Marooned with the Rock Star (A Crazily Sensual Rock Star Romance, with Humor) (13 page)

“Kurt?” My voice is practically a scream now.
The blood rushes through my ears, filling my head with a roaring
waterfall of sound.

I run around the bend. If Kurt has fallen in,
he would be in the water right about here. But he’s an expert
swimmer, so I should be seeing his bobbing head anytime soon. Thank
goodness the rocks are patchy here. But he could have hit his head
on an underwater rock. I don’t see any blood trailing in the
water.

Oh help, I’m panicking.

“Kurt?”

There is still no sign of him.

I have no choice. I have to find him.

Without pausing to take off my natty dress, I
take a flying leap into the clear water. From what I can see, there
are no rocks underneath. I land inside the water with a mighty
splash.

The sea is cool and almost silent underwater.
The saltwater stings my eyes, but I brave myself to open them to
search for Kurt. I turn my head here, there, everywhere, my long
hair trailing like ghostly seaweed behind me. My dress encumbers my
movements, and so I hike it up as fast as it can go to allow my
legs the freedom of movement.

Here, the water is quite deep, surprisingly.
Which bodes well for Kirk. I’m just so afraid he might have hit his
head on some hard surface.

I’m getting frantic here. Not to mention
starved for oxygen. I surface, gulping in lungfuls of air. Stars
swim in my eyes.

And then I see him. Not ten feet away from
me. He is struggling to surface. His arms are flailing desperately.
I don’t understand why he doesn’t just tread water.

I stroke towards him. I have no training on
how to save a drowning victim, though I’m sure Kurt has hit his
head somehow, and that’s why he is struggling. Instinct makes me go
for his back, where he is less likely to lash out and hit me. I
lock my arms around his neck.

“Kurt, relax. I’m here,” I try to say.

But he struggles even further and plunges me
down with him. I have to kick very hard just to get both of us to
the surface. But he thrashes and whirls again, and I realize –
somewhere in my impeded mind – that these are the actions of a man
who doesn’t know how to swim.

With much difficulty, I manage to get my arm
around his neck. His long wet hair slaps my face and throat.

“I’ve got you, Kurt, I’ve got you,” I say
soothingly.

His struggles abate somewhat. Using one arm,
I start to pull us back to land.

“Kurt, can you climb up?” Closer to the
cliffs, there are rocky outcrops where we can place our feet.

It is a slow, laborious process to get both
of us up to the ground once again, but we manage it. At the end of
it all, we both sprawl on the earth, coughing and gasping. Kurt
retches, and then throws up a whole lot of water. I pick myself up
to go to him.

“Are you OK?” I say, distressed.

I thump his back. It is the only thing I know
how to do to help him now.

He heaves a few more times on his hands and
knees and empties out more seawater from his stomach. His breathing
gradually steadies. He coughs a few more times and then sinks back
to his haunches.

I observe him, my heart beating wildly. For a
moment there, I thought he was a goner.

I gingerly touch his bare shoulder. “Kurt,
are you all right?”

He nods, his face still pale.

A bobbing object near the edge catches my
eye.

“Oh, look, you managed to retrieve the dead
guy’s backpack after all,” I say.

He manages a wan smile, and I know that all
is right again.

*

It takes a lot of effort and multiple climbs,
but we manage to take everything the poor dead man has on him. So
now we have a good sturdy knife, German made to boot. We have his
clothes, which I absolutely refuse to touch. Kurt has no such
misgivings, however, and readily washes them in the stream and
hangs them out to dry.

From his backpack, we have a canteen
half-filled with water, some melted Snickers bars, some underwear,
another shirt and pants, a pair of sunglasses and a shaving kit. We
figure everything valuable, like cash or a camera or a cellphone,
has been taken by the person or people who killed him.

We soon recover our spirits. We even make a
meal out of those melted Snickers bars. Chocolate and nuts have
never tasted so good to me. Kurt uses the shaving kit on himself,
shedding that short beard I find so sexy, revealing his chiseled
jaw once again.

I can’t help staring at him when he emerges
from cleaning his face.

