it’s quickly gone, replaced with reality. Our fingers lace together when he pulls back and then thrusts forward. My pussy clamps around him with each move, as he sinks deeper and deeper, filling me to the brink, but it’s not enough.

It feels like it will never be enough. “More, Micaden,” I moan, but he continues to keep the slow rhythm as sweat coats our skin and I beg him to speed up.

Instead, he licks and sucks my collarbone, leaving hickeys on my skin, and then he slides his hand to my waist, holding my hips in one position, not allowing me to control the momentum.

I palm his head and share with him a kiss; it’s possessive and passionate, which consists mostly of our tongues dueling for dominance while his hips lazily move back and forth, the slapping sounds only arousing me more. I gulp a breath and push his head to my breasts, and he easily shifts his attention, but then his hands grab my ass cheeks and he starts to impale me on his cock, harsher, deeper, and with more power, speeding up his movements, and my cries of pleasure only fuel him more. “Micaden, I need…,” I whimper, pleading because I can’t take it anymore. Everything hurts and burns, and he’s the only one with the cure.

Finally, he gives me what I want. As he bites on my nipple and presses his thumb against my clit, he slams inside me so hard I cry out and come, intense pleasure sinking into every bone, making me aware of each hair on my body.

He roars above me, and we both breathe heavily as he lies on me. I hug him to me while peace settles on us.

I wrap my hand around his neck and breathe him in, murmuring, “Micaden, I—” I want to tell him I’ve never experienced something like this before, but he instantly freezes in my arms.

His body goes from warmth to stone cold, and I blink when he rolls off me and then gets up. Whatever came over him right before we had sex has clearly vanished, and in the place of the hot-blooded man stands this cold asshole who made no secret of not wanting me here.

Micaden

She’s my obsession.

And unlike most of them, this obsession can be cured.

She just needs to die first.

Emerald

The door to his bathroom shuts loudly while I gaze at the ceiling, reality slowly coming back to me, and with that, mortification at my actions.

I had sex.

I had sex with a guy I barely know on the island where I came to write a story of star-crossed lovers.

Gasping, I sit up in bed, grabbing the sheet and pulling it to cover my breasts while noting how my body aches in unfamiliar places.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, horrified with myself, and then I hear the shower running, which means Micaden does not intend to come back.

Do men usually shower after sex?

Which brings another question.

I peek under the sheet and glance at my thighs, and although my cheeks heat up from all the red marks left by his beard and nips, I don’t see blood.

Okay, so I wasn’t a virgin. Yay freaking me!

During all the years after the accident, I went on dates with different guys, each one of them better than the other. Some shared my love for art, others worked in the same field, and some just asked me out during my rare outings with the girls. And while they were all nice, I’ve never proceeded to more with them, even if I wanted to.

Because, when in the moment, the idea of anyone touching me sent panic through me, and I would end whatever we had. I just couldn’t stand the idea. I thought maybe something traumatic happened to me regarding sex before the accident, but I didn’t have anyone to ask about it, so I let it go, hoping the right man would come along.

But Micaden is hardly the right man, and I groan into the sheet, holding back a scream of frustration.

One-night stands are cool and all, but not when you’ll have to see the guy on a daily basis. Especially in the town that likes to gossip.

I groan again and then quickly get up, biting on my lip from the slight ache in my foot. I quickly pull on the swimsuit and leave his T-shirt behind, because there’s no way in hell I want people to know where I was all this time.

Slowly but steadily, I finally make it back to the inn where Marcy is snoring loudly behind the counter. I tiptoe upstairs, slip into my room, and rest my back against the door, placing my palm on my heart.

A magic night filled with lust and pleasure.

Why then do I feel like I lost something valuable during it?

Micaden

Resting my splayed palms on the tile while the cold water cascades down my back, I breathe heavily, doing my best to rein in the beast inside me that roars at Emerald’s absence.

I close my eyes as her whimpers and moans echo in my ears, along with her sweet scent that has always haunted me at night, reminding me that nothing changes with time.

Despite my hatred, my desire for her burns stronger than even before. Her soft curves, her tempting mouth, the taste of her are forever imprinted in my brain, and nothing will ever erase them.

Desire is a weapon.

If it’s used right, the prey a hunter so desperately seeks will fall into the trap and follow.

If it’s used wrong, the prey might get scared and try to run, but then again an experienced hunter will still catch her.

Emerald wants me, with such intensity I could almost drown in it if I didn’t know the disgusting nature hiding behind the innocence that surrounds her.

But my hatred won’t bring as great results as my desire.

What’s more painful? Being deceived by the person you love, or hate?

She has to pay for what she’s done, and her demise will be agonizing for her and satisfying for me.

Plan.

Everything will go according to the plan, and why not indulge in her anyway in the meantime?