Brando had just opened his mouth to request another piece of fruit. At this, he choked, laughing and spluttering at the same time. Once under control, he still laughed, but was able to talk. “Tell me what that makes me then.” His voice was hoarse from coughing and laughing.
“A beast,” I said. I put the jug up to my mouth again. Some of the juice ran down my chin and slid between my breasts, so cool against my heated skin.
Brando’s eyes were infrared homing devices. He watched as the thin ribbon of it flowed, licking his lips. “A fucking lucky beast,” he said slowly, watching me as though I was going to run.
I was prepared to do just that. “Stay back,” I said, wielding a mango. “We need—”
He crouched and lunged, coming for me. One hand flung the jug and the other the bag of mangos. I barely escaped him, making it to the other side of the bed.
I had lost my weapons. He still had his—and it was ready for the bludgeoning.
“You can’t outrun me,” he said, eyes glinting dangerously. “I always get what I want, Mrs. Fausti.”
I made a noise that was supposed to be a tauntingohhhbut came out as an impressedahhh. Taking small, tentative steps toward the mattress, I flung myself on it, spreading my arms and legs.
He came over me, one leg on each side, grinning down. His erection was hot and hard, but his skin was silky against my stomach. “That was the quickest surrender in history.”
“I decided to sacrifice myself—you seem starved.”
“I am,” he assured me, before he began to ravish me with his insatiable hunger.
* * *
That night, the breeze became cooler, sweeping in and out of the bure with mojo on its mind. The sea shushed the shore, but despite her warnings, the palm fronds were loud overhead, not caring if we heard their conversations or not.
The gauze strips surrounding the bed billowed out like sails. We were insect free, the wind putting up an invisible shield, keeping them at bay. The collective soft light of the solar lanterns lit us, bright enough to highlight our most prominent features, but not enough to throw us in harsh outline. The world became hazy and subdued.
Brando rested behind me, head on my shoulder, arm around my waist, our legs tangled. He twisted my hair, setting it atop my head. At this point, it was made of starch instead of strands.
He kissed my neck tenderly, making goosebumps rise on my skin. He mumbled something about my hair being similar to Medusa’s.
I smiled lazily, running fingertips up and down his forearm. He had the most beautiful forearms. The muscles underneath were hardened by work and exercise, but the skin above was smooth and taut, nearly hairless. The contrast between my skin and his was like translucent water flowing over the dark solid mass of rock. I traced a finger over the tattoo of the ribbon he had gotten years ago, along with my name over his pulse. Sliding my hand to his, weaving our fingers together, I brought them to my mouth. His knuckles had scabbed over, on the mend.
“How long do we have here?” I said, my voice another susurration among the island’s.
“A month, take away the couple of days we’ve already been here.” His voice matched mine. It was sleepy but not tired, content and floating.
I could’ve sobbed from the sheer relief of knowing that we were not going to turn around and rush home. We had time to explore and to melt further into each other.
He lifted my arm up to the lantern, studying the length of it. Blue veins ran underneath skin so fair that the boughs seemed too close to the surface. A thick one spanned the length of my inner arm to my wrist, and three thinner ones branched off and spread over. He traced the lines, eyes glistening milk chocolate in the amorous, wavering light.
“Tell me,” I whispered. “Tell me that you love me, Brando Fausti.”
“I love you, Scarlett Fausti. But I’ve told you before, to say it feels like a lie. Love isn’t enough.” He studied the veins harder, taking all of their routes, tickling me as he did.
“Yours. All yours. All running straight to my heart.”
“All mine,” he said, taking each of my wrists, kissing them. He lifted my arm up even higher. He laughed deep in his throat when I squirmed away from his touch and his sniffing nose.
“Brando! You are so freaky!” I slapped at him and he laughed even harder, a fake moan or two mixed in with the sound, but he wouldn’t show memercy. When he reached my armpit, he became quiet, still. His head plopped on the pillow, his face set into a stupefied stare.
“Are you stunned?” I inquired, trying to keep my armpit close to my side. Inhibited after he had honed in on it.
“Damn, baby.Pheew.You jump in the water now, there's no way that shark is coming for you. You'd stunhimto death.” He laughed so hard that he started to wheeze.
“Haha! This coming from a man who smells like soy sauce. This entire non-bathing idea wasyourbrilliant idea. Remember?” I howled at the roof, reminding him.
“Soy sauce?” he practically exploded. “Are you hungry?”