“Don’t you dare use this on your legs,” he
warns, shaking the shaver at me.

I have to stifle a laugh.

As darkness falls, we grow more pensive.

“Do you think whoever killed him is still on
the island?” I ask Kurt.

He stokes the small fire we made with a
stick.

“I don’t know. In which case, this fire is as
good to alert them as any.”

I stare at the flames, aghast. “Oh my God,
should we put it out then?”

He shakes his head. “They may have been long
gone by now. And if they are still here, they might have seen our
smoke. It’s no use speculating. We’d better put all our energy into
surviving this.”

“Is it still a good idea then – going up by
beach?”

“We have to get somewhere.” He taps the
knife. “At least now we have this.”

Part of me wonders if it had been a
ritualistic killing. The knife in the back of the head. The man’s
posture, on the cliff facing the sea. A shiver goes down my
spine.

Kurt notices this.

“Don’t be scared,” he says in a low voice.
“It isn’t over for us, not by a long shot.”

I nod, still not convinced. I hug my knees to
my chest.

“At least we have new clothes,” he says
jovially, trying to cheer me up. “You can have everything in the
backpack. At least you won’t consider those contaminated.”

I manage a small smile.

He eyes me from beneath his long lashes. He
smiles back at me, a little shyly.

“I didn’t thank you yet for pulling me out of
the water.”

I blush. “And I didn’t really thank you for
coming in after me when I first fell out of the ship.”

“Well, thank you,” he says simply.

“You are welcome. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

An awkward silence descends between us.

I finally say, “You can’t swim, can you?”

He shakes his head.

“Figures,” I continue. A strange rushing
feeling goes through my body, suffusing my chest area with a
prickling sensation. A choke wells up my throat. “I . . . I didn’t
realize . . . that. And you . . . you still dived in to save me.
Even when you knew you couldn’t swim.”

A sob stifles the rest of my words.

Kurt looks up, concerned. I can’t help it
anymore. It’s too much. Everything is too much. Meeting Kurt again,
reawakening all those old suppressed feelings. Getting blown off
the ship by a freak gust of wind. Being stranded here with him on
this island. Seeing that dead man up on the cliff.

My shoulders quake with my sobs and the tears
which have threatened for so long finally spill over my cheeks in a
deluge. When it rains, it pours. And I am pouring now. My sobs rack
my entire body, and I can’t seem to stop even if I want to.

Kurt is on his feet. Within moments, he has
sprinted to my side.

He cradles me in his strong arms. I let it
all out – all my penned-up emotions and anger at myself and my
shame for treating him so badly. The words refuse to come out, and
so I let my tears do the talking instead. I bury my face into the
warm clean crook between his neck and bare shoulder and hold him
tightly to me.

He rocks me gently. No words are needed. He
understands what I’m going through. Understands everything.

When my sobs have died down some, he loosens
his hold on me. His eyes gaze into mine.

“Hey, you OK?” he asks me softly.

I’m not sure who made the first move – if it
was me or him – but suddenly, our lips are on each other’s. And it
is as though a hunger has been unleashed within me. I can’t get
enough of his mouth. I suck at his lower lip, and in turn, he opens
his mouth to run the tip of his tongue over mine. Then our lips
lock again, and we are tonguing each other deeply. Exploring the
landscapes of each other’s mouths.

I lick the contours of his teeth, his inner
cheeks, and twine my tongue around his. My pussy clenches. I want
him, I realize. I desperately want him. I have wanted him since I
first saw him all those years ago when we were all juniors in high
school. He was the bad boy I could never have – who would never
look twice at girls like me.

His hands – those hands I have often dreamed
about – are now all over me. Roaming down my body. Groping for my
flesh beneath my tattered green dress, or what is left of it. He
feels for my breasts, my waist, my buttocks.

“Oh God, Rebeccca,” he moans into my mouth,
“how I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted you for so long . . . you have
no idea.”

Hearing this only makes my heart beat faster.
And it is already beating so fast and loudly I feel sure we both
must be vibrating from the drum of it. His hands go between my legs
and part them.

“Do you want me to?” he murmurs. His eyes
arrest mine. They are molten liquid and very dark with desire.

