The more days pass, the more comfortable we grow with each other; the more nights that slip by, the harder it becomes to pull away when dawn breaks. He’s still adamant that we wait for the right time to finally surrender to each other, body and soul… to consummate our relationship in that most final way… but I can feel his resolve crumbling as the desire between us crescendoes from a whisper to a scream.
There’s a magnetic current charging the air even when we’re a dozen feet away, separated by a stretch of white sand beach. Just the weight of his eyes on my body makes me want to writhe. Every time our hands brush, sparks electrify my skin, kindling a fire inside me that threatens to rage out of control.
One night in late August, as we lay beneath a bed of stars in our open-roofed hut, our kisses grow so fervent I think I might shatter from just the press of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, the rasp of his stubble against my cheeks as his mouth trails down to the valley between my breasts. I hear him sigh painfully and know what’s coming — he’s about to pull away. My body is already tensing with the ache of impending separation.
No, I think, a firm denial. Not tonight. Not again.
Before he can stop me, my palms shove up against his shoulders and I buck, flipping him onto his back in one smooth motion. Straddling his waist, I take control, wrapping his wrists in my hands as I slam my mouth down on his. My hips slide back until his length is nestled perfectly between the junction of my thighs, so hard it makes my eyes water with sheer desire.
“Violet,” he growls against my lips, a warning. “We decided to wait…”
“No, you decided. And my patience has officially…” My hips roll deliciously and we both gasp at the feeling. “…expired.”
His forehead hits mine as he wrestles his wrists from my grasp. A few seconds later, he cups my cheeks gently with both hands. Our breaths mingle. “Your patience will be rewarded,” he pants softly. “I promise.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“So, like, in ten minutes? Tomorrow? How soon is soon?”
His laugh is laced with torment. “You are going to kill me.”
“That’s the idea.”
“If I’m dead, you’ll never get what you want.”
A sound of discontent rumbles from my mouth. “Did you take a vow of celibacy or something? Please tell me. I’m beginning to think you’re a monk.”
“Not a monk. A saint,” he mutters. “Or, at least, a man with the self-control of one.”
“Please… feel free to be less saintly.” I undulate my hips again, rubbing against his length until I see stars. “…and…” I gasp into his mouth. “A little more sinful.”
“Do you want me to go sleep on the beach?” he threatens, fingertips digging into my hips to keep them still. “Keep that up, and I’ll have no choice.”
With a grumble, I slide off his chest and roll away from him, creating a buffer of cool air between our heated bodies. I’m quaking with lust, aftershocks of an almost-orgasm rolling through me in mini waves of pleasure. I was close. Teetering on the brink.
I could feel it.
Beck lets me sulk for about thirty seconds before he reaches out and hauls me against his side. My head rests against his chest as he loops one powerful thigh over both of mine. His arm hooks around my back as my hands tuck beneath his armpit, tracing the indentations of his ribcage. The sharp sting of disappointment fades as he strokes my hair and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. I let my eyes drift closed and remind myself he’s not dragging this out for his own benefit. Hell, he’s suffering a perpetual state of blue-balls because he truly believes it’s what’s best for me.
Because he loves me.
There’s a smile on my face as I drift into slumber.
The howl of the wind wakes us.
Like a pack of wild dogs, it sweeps off the water and up the beach with stunning force, a precursor to a far greater threat. Beck’s wild eyes meet mine in the dark as we stumble from our cabin into camp. His hand wraps around mine, keeping me tethered to him as the frigid wind whips into our faces. It blows hard enough that I have to shield my eyes in the crook of an elbow, hard enough that the nearby palm trees creak precariously with each gust.
“Fuck,” I hear Beck mutter, the word snatched away by the breeze a second after it leaves his lips.
I follow his line of sight out over the white-capped water. What I see there makes my blood run cold. There’s a dense wall of rain moving toward us, pouring straight down in a sheet as the storm-front makes its approach. The sky above churns with clouds, moving clockwise like a deadly carousel. It’s maybe a mile offshore, two at the most. And from the looks of it…
It’s headed straight for us.
These gusting winds are merely the first claws of the beastly typhoon bearing down on our island. Lightning flashes, illuminating the swirling clouds from the inside like a cat-burglar in a darkened house. As a little girl, whenever an electrical storm would light up the mountain range just beyond my backyard, I’d count Mississippis in my head before thunder shook the sky, trying to gauge the storm’s distance from my bedroom window.
I do the same thing now.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.
Boom.
The whole earth seems to tremble. If it’s this intense while the storm is still a few miles offshore… I can only imagine what that same thunder will feel like when it’s directly over our heads. Apparently, Beck has the same thought. Without another moment’s hesitation, his hand tightens on mine as he turns and starts dragging me back toward the cabin.
“Come on!” he barks, increasing his pace. As we run, I watch the wind tear our raft to ribbons, the thick plastic shredding like a piece of tissue paper. Coconuts begin to catapult from the branches overhead like bombs, crashing against the beach with an explosive shower of sand.
“Duck!” I scream as I watch one fly straight for Beck’s face. We only just manage to avoid the hurling projectile. I’ve always thought that statistic ‘Falling coconuts kill more people than shark attacks!’ was total bullshit until this moment, when I find myself dodging them like bullets, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I’m sure an arrhythmia is imminent.
We burst through the entryway, a momentary reprieve from the lashing wind. Beck drops my hand and beelines for his duffle bag. As I watch, he starts shoving items in at random — the knife, the water bottle, our fishing line, the first aid kit, our flare gun. Anything within reach that seems at all important is deposited roughly into the green canvas.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
“We have to leave!” He yells over the roaring wind, tossing my backpack in my direction.
I barely manage to catch it. “Leave?! And go where?”
“The caves, on the west side — we’ll be protected there!”
My head shakes in swift rejection. “We can’t abandon our home, Beck!”
“This isn’t a discussion. We’re going, now.”
“You can go, but I’m staying!” I snap, digging my heels in.