21
The Island Hears Your Sorrow
Like the tiny mouse he called her, she scrambled from the tent and scampered through the jungle forest. Her thoughts were a jumble of recollection. She’d reached for his hand during the night and covered her heart, hoping he could feel the racing within—the fear and excitement—that rippled through her veins, tickling the fine hairs of her body with hope. No one had ever spoken to her in that way before.
It’s dark without you.
The words slithered through her as she trekked through the dawning day, still dark within the heavy bush of the island. He hadn’t meant what he said, she decided. He couldn’t know how empty the darkness was for her. How lonely she felt, longing for someone.
I’d love someone to care for me. A sob escaped as she traveled stealthily through the greenery, climbing higher, away from the beach, away from his tent, hoping to lose herself in the island. She admitted one of her darkest secrets to someone who could use it against her. And he rejected her.
He did not care about her. He cared about nothing. If he couldn’t take her by force, like one of his businesses to be bought and broken, he wasn’t interested. She could give herself willingly, but that wasn’t how he wanted it. He held her back against his warm chest, but he wanted to take her, even in his sleep.
Another sob escaped, and she covered her mouth, though there was no one to hear her cries. He had been a dream. He wasn’t real, she told herself. His sorrow. His repentance. It was a lie.
He’d shown he could be caring when she was sick, sharing with his steak feast, but he could not care about her. She shook her head. He wanted to control someone.
I can’t do this. His words ripped a chasm through her chest, her heart pierced with pain. She tripped and fell among the thick roots and twisted limbs at her feet. Pressing upward, she continued to scamper through the brush, seeing light up ahead. Bursting through the thickness of greenery, she came to a small, open clearing and fell to her knees, feeling the warmth of the sun on her clammy skin. She lay flat on the surface of rich earth, letting the heat of the dirt press against her cheeks, damp from the tears she hadn’t notice falling. She hadn’t given them tears before, but now they fell. Her heart raced, pressed against the island floor, and she willed herself to become one with her surroundings.
Take the power from him, she heard whispered in her head. Closing her eyes, she felt the beat of her heart, the pulse of the island under her cheeks, and the sound of the breeze overhead. She imagined him at her back, enveloping her in love, not control, and she wrapped her hand over his as she had last night. She slid it downward, covering her breast, feeling the sad beat under her skin.
“Juliet,” she heard whispered in the wind, but she kept her eyes closed. She had no words to speak. She only wanted to imagine she could dominate him. She wanted to speak through touch—controlling his over hers. She pretended it was his fingers squeezing, ripening her nipple to a sharp peak. A steady beat increased between her thighs, and she took slow breaths to match the tempo. Her teeth bit back a moan threatening to escape. She arched her back, recalling the connection of his excitement pressed along the seam of her backside. In her head, she lowered his hand, letting the heat of his palm cover her belly. She used her free fingers to pull up her dress, guiding his hands under the material. She wore bikini panties under her dress. How stupid she’d been. To think she’d risked herself again, and with him, of all men.
She pressed two fingers between needy folds, increasing the achy pulse. She imagined his fingers moving in a circular motion, a pattern of friction, similar to the slow tap of a drum.
The breeze picked up, caressing her neck. Like touching you, Mouse, she heard him murmur against her skin. His fingers took control, but her hand covered his. The sensation was so real. The pressure so intense. He could please a woman. She wanted him to please her.
Show me how, the wind whispered. The words mixed with the breeze, brushing back the hair at her sweaty temples. Her tears had subsided for the moment. Her concentration was on the physical connection she shared with this man. The mere thought of his fingers between her thighs heightened her pleasure. An exhale of air escaped her lips as her body moved in a dancing rhythm. The beat of island drums rang in her head, matching the pulse at her core. Her hips followed the thumping, vibrating over fingers nimble and greedy. Her body became an instrument. Suddenly, wild with need, she clamped down on the back of his imaginary hand at her core and thrust a finger inside, feeling the length of his digit filling her. She’d climbed to her knees, panting in need, clutching her thighs together. A second finger forced its way inside and she let out a grunt as her free hand dug into the hard, packed dirt at her tips.
Her body became something other than her own. She was an island goddess, paying homage to herself, using him as her fantasy. She would not allow him to stop the rhythm, the touch, demanding it until she reached her peak. His imaginary fingers danced inside her, a sliding movement creating its own music. Her fist pounded the earth as she screamed to release. An animalistic roar rolled from her throat, and she called out his name. She refused to be his mouse. She did not want to be tamed by him.
Her name whispered in the air like a lullaby, lilting around her ears. It didn’t match the slowing tempo between her thighs, but the sound sent a wave of anger through her.
“Just one,” she yelled aloud, repeatedly his words. Just once, she wanted a man to care about her, and she hoped her voice carried down the slope of the island, directly to him. Hear me, she whispered in her mind.
Just once, she thought again as she felt wetness slick down her inner thighs and sweat curl down her hairline. Tears filled her eyes again, and she lowered herself to the ground in exhaustion, like a mouse hidden in the field. No, she told herself. She was a lioness, and she would rule over him. But as the pulse within her lessened, and her heart rate lowered to a normal beat, she felt the calm rhythm of the island under her tear-stained cheeks. Her lips sought the dirt like they reached for his chest, and she knew it was too late.
She cared about him, and that meant he ruled over her.