“Yes.” I am too far gone to give anything but
my assent.

“There wasn’t a condom in the backpack.”

“Damn.”

“Do you still want to?”

Making love out here in the wild without
condoms can lead to complications. Pregnant ones. Besides, I don’t
really know how many women he has been with. But oh, I do want him
so badly. I need to feel him inside me, to have my vaginal muscles
clench tightly around that cock that I glimpsed previously.

He says, “Contrary to what you think, I
haven’t been with all that many women after Adeline. And I have
always used a condom whenever I’m with someone.”

I gaze at his face, so beautiful in the
flickering yellow flames.

I say in a hoarse voice, “I want you to. And
you can pull out before . . . ”

He smiles.

“Then let’s take off your clothes. I want to
see you naked.”

I sit up to help him pull off my dress. I
have kept (and washed) the same brassiere and panties for several
days now. He tugs these off my shoulders, arms and legs. Then he
sits back on his haunches and revels in the sight of me, as though
he is drinking in from the font of desire itself. He is in his
usual underwear, and his cock tents its crotch like an incredible
flagpole.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says in a choked
voice.

And I really believe him. I’ve always had
trouble believing I was beautiful, especially since I have always
been a bit bigger than most girls, but Kurt says it with reverence,
as though I am the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

I lie back and lick my lips. Because he seems
to enjoy the sight of me so much, my embarrassment at my own body
sheds away like all my pounds during the protracted starvation of
the last few days. Indeed, I feel thinner, more in charge of my own
body and better than I have ever felt in years.

So I part my legs, even as the flush spreads
from my cheeks down to my breasts.

“I need you, Kurt.” My tone is not wanton, or
suggestive, but quiet. Because it’s a realization I have arrived
to. I do really need him.

He drops his underwear, and that marvelous
cock springs up to greet me. It is uncircumcised and thick. The
word that comes instantly to my mind is ‘succulent’, and I realize
that I desperately long to taste it in my mouth, to suck at it and
lick that fleshy tip with its inviting slit.

A hollowness blossoms in my throat as he
comes towards me. He takes me in his arms again.

“I want you, Rebecca. I want you so bad.”

He presses his body down against mine, and
arranges my thighs so that I am open to him. So open. Then he
positions the head of his cock against my naked pussy, and pushes
it in.

I gasp. It has been so long since I’ve had
sex. I don’t even remember the last time, but it was when I was
drunk and in college. And I have never had sex before without my
lover wearing a condom. It feels so different – the texture of it.
Like it’s more real. More substantial. Pure erotic flesh against
erotic flesh.

“Do you trust me?” he says, his eyes holding
mine. His eyes are so beautiful. They are pools upon pools of deep
wells. I can look into their depths forever and sink in.

“Yes.”

He pushes into me further, and I cry out.
There is a flare of pain as my vagina walls expand to accommodate
his girth. But he feels so good. There is a sensation of very
satisfactory fullness within me – the sensation of connection. Of
being one with another human being. Of being desired and cared for
and wanted as a woman should be wanted. I’ve been called a feminist
by plenty of people who dislike me, but I have never felt more
feminine than the way I feel now.

I cling onto his shoulders and his back as he
starts to move inside me. Ohhhh, but he feels so good. So
fuckingly, perfectly good.

“You OK?” he asks.

I have never expected him to be so tender and
gentle, so solicitous and so caring as a lover. I guess I’ve always
had this impression of him as a bad boy – the kind of guy who fucks
women and leaves them high and dry. But he isn’t like that. He
isn’t like that at all. He isn’t anything I expect a rock star of
his stature to be.

I nod, smiling through my tears.

He smiles at me too. It is a genuinely loving
smile, and his eyes are burning as he looks down at me.

As he moves within me, he lowers his mouth to
mine and kisses me with passion. His lips are warm and contoured
and oh-so-nuanced. I lose myself in him as he slowly pumps into me.
My pussy is a hot, snug tunnel and he is a perfect fit. The silky
feel of his hot, thick piece of man flesh within my collapsible
pouch is a restlessly churning cocoon of ecstasy.