ten
T HE SUN IS RISING THE next time I come to any sort of awareness.
I blink into the pink-and-orange light of the sunrise, trying to orient myself and wondering why I evidently slept outside.
An ache in my throat and a sour taste in my mouth bring the previous day flooding back into my mind. It feels like a nightmare.
But it’s the next morning now, and I made it through the whole night without being sick. That alone feels like a miracle.
As soon as I sniff and lift my head, someone stirs beside me.
“Y’okay, baby?” he mumbles.
“Yeah.” My voice is weirdly scratchy. I try to sit up, but the most I can do is raise my shoulders slightly. “I think I’m okay.”
Edmund has been lying on the blanket beside me. Not under the covers like me but on top of them. He sits up, rubbing his face and smoothing back his wildly rumpled hair. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been through a war.” I drop my head back to my pillow, utterly exhausted. “But I don’t feel sick right now. So maybe that part is over.”
“Thank God,” he mutters, reaching over to caress my cheek with his knuckles. “You’re still really pale.”
“I’m always pale.” I attempt a little smile.
“Not like this. But you do look better than yesterday. Are you hungry? Can you drink something?”
“I think I need to pee first. If I can manage to haul myself to my feet.”
Edmund stands up and then leans over to help me. It’s not easy, but I manage to get upright and can limp slowly with the help of Edmund’s supportive arm.
Once I go to the bathroom, I tell Edmund I want to sit up for a while, so he gets me back to my rock seat by the firepit since it has a back to lean against.
My brain clears as I sit there, breathing and assessing my condition. Edmund brings me coconut water, and I sip it slowly.
It’s another miracle that it feels okay in my stomach and doesn’t come back up.
When he’s assured himself that I’m okay, Edmund begins our morning chores. He doesn’t take the raft out today—we can manage a day without fish—but he does go collect fresh coconuts and some other fruit.
He convinces me to try a banana, and I take little nibbles until I’ve actually managed to finish it. After that, I’m so exhausted that I have to lie down again, and it’s not long before I’m asleep.
***
F OR THE NEXT TWO DAYS , Edmund won’t let me do anything other than eat, drink, and rest even though I’m feeling a lot stronger by the second day.
He does all of our work himself. It takes him twice as long, and he gives himself extra duties in taking care of my needs, even ones I could manage myself.
I always knew Edmund had a kind heart. I never would have agreed to work for him longer than a temp job had I not recognized within a month or two that he has a vast amount of compassion and empathy hiding behind his teasing nonchalance and self-indulgence.
But I’ve never actually seen him work very hard. Not until we got stuck on this island.
Some people are exactly what they appear, but others can manage to surprise you—even after years. Edmund has surprised me.
He’s shown himself to be stronger and more committed than I ever would have suspected, with more endurance, grit, and resilience than I would have thought possible three months ago when he was on the floor of the entry hall, high on whatever designer drug Kontessa gave him.
I’ve taken care of him innumerable times over the years, but until now I’ve never actually experienced him taking care of me with anything except money.
The walls I’ve always used as an emotional barrier against feeling too much for him are being ruthlessly battered as the weeks progress. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep my heart safe from him.
In the afternoon of the third day after I was sick, I decide to take a swim. Edmund insists I take it easy, but it feels good to finally stretch my body. I’m still not eating quite as much as normal, but I’m getting close.
Tomorrow I might be back to my normal self.
I lie on a towel to dry after I swim, starting on my back and then turning over onto my stomach. I’ve been sleeping half the day away lately, but I’m still about to drift off in another nap when someone touches my foot.
I know it’s Edmund, but I jerk away anyway.
He chuckles and takes my foot back in his hand to stretch my leg again.
“What are you doing?”
He shows me our bowl of coconut oil, and I smile to give him my approval.
A few weeks ago, we experimented by smashing coconut meat with forks and then squeezing out the milk. We left a glass of it out overnight—purely by accident—and the top of it curdled, leaving the oil separated out in the bottom.
We make the oil on purpose now and have been using it on our skin, and it’s really helped make it softer and healthier—and also helps the sunburns I occasionally get.
Edmund starts on my feet, rubbing the oil in and massaging them at the same time.
It feels so good, and I sigh and relax on my towel, enjoying the sensation of being well and having Edmund touch me this way.
