Savage Dom: A Dark Romance: Savage Island Book One Page 6

“Water is crucial. Every day, it’s important you drink as much as you can. Fortunately, we have fresh water sources here on this island, and I’ll show you where they are.”

  I stand and walk with him, wincing when my feet hit the rough terrain again. He frowns, looking down at my feet. “Those are a hazard,” he says. “Take them off.”

  I look down at my feet, then back up to him. “Question,” I ask, frowning right back at him and tipping my head to the side curiously. “Were you the self-appointed leader here or something?”

  He narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t respond.

  “There are ways of suggesting someone do something without ordering them around. I’d like to remind you, Cy, that I’m not one of your lieutenants.”

  He crosses his arms on his chest but still doesn’t respond. Stupidly, I go on.

  “Do you know what my job is back in America?”

  His face is impassive, his jaw granite. I go on. “I’m a journalist for the The Times.” Still, no response. “I write about women’s rights and feminist ideals?” I explain, waiting for some kind of recognition from him. “I’ve spent my entire career studying the plight of the modern woman and how we can maintain our autonomy and freedom without losing our identity or the gains we’ve made.”

  He still doesn’t respond, and it’s starting to make me angry.

  “Honest to God, have you nothing at all to say?”

  “Oh, I’ve got plenty to say,” he says in a low, dangerous voice that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  Damn it.

  I swallow but stand my ground.

  I go on. “I just think that if you and I are going to… inhabit… this island together…” I sound like a fool and I know it, but I can’t seem to stop talking. “We could... maybe learn to communicate a bit better.”

  “How interesting,” he says thoughtfully. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  I blink in surprise, but I’m happy we seem to be making some headway here. “Oh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he says. The still-narrowed state of his eyes should warn me. Maybe the sun got to me more than I realized. “I think I’ve been way too fucking polite.”

  My jaw falls open in surprise. “What?”

  He takes a step toward me, and my heart leaps, but I don’t step back. I won’t let him physically intimidate me.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve buried four men on this island.” When he reaches me, he grabs for my hair and fists it. What is he doing? I come up on my toes and slap fruitlessly at his hands, both terrified and furious. I will hurt this son of a bitch.

  His hold is tight, though not as painful as I anticipated. He’s immobilizing me, not assaulting me. I feel like a puppy being held by the scruff of her neck.

  What if he’s going to hurt me?

  Oh, God. Maybe he’s no better than the man that tried to rape me. The only difference is this one bided his time.

  “Let me go!” I protest, still trying to smack him off me. The beast. The fucking beast.

  “Four fucking men,” he says. “You got off that ship of your own accord. That was your choice. Now you’re on my turf. And I’ll be fucking damned if I bury another body on my watch. You want to skip eating a fucking meal because somehow meat I roasted with my own two hands is too good for you? Fuck that. You’ll eat what I give you and do what I tell you until it gets through your thick skull how much fucking danger you’re in. You get me?”

  I slap at his hand again, angry that tears well in my eyes. He’s too big for me to fend off, and I hate that the only companion I have here indefinitely is showing his true colors as the barbaric douchebag he is.

  He yanks my head again and holds my gaze with his, then to my shock, cups my jaw almost tenderly with his other hand. “This could go many ways, Harper. You think on that.” And on that note, he lets go of my hair, turns me around, and slams his palm against my ass so hard I stumble. “Now take off those fucking shoes before I have to do it for you, and if I do it, you’ll be over my knee during the process.”

  Then he’s stalking out of the cave, grabbing the empty coconut shells on his way, and I’m staring at him.

  What the hell just happened?

  He’s at the mouth of the cave now. “You have thirty more seconds.”

  I take five seconds to wipe the angry tears from my eyes before I fumble with the clasps of my shoes and yank them off.

  He really is no better than the man who lies dead.

  I have to get off this island.

