I run my hands across her collarbones and down along the ridges of her rib cage. She feels like the most expensive silk the East has ever produced. “You okay? This isn’t hurting you?” Her shoulder is still tender.
“Oh yeah,” she breathes out. I smooth my hands down her arms, testing to make sure that she’s comfortable. My hands move up to cup her tits, and my thumbs rub her nipples, which have hardened into tight points. “Pinch them,” she says.
I do as she tells me and she shudders. “More?” I ask. She nods and I pinch harder. Her legs squeeze together and then release. No fantasy has ever been this good.
“I want to suck on those tits and fuck you with my cock while you’re handcuffed to the bed. You good with that?”
“Yes, please.” Her sweet cunt clenches again in anticipation.
I palm her ass in one hand and grip myself in the other. She widens her legs and we share a gasp as I position the broad head of my shaft at her wet entrance. She’s always so wet for me, so ready.
“Now?” I ask.
She nods, lip caught between two rows of perfect teeth. I slide into her carefully, pausing at each juncture to make sure she’s comfortable, that this is the right side of pleasure for her.
“Keep going, baby. I have to have you in me now!” Her demands cut through the straining tether of my self-control. I slam the rest of the way in until my balls are slapping her ass. She cries out but by now I recognize that high keening noise as one of utter fucking delight. “God, I feel everything with you. Everything. Hurry now,” she orders and then pushes up, grinding her hips against mine.
I let her fuck me, using me as I latch onto one nipple. Lightly restrained, with my big paws clamped around her hips and my mouth devouring her tit, she owns me completely. She rides me with abandon, grinding her clit against my pubic bone, shafting herself on my cock until her head lolls back because it’s too heavy for her to hold it up. I take over then.
I thrust into her, jacking her until her tits are bouncing, her hair is swinging, and her entire body is one jagged erotic motion. I fuck her until there are stars in my eyes and the whole of my heart detonates like a bomb. She’s not the last hope in the world; she’s the only hope for me.
EPILOGUE
AVA
It’s been a month now, and I’m still coming to terms with Rose’s death. I catch myself wanting to call her to tell her a funny joke, or I see a dress on one of the island ladies and think, oh, that would look great on Rose. Then I remember that my best friend is dead, and there’s no getting past the pain. Maybe there’s never a way past the pain.
Rose is in my dreams, though. She visits from time to time, and she’s always smiling and happy. Maybe because that’s how I saw her in life, that’s how I choose to see her in death. It’s all right, though. Someday, those dreams are going to disappear, so I cherish them while I have them.
I’ve been on the island for a few weeks, and every day feels like . . . well, to be cliché, it’s paradise. I wake up to freshly made, delicious food and the scent of the ocean on the air. I wake up in the hard, muscled arms of the man who fucked me six ways from Sunday the night before. He kisses my brow and touches me all over, and we usually have sex before we start the day, because we can’t get enough of each other.
One month isn’t enough time to get tired of Rafe Mendoza. One year, one lifetime—it’ll never be enough. He’s like an addiction to me, and one I find I crave more as the hours pass. His smile is better than any narcotic, and when he holds me under him and pushes so deep inside me, I feel . . . everything.
I’ve come to love life here on the island. It’s weird. When I was in New York City, I was the den mother to a bunch of skinny models who wanted to smoke all day and talk about the food they wouldn’t eat. I didn’t think twice about it; I just stepped into the role and took care of them.
Here on the island, I’m the den mother to dozens of ladies who have been used hard in life. They come to me for all kinds of things, from small complaints about laundry soap to bigger issues like sickness and babies and romantic advice. Because I’m Mendoza’s “lady,” I’m the leader of the women here. I’m den mother all over again, except instead of herding a bunch of skinny chain-smoking models, I’m herding a bunch of young women with tired eyes who have seen too much life. I’m handed babies and asked advice about cooking, laundry, nutrition, and a million things I’ve never considered before, but which are now of grave importance. These women on the island are bringing themselves up from nothing. They are starting over, or trying to, and they need help.
It’s become my new goal to bring joy to their faces. To make the world a safer place for them. To give them hope.