Chapter 16
Junie
I have Monday off, but I don’t really have anything to do. All of my friends work at the sanctuary and no one is free. I could walk around the entire island in an hour, but I’m not in the mood to do it by myself. For the first time, I’m starting to feel how isolated we are here.
When I wander to the sanctuary, Victoria is giving a tour, so I sneak into the recovery room to spend some time with Jimmy.
I watch him glumly through the glass; he looks bored in there.
Contained. That’s what I’ve felt like these last few months—trapped.
Even if the walls are made of glass, it isn’t the ocean.
I love being here on Gili Telu, and I love helping out the sanctuary and dive shop, but what’s next for me? Is it too much freedom all at once? Maybe I need some sort of temporary transition tank while I recover from the shock.
Once I’m aware of Steven’s presence in the room, I feel it all over.
“Are you up for a walkabout?” He wastes no time on introductions.
He looks mouthwatering in a Colombia button down and swim shorts.
At this point, I have no idea if the man even owns actual pants and I don’t care.
There’s a dry bag slung over his shoulder and a hard set to his gaze that gives me butterflies.
“Sure.” I shrug like my heart isn’t racing. He slides his hand into mine and leads me outside where I blink in the bright sunshine.
He doesn’t tell me where we’re going, but we talk as we walk the well-trodden path.
“The other night was incredible,” he says and I feel my chest nearly cave in. “I just—you—” He shakes his head as if he can’t find the words. I have to squint to see him, framed by the sun. He’s hard to look at directly. “You disappeared last night.”
“I had to make a phone call.” I sidestep the truth like a broken seashell.
He nods. His face is so serious, I can barely breathe, waiting to hear whatever he’s building up to say.
“I know you’re a volunteer,” he starts. “And I know you’re only here for a month. But I’d like to get to know you. Spend time with you. I don’t just want to jump into bed. We can take things slow.”
Even though I should be internally celebrating, everything in my body resists his words. I’ve had six years of slow. A lifetime of carefully weighing my options. I want hard and fast and everything all at once.
But he’s right, of course. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us to fling our bodies together like crashing asteroids. Someone could get hurt in the fall out.
I still haven’t said much as he nudges me back toward the beach.
I haven’t been to this side of the island before, and I’m impressed by the cool shade thrown by a tall rocky outcrop.
Any relief from the blistering sun is a miracle.
The area is more private than anywhere else I’ve seen, like a hidden oasis.
As he sets up a blanket on the sand and pulls a picnic lunch out of the dry bag, my heart squeezes.
“What do you think?” He avoids my eyes as he arranges the chips, fruit, white rice, and fresh vegetables. My mouth waters. I’ve been eating way too much fried rice, fried noodles, fried everything. My body craves the fresh crunch of a carrot.
“I think that’s something I could be interested in.” He’s all I’ve been thinking about for over a week, but now I feel the need to play it cool? It must be obvious that I’m terrible at dating—I haven’t had to play this ‘will they, won’t they’ game in far too long.
What are the rules for a vacation fling? Do they change if the vacation turns into four weeks of forced proximity? Am I still on vacation? Is it a sabbatical? A mini-retirement? Am I just using these thoughts to avoid the real question at hand?
He follows my intense gaze and gestures to the food. “Help yourself,” he says as I swipe a carrot stick.
He leans over, invading my space. I swallow the carrot along with my nerves and meet his stare. It takes everything in me not to climb in his lap.
He wants to take it slow. But then his lips are on mine. Soft and warm. The slow sweep of his tongue leaves me breathless, dizzy. It should be illegal to be so good at kissing.
I can’t help the small moan that escapes my throat.
He pulls back and grins. His smile is dazzling. Where is my prickly dive instructor? Who is this chatty guy who wants to get to know me?
I can’t ask him that. So I ask the next thing that pops into my head.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Over three years.”
I whistle. I thought a month seemed long. Three years on an island you can walk across the whole of in an afternoon. He must really love it here.
“What did you do before you came here?” I ask. I only have the roughest outline of the man who has occupied so much of my thoughts.
“Worked on boats, mostly. I grew up in Sydney but I used to lead dive tours on liveaboards in Cairns.” He looks out at the surf as he says it, crunching on a potato chip.
“That’s where the Great Barrier Reef is, right? Do you miss it?” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and pop a slice of mango in my mouth. “Do you think you’ll ever go back?”
“Nah, there’s nothing for me there.” He scrapes some tuna onto a cracker and eats it, still looking at the ocean. His voice is heavy.
“There’s nothing for me back home either,” I sigh.
“I doubt that.” He turns toward me, eyes dark with concern. It feels like he can see right through me, but we’re just getting to know each other.
I don’t want to explain. He doesn’t seem like the type to just follow the current, and I don’t want him to think badly of me for basically treading water my entire life.
So I move closer. I don’t mind the smell of fish on his breath. I don’t mind anything about him at all.
The scruff of his beard scrapes my chin as I tilt my face up. He towers over me when we’re standing, but from this angle on the blanket, he’s almost approachable. I want to capture his chin between my teeth, but I restrain my cute aggression, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, instead.
He coughs, pulling away as if he’s shy. “Junie, I’d like to spend the next few weeks with you. I feel very…”
“What do you feel?” I ask, when the silence begins to stretch. My stomach knots with tension.
He swallows, but can’t seem to find the words. I narrow my eyes. I want to be bold.
“You’re so hot and cold. Do you not know what you want?”
“I know what I want,” he says hoarsely. A vein throbs in his temple.
“Then take it. I dare you.”
He growls as he reaches for me, wrapping his arm around my small frame and pinning me beneath him. I push the picnic out of the way and clench my legs around his thighs as he presses his searing lips to my throat, my chest.
