Page 35 of Restoration

seven

SIX DAYS LATER, I WAKEup knowing even before I open my eyes that Edmund is spooning me from behind.

At some point during the night, he rolled over and scooted up close to me, draping an arm around my middle to hold my body close to his. There’s no question that he’s the one who initiated the cuddling. It’s happened a couple of other times in the past week we’ve been sleeping in this makeshift shelter on the island. Each time, I’ve been in exactly the position I fell asleep in—on my own towel and pillow—while Edmund has definitely not been.

I like it. I can’t help it. That in his sleep, he instinctively seeks my body. Logically, I know it’s probably more the heat and comfort he’s seeking, but still... It feels special. Personal. Like his sleeping self wantsme.

This morning his warm, firm body is making me hot. He’s breathing slow and heavy against my hair. And he’s hard. An erection is poking against my butt.

I love the feel of that too, even though it’s probably nothing more than a natural physical response while he sleeps.

When he sighs hoarsely—almost a groan—and gives a slow, gentle thrust against my ass, a clench of sharp desire leaves me breathless and shaky.

He’s sound asleep and doesn’t know what he’s doing, so my lying here letting him do it is entirely inappropriate. Plus I’m hotly aroused now, and I can’t do what I want—which is turn over and wrap my arms around him to kiss him senseless.

So instead, I pull away from him, sit up, and then carefully climb over his still-sleeping form until I’m standing outside the shelter.

I breathe in the warm, humid morning air—much more pleasant than the heat of the day—and will my body and mind to calm down.

When I’m no longer at risk of crawling back inside to have my way with him, I splash water on my face from our tub, which is now full of rainwater. I go to the bathroom behind my normal tree and then walk down the beach and into the water in just my panties and tank top.

The water is always pleasantly cool in the morning. I wade out until the bottom abruptly drops off. Then I swim.

We’ve had so much downtime in the days on this island that I’ve started swimming just to exercise and use up energy, hoping to fool my body into thinking I’ve actually done something with the morning. I’m not used to sitting around doing nothing, and I don’t like it nearly as much as I would have assumed.

This island doesn’t feel like a vacation. It feels like a prison with beautiful scenery.

People aren’t made to lie around purposelessly, and it’s not good for me in particular. My mind starts to spin out of control in upsetting and unhealthy ways.

I swim for longer than normal since it’s helping to distract me from my arousal earlier, and I end up farther out than I’m comfortable with. The waves are mild and easy right now, so there’s not any danger from them. And I’ve been a competent swimmer since I was a child. But still... It’s unnerving to be so far out from the shore.

There are a lot of fish out here. The water is still really clear, so I can see them. I don’t mind fish, but the idea of something else—something bigger or scarier—lurking out here is enough to drive me back toward the beach. I swim until the water is too shallow and then wade back up to the shore.

Edmund is up, standing in the surf, looking out at me and wearing nothing but his boxers. They’re already getting worn—like my clothes. I hate to imagine what we’re going to do when our clothes are too old and thin to keep wearing.

Are we going to have to try to weave grass skirts? Or go around naked like this really is the Garden of Eden?

I walk up, dripping, to where he stands. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He’s peering at my face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just had extra energy this morning.” I glance out at the ocean when his eyes shift to the horizon. “No sign of anything out there but a bunch of fish.”

“Yeah.” He sounds quiet. Slightly subdued. Every day he’s been energized and expectant—certain that we’ll be rescued soon. But it hasn’t happened yet.