  Seven

  Cy

  I’ve been on this island for God-knows-how-long, I haven’t seen a woman in fucking eons, and the first one I see has a death wish, a smart mouth, and a fucking agenda.

  I’m used to being obeyed. I commanded an army of men before I landed on this island. I have no patience for people who make no effort toward self-preservation. If she were my subordinate, I’d punish her.

  Hell, I still might.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve been on this island so long. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost touch with civilization and polite society. Or maybe, somehow, this island is poisoned, affecting the mind in insidious ways. Because being around Harper inspires the filthiest, basest desires in me.

  When I fisted her hair in my hand, and her mouth parted in pain, I could imagine that mouth wrapped around my cock. When her eyes flashed at me and dared to defy me, I imagined her strewn over my lap, bucking and kicking while I held her down and spanked her to tears. I want to dominate this woman. Punish her. And the harder she pushes against me, the more insistent the urge becomes.

  I remember now. Parts, anyway. I’ve always been a dominant man. Not the most popular in school, you might say. But when I enlisted, I found my place. Deeply dedicated to discipline and structure, welcoming pain and rising to the challenges before me.

  She poses a challenge, and I fucking like it.

  After she takes off those stupid shoes, I stalk toward the watering hole and gesture for her to follow me. I rub a hand across my sweaty brow. I haven’t thought much about my past recently. Starvation and the lack of real human companionship made survival prominent in my mind.

  Now that my belly’s full and there’s another human with me, I start to remember things I haven’t thought of in a very long time, as if my mental clouds part and my vision clears.

  I remember who I am. And how I became the man I am today.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on her.

  But when I look over my shoulder at her, I see a fragile creature who’s too young, too beautiful to die. A woman who could grow to be a companion on this island. I don’t want to see her injured, or worse, fucking killed. And my patience has all but fled.

  “Keep up,” I snap. She winces when she steps on a tree root, and I toy with the idea of swinging her up onto my back and carrying her to the water. But no. She wants her independence. I’ll give her that.

  When we’re paces away from the water, I hear a sound that makes me freeze. I hold up my hand for her to stop, and she does, looking at me with wide, fearful eyes. And for one moment, I feel badly for her. She shouldn’t be here. She should be vacationing, kicking back with one of those drinks with a tiny umbrella in it, listening to the sound of waves crashing on shore, her only concern how even her tan line is. She shouldn’t be here.

  Not on this unpredictable, godforsaken piece of earth.

  Not here with me.

  If Will is hiding, he knows where the cave is. He knows where this water hole is. I don’t trust the motherfucker for a second.

  I wish I had a goddamn gun.

  But I know how to use my knife.

  We stay immobile, waiting for another sound, but nothing comes. Finally, I shake my head. If the asshole attacks, I’m ready, but it’d be damn stupid of him.

  I finally gesture for her to come nearer, wordlessly pointing to the water below. She nods, and steps toward it. I hand her one of the coconut shell halves and take the second, kneel beside the cool wa
ter, and scoop it into the shell.

  “Don’t you have to boil it or something?”

  “No,” I mutter. “This particular water source is clean, a freshwater spring.”

  “How do you know?”

  I sigh. “We found out the hard way. This is the only one we can drink straight.”

  Frowning, she follows my lead and takes a cup of water to her lips. I realize as I hold her gaze with mine that this is an act of faith. An act of trust. She has to believe that I’m not lying to her, that she can bank on me telling her the truth.

  “Drink up,” I order. “It’s important not to get dehydrated.”

  “Right,” she says, before she takes big gulps of water. When she’s sated her thirst, she tips some into her palm and runs it along the back of her neck. It’s hot and humid today, with not a sign of rain in the sky. She hasn’t acclimated to the weather like I have.

  “I’d give anything for a shower,” she says. Sitting on the bank by the stream, she lifts the hem of her dress and drizzles cool water on her bare thighs. With a sigh, she does the same to her shoulders. The wind blows, and I inhale her scent.

