Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Yep,” he says. “Got some agoutis and got that meat taken care of.”
I frown. I’d much rather eat the turtle or duck we find in plentiful portions on the island. Rodents, not so much.
“Don’t worry, babe,” he says, as we cross over the threshold to our home. “I only saved those because I got fresh food for dinner. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
He nods and smiles, and my heart does a little somersault in my chest. I run a finger across his rugged jaw, covered in stubble since the razors I brought are dulling, then bring my finger to his full, masculine lips. He kisses the tip then sucks it in and gently bites. I squeal and pull my finger back.
“Hey!”
He grins. “I’m starving, too,” he says with a suggestive look. “But I’m glad you’re hungry. I got some eggs, too.”
Ever since Derek died, we haven’t had any sort of famine. It’s not only been plentiful, but we’ve found a few other crucial foods that became an integral part of our diet. Breadfruit. A skinny sort of onion. Still plenty of coconuts, cassava, callaloo, and we’ve even recently found pineapples, my favorite find of all. God, what a nice change from the typical starfruit and guava we’d been eating.
We’re convinced the food sources never were removed entirely, but somehow hidden from us. When we reach the shelter, he lays me down on the mattress, then his eyes travel to the countdown I keep.
“It isn’t sixty-nine days,” he says. “You lied.”
I grin at him. “I know. It’s more like sixty-five. I was just trying to plant an idea in your head…”
“You lied,” he repeats, raising a stern brow at me and wagging a finger. My heartbeat races a bit, because I know when he’s serious he can be heavy-handed, and maybe I kinda like it.
No. Sigh. Correction. I love it. I can’t believe before I came to this island that I used to say domination was the antithesis of romanticism. I thought it was wrong that women liked to be overpowered by alpha males, at least in fantasy or fiction.
Not anymore. God, not anymore.
“Naughty girls get punished when they lie, you know.”
I bite my lip. “I know.”
Don’t I know it. Being alone on an island with a barbaric alpha male makes for fun times. I never knew I’d be the type into the heavy-handed dominant, but I love this man. I love him so much it hurts.
He leans down and brings his mouth to my ear, his stubble tickling my cheek. His deep, raspy voice makes heat pulse low in my belly. “Do you need to be punished, Harper?”
I close my eyes and shrug. “Mmm, dunno,” I say, with a sigh of contentment. I love when we play this game.
“Maybe you don’t deserve my cock,” he teases.
“Maybe you don’t deserve my pussy,” I retort.
He rolls me over to give me a playful smack on the rear, though even his playful smack stings like hell, before pinning my wrists above my head and kissing me. I lose myself in the kiss.
The future is uncertain, the past uncontrollable. With Cy, all I have is the present.
We make the most of it.
I’m eager for this, eager for the connection and momentary bliss that takes us from our circumstances. I need this. He needs this. But as he’s making his way down my body, kissing and licking and suckling in every delicious way possible, a terrifying scream rents the air right outside our shelter.
He’s on his feet before I’ve even processed what just happened.
It sounded… human. But that isn’t possible. We’re the only humans on this island.
At least, we were.
His eyes meet mine. “What was that?” I whisper.
“Don’t know,” he responds, but he’s already reaching for one of the weapons we have lined up by the door. I look down. He chose one of the knives.
I sit up and reach for a knife myself. God. It sounded like a woman screaming.
“Let me look first,” he says, and I don’t protest. Most of the time in dangerous situations, he lets me follow him, but sometimes he likes to be the one scoping out details first. I’ll stand back this time, ready to defend him if necessary.
So, I wait by the door. Watching.
Knife raised, he looks first to the left, then the right. He takes a few more steps away, frowning.
“Christ,” he finally says, shaking his head. “It’s a red fox, Harper.”
“They sound like a woman?”
He nods. “They can, yeah.”
“Why have we never seen one before?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Why was I here for months before I found cassava? Why do wolves prowl outside sometimes?” He turns to face me. “Who the hell knows.”
Since we buried Derek and Will’s dead bodies, Cy has grown more wild. Rugged. Savage. Now bent on finding a way off this island, it permeates everything he does. I know he’s feeling more desperate than he ever was before, so eager to get us both off this island the thought’s become his obsession.