As usual on the island, I’m wearing a bathing suit beneath my clothes. He unbuttons my shirt to expose the bikini, licking devilishly around the edges of my tan lines, making me squirm beneath him. I want less barriers between us. But once again, we’re out in public in broad daylight.
He unbuttons my shorts and there’s only a small strip of fabric between his big hands and my aching core. I’m so wet for him, and I desperately want him to know. The pads of his fingers graze against my bottoms as he kneads my thighs. My body arches instinctively, grinding against his knuckles.
He chuckles, a low sound that coils in my belly.
My instinct is to grow shy—is he laughing at my neediness?
The way I’m falling apart for him so quickly?
But then his thumb dips below the lining of my bottoms, grazes my slick lips and swirls around my throbbing clit.
I gasp as all thoughts of embarrassment or shame fly from my mind.
Just as quickly, he sits up, stealing the warmth of his body and leaving me dazed and confused. My chest heaves with fast, shallow breaths. He watches me carefully as he lifts his thumb to his mouth, then sucks the taste of me off his finger.
“Fuck Junie. This isn’t slow. We can’t do this here.”
“Should we go somewhere else?” I ask, every muscle of my body taut and begging for more. Who gives a shit about slow when it feels so good?
“Yes,” he says, eyes flickering with lust as they rake over my body. “But I brought you here because I wanted to show you something.”
“Right now?” I squeak. I could kill him. The moment we find a bedroom and a modicum of privacy, I’m going to fuck his brains out.
I realize for the first time that I have no idea where he lives. The thought is distracting enough to help clear my mind.
“You’re trouble.” He shakes his head, then turns to the dry bag.
I sit up, adjust my bathing suit, and put some space between our bodies. My bottoms feel sticky and wet and it sends a flash of horny annoyance through me. I reluctantly take the mask and snorkel when he hands it over. Against my better judgement, I’m really curious about what he wants to show me.
He helps me up and leads me toward the shoreline.
I’m addicted to the feeling of his hands on me.
The warm water laps at my ankles as I step into the fins he holds in place.
It’s becoming natural, the ritual of donning my gear.
I love the sight of him on his knees, the graze of his hand against the sole of my foot.
“You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” Steven asks with a cocky grin. All my fears about death and wasted time claw at my throat, but that isn’t what he’s asking. This new version of me has to match his energy—there’s no way I’m backing down.
“Fearless,” I grin.
“Good, they won’t bite. Just stay close.”
What won’t bite? Anxiety starts to creep in, but Steven dives into the surf and I have no choice but to follow.
“We’re heading to those rocks.”
I flash him the ‘Okay’ sign and we pop our heads beneath the water.
Everywhere I look are splashes of color, schools of fish winking silver and bright, corals and sea sponges waving with the current.
Steven humors me, swimming patiently at my pace, inching us closer to what he wants to see. I could spend hours like this, breathing through a plastic tube, watching the show.
I can see him smiling around his mouthpiece as we approach the shadowy cluster of rocks. I imagine him as a young boy, growing up near the ocean, falling in love with sea turtles and looking out for mermaids.
He reaches for my hand then signals for me to pay attention.
He points toward the deep blue stretched out in front of us and I scan with my eyes until I see it.
I gasp through my snorkel, inhaling salty ocean water, and cough hard, breaking the surface.
Steven pops up beside me, gently pounding on my back to clear my lungs.
“Are you okay?” he asks as I catch my breath, rubbing my chest with small circles.
“Yes,” I rasp, then take another deep, clear breath. “Was that—”
“A black-tipped reef shark.” Steven grins, one dimple digging deep into his cheek.
My eyes widen and I look back toward the gray shadow a few yards away.
“It won’t bite us?” I ask, heart racing and the small curve of a smile tugging at my lips.
“No. But we’ll still respect their space. Do you want to keep looking?”
“Yes,” I say, surprising myself. “Are there more?”
I duck back under the water and we swim a little closer. The shark is probably about four feet long, gray with a white belly and black edges on its fins. I can only see one of its eyes, strangely round and bulbous with a long pupil flicking back and forth.
A thrill of fear tickles my belly, but I trust Steven when he says it won’t hurt me. It hovers over the sandy bottom, swiveling its body like a snake. I’m fascinated. My senses are on high alert but it makes me feel more present—more alive.
We see two more sharks and they affect me the same way. When we return to the beach, I’m a tangle of adrenaline and endorphins. Even though I’d been perfectly safe, my body reacts like I just survived a brush with danger. Everything is more intense—sounds, colors, emotions.
I grin. “That was incredible.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
We’re standing at the edge of the surf. Our chests are millimeters apart, both rising and falling rapidly. I can’t think around the tingling all over my body.
I survived swimming with sharks and now I need to fuck this man or I will die.
I reach up for him. He supports my ass as I jump up and tighten my legs around his waist. Our kiss is salty, warm, and wet. His lips are soft and swell deliciously beneath my teeth.
I don’t care how small the island is. I don’t care about sand or that someone might see. I want him to lay me down and take me right here on the beach.
I know he feels it too. The evidence is pressing against me, hard and insistent.
My jaw is sore from the snorkel, but I still open eagerly for his tongue. He fists my hair and grinds me down against his hard cock, pushing against my skimpy bikini and making me moan into his mouth.
“You’ll come back to mine,” he growls, setting me down roughly in the sand and sweeping everything into the dry bag hastily.
My sex drunk brain can hardly process what he’s said, but he had at me “You’ll come.”
I follow him blindly, blissfully, back to a small, fenced-off house without a single bunkbed in sight.