  Wait. Her scent? I close my eyes and breathe deeply, her feminine fragrance stirring need in me. I inhale again.

  Christ, I know that smell, though it takes me a minute to put it together. It’s the sweet, musky scent of her arousal.

  Her arousal? I look at her curiously, but she doesn’t look my way.

  Why can I smell her so intensely? Have I been a savage so long on this island that I’ve actually adopted the traits of an animal?

  Without realizing what I’m doing, I take a step toward her. She looks up at me, her eyes panicky. If she runs from me, she’s in danger. I take another step toward her. I have to keep her close. I gentle my voice so I don’t scare her off.

  “There’s another watering hole we use to bathe,” I say. “It’s fine to splash yourself with this water, but we like to keep it for drinking.” She hasn’t let any of the water drip back into the fresh water, and she has no soap or anything that could harm our drinking supply, but it’s a simple rule we all have kept consistently.

  “Oh,” she says, flushing. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  I take another step toward her, keeping my voice calm, because she’s skittish. I swallow hard being near her, because when we’re close, I’m vividly aware of everything about her.

  The gentle swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her dress. The way the dress dips into a low vee in the front, showing the valley between her breasts, gently freckled. I swallow. I want to lick each one of them, leaving marks with my teeth down the length of her body.

  When she stands up, her skirt clings to her, the hem too high on her thighs, revealing her beautiful legs. I turn away when my mind goes to laying her down on a bed of leaves, parting those legs, and fucking her hard, right here, right now. I shake my head. The insistent, rampant need unsettles me. I’m not an animal. Then why does my body act on instinct as if I am?

  What is going on with me? I’ve heard of men growing savage when put in certain conditions. In the military, it’s not unheard of. Deprived of basic necessities, humans lose their civility, their hold on decorum.

  But this… this is something else altogether.

  I take another step closer to her, unabashedly letting my gaze roam over her body. When I come near her, I hear a low rumble, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m growling. I’m fucking growling. My heartbeat accelerates, and my breathing becomes ragged. My fingers curl, even my eyesight sharpens until I can see every hair on her body, her pulse beneath the thin skin at her neck, the rise and fall of her shoulders. My own lungs expand with every breath she takes. I can almost taste her, almost feel the way her soft, sweet body will yield to me.

  She should run. She should gather her skirt about her and flee, because I’m the predator, she’s the prey, and she doesn’t stand a fucking chance. But she doesn’t run.

  It surprises me that she grows a little shy, her gaze roaming over me in turn. Her eyes linger on the muscles at my shoulders and arms, before traveling the length of my body. When she captures her lip between her teeth, I swallow hard. She’s scoping me out from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Christ, she’s as turned on as I am.

  “Come here,” I murmur. She blinks and twists a piece of hair between her fingers but doesn’t move.

  “Harper,” I say, louder, this time crooking a finger in her direction. “Come here.”

  Her eyes on mine, she walks toward me.

  “Good girl.”

  She’s so close to me now, I could let out a breath and rustle her hair. I draw my index finger along her hairline, gently moving a strand of hair off her brow, before tracing my finger down the side of her face to her lips. I outline her full bottom lip, then the top, gently parting her lips with my thumb. She doesn’t stop me, but moves in even closer. Complying. She feels this, too. Her tongue peeks through and teases my thumb. When I don’t stop her, she grows bolder, circling my thumb with her tongue.

  My dick throbs, my balls ache, and I want to own this woman fully. I swallow and pull my hand away with great reluctance, and it seems almost physically painful to turn away. She blinks as if waking and cocks her head to the side.

  “It’s strange here,” she whispers. “Do you feel it, too?”

  I’m glad she has the savvy to speak truth and not hide. I nod.

  “I do.” I shake my head. “I haven’t decided if this island’s enchanted or cursed. When food vanishes overnight, it’s cursed, but when a woman like you ends up here…” I shake my head.