He’s got long, strong fingers, and they know what they’re doing. Slowly he massages his way up one leg and then the other, kneading the muscles, focusing on the se areas, and pressing into trigger points until they release.
By the time he’s got to the top of my left thigh, I’m having to resist the urge to moan out loud.
“Can I take off your clothes so I can keep going?” His voice is soft and uninflected.
I’m only wearing my thin panties and tank top, and he’s regularly seen me naked for a month and a half now. So I don’t even hesitate. “Yeah. Please.”
“Lis to you saying please.” It sounds like he’s smiling as he gently pulls my panties down my legs and then takes off my tank top.
I settle back on the towel on my stomach, stretching my arms down at my sides. “I say please.”
“Sometimes. It depends on the context.” He’s rubbing the warm oil into my butt now, massaging the muscles and stroking down toward my thighs.
“What context?”
“You’re always very polite when we work together. But you don’t say please a lot in bed.”
“I don’t?”
“No. You’re still kind of bossy, you know.”
I giggle at that since his tone is warm and fond. He’s clearly not lodging any sort of complaint. “Well, that’s because you’re still kind of slow in bed. Someone has to hurry you up.”
He chuckles low in his throat and slides his hands up to my lower back, continuing to rub the sion out of my muscles. He finds new knots and works on them with hard pressure.
It feels so good I can’t help but groan again.
“What was that?” he murmurs, sliding back down to my ass.
“That was just a sound.”
“Oh. It sounded like it might have been a please .”
I start to giggle, but it gets interrupted by another moan as he curls his fingers between my legs, massaging my inner thighs, very close to my groin.
“Definitely a please.” Edmund teases me briefly—giving me a light stroke against my private flesh—but then returns to my back.
“Edmund.”
“Yes?”
“You know what.”
“I’m working on a massage here. If you want anything else, you can ask for it.”
“You’re being mean.”
“I’m giving you a massage. How is that mean?”
“You know perfectly well.”
He’s still laughing softly, but he doesn’t break his massage. He spends a lot of time on my back and shoulders, making occasional detours down lower to keep me on edge.
I’ve always loved to see Edmund enjoying himself. Really enjoying himself—not all that empty carousing he’s so of used to fill his time. For the first few years, it happened only rarely. When he was sailing a boat. When he was visiting his exded family or the few people I’d consider his true friends. When we were on a road trip. But in the year before he started dating Kontessa, he was like this more frequently. She stomped it out almost completely, but now—on this island—he’s this way almost every day.
Who knew being stranded on an island could bring out one’s true self?
I wonder if it’s done the same for me.
Edmund pulls his hands away, and I glance over my shoulder with a silent question.
“It felt like you were slipping away from me,” he explains. “You still into this?”
I smile, letting go of the weirdly profound thoughts. “I’m definitely still into this. Don’t you dare stop.”
“There’s my bossy Autumn I know and love.”
The words are so casual that I wonder if he’s even aware of what he’s said.
He scoots higher up my body so he can work on my neck and the back of my head. It feels so good. Relaxing. Needed. I can’t help but sigh hoarsely as his hands work me over.
After a long while, he murmurs thickly, “Why don’t you turn over?”
It’s the first time I can sense he might be growing aroused.
I’m smiling as I flip over, completely naked as his eyes rake up and down my body. I’ve never thought lying on my back is my most attractive position. My breasts are soft and heavy and fall to the sides in a weird way. But there’s nothing in Edmund’s face that’s remotely disappointed or critical.
It’s more like he’s devouring me with his eyes. Like he wants to swallow me whole.
When a full minute passes and he doesn’t restart the massage, I frown. “I’m not lying here for you to stare at, you know.”
“Why not? I’ve never seen anyone so gorgeous in my life.”
“You’ve dated literal supermodels.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is you can’t actually believe what you’re saying. And you know perfectly well I’m into you already. You don’t have to butter me up with ridiculous, over-the-top compliments.”
“They’re not ridiculous.” He leans down to press a soft kiss against my mouth. “They’re true.”
“Edmund.”
