Her touch caused paralysis. Her touch caused every sense to belong to her.

Only her.

Some part of my brain that was still human tried one last time to stop whatever she was doing.

I garbled nonsense, I half-heartedly shifted my hips, but her long hair tickled my exposed belly as she shook her head.

“No...no more thinking. Just relax. Let me do this for you.” Her lips whispered over mine as she bent over me, her hand working up and down, swirling around. Her thumb, shit, her thumb, found my crown, pressing hard on the sensitive tip, stealing the moisture she found there and smearing it down the shaft. “Let me return what you did for me.”

Fantasy.

Nightmare.

Hallucination.

Or was this death? Some cruel joke by the devil before sending me packing to Hell?

My left hand clutched the sand as I rode out the most intense hand job I’d ever experienced while my right thrust into her hair and smashed her lips against mine.

I needed this. I needed to come. So. Damn. Badly.

I’d serviced myself a few times over the past few months but that had been a necessity to rid the heavy ache in my balls. But this...hell this was pure utopia.

My breathing turned ragged as Estelle’s hand worked harder. She wasn’t messing around. She wasn’t there to tease me. She was there to make me come. Fast and efficient. A donation.

A charity orgasm.

If I weren’t so far gone, I would’ve hated her for that. I would’ve pushed her away—no matter how incredible she worked me. I wouldn’t have put up with such underhanded manipulation.

But I wasn’t in the right head space.

I’d fallen for a girl who didn’t want me and barely accepted my friendship. If she wanted to pity hand-job me, then fine, I’d take what I could get.

My hands clutched her hair, kissing her harder, deeper, giving up and thrusting over and over into her palm.

She let me.

Her fingers tightened, giving me the perfect noose to jack off into. Her thumb swirled around my crown and her spare hand vanished between my legs to play with my balls.

Everything she did was utterly perfect. It was as if she’d been born knowing my code. That she’d hacked every part of my anatomy and owned me.

“I love touching you like this, G.” Her whisper fed my starving lungs.

I couldn’t hold off anymore.

Every muscle jerked, tightening to the point of cramp.

My balls became bombs; my cock the cannon.

I came.

And came.

And came all over her hand and my stomach.

I trembled and twitched as she kept going, milking my extremely sensitive body. I grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

Breathing hard, I slowly came back to earth and opened my eyes.

I stared at her.

She stared back.

No words were spoken but we knew.

We knew that this couldn’t be ignored.

Wordlessly, she stood, rinsed her hands in the fuselage we kept topped with seawater and crawled into her bed.

She went to sleep with her back facing me.

But I stayed awake until morning, alternating between shock and sedation. Thankfulness and plotting.

All rules were broken.

She said it was returning the favour.

I called it asking for trouble.

She’d been the one to touch me.

Now, I would be the one to touch her.

Chapter Thirty-Five

...............................................

E S T E L L E

......

I buckled. I submitted. No, I gave in.

Feeling you come apart. Watching you fall apart. Listening to you break apart.

It makes me want you so much more. Too much more. Terrifyingly more.

I failed. I lost. No, I finally let myself win.

Taken from the notepad of E.E.

...

WHAT WAS I thinking?

The sun had risen an hour ago, and still, I slept on my side, facing away from Galloway. Every time I thought about what I’d done in the dark, my body flushed, my nipples ached, and the tingle of a desperately needed release drove me insane.

The way he’d given in to me.

The way he smelled of cedar and liquorice even though he hadn’t used shampoo or aftershave in weeks.

The way his muscles trembled and body hardened and eyes fluttered and lips kissed and hands clenched and breathing stuttered and and...

An arc of desire throbbed in my clit.

I shuddered, curling into myself with need.

I’d given him pleasure. I’d taken pleasure from giving him pleasure.

But now...now, I suffered.

I was more turned on than any point in my life. I could barely move without my thighs pressing together and my hips rocking to find relief. I could barely breathe without my breasts rubbing my t-shirt and my nipples sparking with ten thousand demands to be touched, sucked, bitten.

My brain was useless. My body was obsessed. I had to. I had to. I had to find relief.

I wasn’t Estelle. I was female. I was sex.

And I wanted, wanted, wanted.

With every inhale, I promised myself the freedom to spin around and beg Galloway to take me. With each exhale, I broke every vow and huddled tighter in the sand.

You can’t.

I couldn’t remember why.

But I couldn’t execute the day, talk to the children, or pretend to be normal in this state.

Hurling myself out of bed, I kept my back to Galloway and fled into the forest.

I ran and ran until I was far enough from the camp and sprawled against the bamboo thicket I’d adopted as my writing nook. My cotton shorts came down. My hand disappeared into my wetness.