  “There’s no such thing as enchantment or curses,” she says. “That’s… that’s fictional. I don’t believe in that at all. It’s got to be something psychological.” She shakes her head and brushes imaginary dust off the skirt of her dress. “I should hate you after the way you treated me.”

  I give her a sidelong look that makes her blush. She has no fucking idea what I could do to her. What I want to do to her.

  I turn back to the watering hole to refill my shell, though it takes everything in me not to lay her down and kiss her so thoroughly she begs for more. I want to tear her clothes off and make her mine, right here on the bank. The need is so pressing I’m shaking when I bring the shell to my lips.

  I stand, and don’t look at her. I don’t trust myself.

  We stand in silence for long minutes. I’m lost to my thoughts that quickly turn to fantasy. It doesn’t matter if I’m finally losing my mind, or if I’m just starved for human affection. I need to school my thoughts, control my impulses.

  The memory of Will in the woods, Eugene’s dead body, and the bodies of the others we’ve lost, does just that.

  “Show me where you wash?” she asks.

  I nod. “This way. Stay close,” I order.

  Her eyes narrow on me, and I realize she’s hurt, maybe feeling scorned even. She’d better not do something foolish and reckless on the way.

  “I want something clear. We’re not fucking around here. Don’t get any ideas in your head. You get me?”

  Her pretty eyes narrow. “Ideas in my head?” she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What on earth are you talking about?” She snorts and turns away from me, rolling her eyes heavenward.

  I shake my head. “I’m talking about staying safe. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Safe,” she repeats.

  “Safe. Now follow me and behave yourself.”

  I know I’m being a dick. I know I’m an asshole. But in the middle of an idyllic place like this, it might be easy to forget the danger that lurks in every corner.

  Regardless of her objection, she follows me down through the woods and back to the beach. We walk in silence for the five minutes it takes to get there. I’m watching for any sign I can find of anything at all out of place, but I see nothing. I frown. This isn’t right. Nothing here is.

  A flutter of wings overhead catches
her attention. “Oh, wow. What kind of birds are those?”

  “Pretty sure it’s a kind of duck, or somehow related. They make for good eating,” I respond. I have no idea what they’re called. We didn’t have them in the northwest.

  “Oh, ew. God, I don’t want to get used to that.”

  “To what?” I ask over my shoulder, as we take the final steps to the beach.

  “Eating roadkill.”

  “Here we go again. There’s a big difference between eating roadkill and surviving off the land,” I protest.

  I look over my shoulder at her, frowning.

  “Here we go again is right. What the hell do you expect?” she retorts.

  This girl will end up over my lap before the night’s through. Ha. Fucking twist my arm.

  She follows behind me, muttering to herself. “Not this,” she says, and her voice is strained as if she’s trying not to cry. I turn to see her wincing with every step she takes. Christ, I forgot she doesn’t have her sandals on, and her feet aren’t yet accustomed to this terrain.

  “You need help?” I ask her, pausing with my hands on my hips. I could easily swing her up and on my back or in my arms and help her get to the beach, but I’m not sure she won’t slap my face if I do it without asking her.

  Not that I care.

  “What do you mean?” she says, swiping angrily at tears I’m sure she doesn’t want me to see.

  “I could carry you.”

  Her jaw clenches, and I can tell this is killing her. I don’t know much about this woman, but from what little she’s told me, I know she’s worked her ass off getting to where she is. I know that it takes great effort for her to admit defeat.

  “I’m fine,” she says, though her voice wobbles and she doesn’t meet my eyes.

  I turn away from her and don’t respond. She can suit herself.

  When we get to the beach, she whimpers with every step she takes on the hot sand. I look again at her, but she won’t meet my eyes. The heat’s made her hair sweaty, and her face is red, the rest of her skin a light pink. Fortunately, we avoided the brightest sunlight, but it’s still hot as hell here. She looks gratefully to the water, and it seems we both realize the same thing at the same time.