“You don’t have to believe me. But you should. You should know by now that you don’t have to look like a supermodel to be gorgeous.” He moves down my body so he can start massaging my feet again, rubbing the coconut oil into them so his hands move smoothly over my skin. “People like different things. And...” He’s silent for several seconds, and I think he’s not going to finish his thought. But then, “And sometimes our eyes are opened.”
My lips part as I process the words. Then I’m flooded with a wave of deep pleasure and appreciation.
I wasn’t wrong all those years that I knew for sure Edmund didn’t see me as anything but his assistant. He hasn’t been lusting after me secretly all this time.
But his eyes have been opened. And now he does.
It’s real, and he means it.
“Well, I always thought you were hot,” I mumble.
“Sure you did.” He’s slowly rubbing my ankles.
“I did.”
“But you weren’t interested.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that. Part of me was always interested in him romantically, but I never let those fluttery thoughts take root. Not only because I knew he would never want me that way but also because a significant part of me wouldn’t want him.
I might aesthetically appreciate a man who’s never applied himself to anything worthwhile, but that’s not the kind of man I actually want.
But the Edmund he is now, who’s shown himself to be so much more...
That’s an entirely different matter.
I smile at him, just a little wobbly because admitting the truth to myself is such a risk. “I’m interested now.”
His face sofs palpably. “Good.”
He focuses once more on his massage, and I focus once more on relaxing. It’s not long before the insifying relaxation triggers arousal again. By the time he’s reached my hips, I can’t keep them still. I’m squirming and moaning and evidently incapable of maintaining any modicum of composure.
“Edmund!” His name comes out as a hoarse gasp. I lift my arms, folding them above my head and clutching at the blanket beneath me.
“Yes?” He slides his hands to my belly, rubbing it thoroughly before cupping both my breasts at once.
My back arches up as desire throbs between my legs, radiating out to fill the rest of my body. “Edmund!”
“Now you’re letting go,” he murmurs. “You’re feeling so good. Don’t try to fight it.”
“I’m not fighting it. I’m dying here. I need to come.”
“I know you do.” He’s rubbing my breasts firmly, stimulating my nipples in a way that’s driving me crazy. “I’m going to make you come so hard. You’re going to feel so good. Try to keep relaxing.”
“Relax?” My head is tossing back and forth, and I have to clench the blanket to keep from rubbing my own clit. “I need it so bad.”
“I know you do,” he says again, still working skillfully on my breasts.
My arousal is a deep, compelling ache, and I hear myself choking on soft, sobbing sounds in my urgency. “Edmund, please!”
Finally—finally—he skates his hand down my abdomen until he’s pulling my thighs apart, leaving my hot, wet flesh exposed to the afternoon air. He flicks my clit briefly, causing me to cry out from the sudden surge of sensations. Then he opens me intimately and slides one finger inside me, massaging my inner walls.
“Yes, please!” I say, exding the last word in a long hiss. My hips start rocking to ride his finger, and I squeeze eagerly around the penetration.
“Don’t force it, baby. You don’t always have to control it.”
I make more of those sobbing sounds but manage to relax my pelvis, holding my legs far apart and bending my knees to give him better access.
“That’s right. That’s so good.” He adds another finger inside me and keeps up the erotic massage.
I flail my arms as the sensations insify but manage to keep my hips still and my internal muscles relaxed the way he wants them.
“Now you’re just right. Try to breathe slower and deeper.” When I do as he says, he murmurs, “That’s my Autumn. You’re perfect for me, baby. You’re going to come so hard.”
“Yes,” I whisper, still focusing on my breathing and keeping my body relaxed. “Please, Edmund. Please. I need it so bad.”
“You’re almost there.” He adds a third finger, stretching me more fully. And instead of rubbing, he starts to pump.
I’m so wet it makes a sloppy sound against the steady back-and-forth of the waves. I se up in anticipation as my arousal jumps into overdrive.
“You’re getting too excited and trying to control it again. Sof up for me.”
I’m so overwhelmed by all these feelings I keep making loud, wordless pleas, but I manage to do as he says, relaxing every muscle in my body.
“There you go. Now you’re all soft. So soft for me. So beautiful. You’re almost there.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever been so loud in my life in the final mount toward orgasm. Despite every instinct, I don’t pump my body. I lay still, channeling all my need into the sounds I’m making. Most of them are wordless, but in between, I’m babbling, “Edmund, please! Yes please! Yes please!”
It’s on the final please that all the rising sion finally breaks. I cry with the flood of pleasure, and my channel clamps down hard around his fingers in rhythmic spasms.
He pushes into them, murmuring about how hard I’m coming, how perfect I’m doing, how he always wants me to trust him this much, how he always wants me to feel this good.
Just as the sensations start falling, he uses his other hand to massage my clit, and it pushes me into another climax, and after that another.
It goes on for a long time. I cry out with the pleasure and the insity of the release until I’m hoarse. When his hand finally slows down, I’m drenched in sweat and panting roughly, and my entire body is pulsing.
“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life,” Edmund says in a thick, soft voice. His fingers are still rubbing my inner walls gently.
I whimper and arch up shamelessly. I’m so sensitized it almost aches.
“I thought you were done, but maybe you’re not.” He slides his fingers all the way in and rubs my clit again with a firm, circular motion.
“Yes please.” I’m hit with a fluttery mini-orgasm almost immediately. Then another one. I’m making a stretched, whining sound as I writhe with the lingering pleasure.
“You’ve needed this for a long time. You’re always holding on to so much. You’ve needed to let go like this. That’s why you can’t seem to get enough right now.”
I have no idea where he came to that insight, but what he’s saying rings true in the deepest way. It slices me open, leaving me completely vulnerable—my heart as much as my body. I’m choking on soft sobs as he continues his sensual ministrations.
“Tell me when you’ve had enough, baby,” he says. “I’m going to give you everything you need.”
There are tears sliding down the sides of my face. I can’t keep my head or my hands still. I squirm and gasp out, “More, Edmund. Please.”
He works me up to one more orgasm—not as inse as the first but stronger than the mini-climaxes. And it’s only then that a wave of deep satisfaction washes over to the achy pleasure.
“Is that enough?” he asks, slowing his hand again.
“Yeah. Yeah.” I squeeze around his fingers and roll my hips. “Thank you. I’m good. Thank you. Thank you.”
He withdraws his fingers. Gives my groin some long, relieving pressure. Then leans over to kiss my mouth again. “You’re welcome.”
I reach up to hug him, pulling him all the way down on top of me. The weight of his body is a comfort, as needed as the physical release I just experienced.
He presses little kisses against my jaw and down my throat. Then finally he asks, “How do you feel?”
“I’ve never felt better in my entire life.”
He’s smiling as he lifts his head. “Good. I’ll be happy to take care of you that way any time. All you have to do is ask.”
There’s something in his eyes. A glint of humor I immediately recognize. My mind is in such a messy daze that it takes me a minute to recognize it. Then I gasp indignantly and give his shoulder a little push. “Oh, you arrogant bastard! You got me to say please!”
He laughs out loud. His body is se because he’s been turned on for a while now, but his amusement is warm and real. “You said it more than once. You said it a lot .”
“Oh, you big jerk!” I push him over in playful outrage and climb on top of him. He’s naked, so I take care not to jar his erection. “This whole thing was one big plot.”
“No, it wasn’t. I wanted to do it. But all the pleases were a bonus.”
I can’t help but laugh. There’s absolutely no way for me to stay mad at this man. I lean down to kiss him and then mouth my way quickly down his body until I can take his erection between my lips.
He’s groaning almost immediately as I fit as much of him as I can in my mouth. I suck hard, bobbing my head in a fast rhythm I know he likes.
“Yes, Autumn, I need you,” he murmurs on a taken breath.
The familiar words in this particular context fill me with warm satisfaction.
I keep sucking him off, and he rocks and twitches beneath me until his hands tigh in my hair, holding me in place as he comes with a loud bellow of release.
I swallow down as much of his semen as I can, wiping the rest off my face as I straigh up.
His eyes are relaxed. Deeply sated. So warm as he gazes up at me. He pulls me down and moves me into position so I’m cradled in his arm, half on top of him.
“I’m almost to my fertile period of the month,” I say randomly after several minutes of lying tangled together. “So we should probably avoid intercourse for the next few days. Just to be safe.”
He chuckles tiredly and brushes kisses against my hair. “Well, we can do more of what we just did, and I’ll be perfectly happy.”
I smile as I close my eyes. “Me too.”