– Find Part 1 here – Chapter list here –
It took days for the storm to blow itself out. Miguel, our overseer and jailer, had managed to salvage what he could from the storm damage and had patched things up as best he could.
Annabel and I sensed Miguel’s unease. We’d hear him trying the radio, the aerial now found and reattached, but getting no response. We kept our distance, but we could tell things were not going well. He’d warned us to stay to our end of the island, but since the discovery of the graves we’d felt increasingly uncomfortable.
Five neatly arranged graves. No markers. Just the earth piled in that unmistakeable way. Now the island took on a far more sinister nature, the gravity of our situation brought home to us. Meanwhile, Miguel continued with a little forced affability, unaware we’d been inside his house as the storm had subsided. We took pains to avoid contact with him now.
Formerly we’d looked on Miguel as a sort of bumbling caretaker managing our captivity for his bosses. Now we knew better. Miguel was our jailer and may be our executioner. We had no reason to suppose it had been someone else’s finger on the trigger that put that quintet of bodies in the ground.
We’d watch him fixing the roof of his house as we laid on the beach pretending to read or doing a little yoga. We’d overhear him trying, with evident frustration, to make radio contact. Even with our little Spanish we could tell he was not getting a response to his radio calls. Sometimes he’d go into the storage container where all our supplies were kept and he’d bang around in there, before coming out and locking it securely.
As we sat at the breakfast table Annabel poured the coffee and said, “No fruit today.”
“I noticed,” I replied.
“You know what that means?’ she continued, glancing in the direction of the storage container. “It means he’s running low on supplies. Since I’ve been here we have had a supply flight every three or four days. It’s been over a week since the end of the storm, and the storm came in on a day we were supposed to get a flight.”
“He brought us some eggs and bacon and bread last night,” I said.
“That stuff was likely frozen. Even when the generator was out it would have stayed cold. Fruit wouldn’t be frozen,” said Annabel as she sipped he coffee.
“He seems very sullen these days,” I said.
“He’s worried,” replied Annabel.
“Aren’t you,” I asked.
“Maybe,” replied Annabel, the first indication of her unease at our situation. “Just a bit.”
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Even though wind had blown itself out the waves in the Gulf were still piling up and washing far up the beach, sometimes leaving the detritus of a storm. I lay on a towel in the shade of a palm tree. The perfect azure blue sky free of clouds, in peaceful contrast to the still troubled sea.
I couldn’t see a single boat out there. Where ever we were it was certainly off the charts in terms of sea traffic. We’d managed to hear a little information about the hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico , from the world news on the BBC World Service and how it had swept through decimating the coast.
It sounded like most of the resorts had been slammed, countless holiday plans ruined. While this brought us no comfort, it did give us an idea of the scale of our predicament.
Annabel walked toward where I lay, her long slim legs wrapped in a silk shift. She shrugged it off, and lay down naked beside me, her body as brown as a café au lait. As she leaned close to me I could smell the scent of banana sunscreen and her own gentle musk. She smelled of sunshine and passion.
She whispered in my ear softly, “I need you to do me.”
I felt myself responding immediately, and then she pressed the sunscreen into my hand. Even at a time like this Annabel’s body so close to me took my breath away and I could feel the excitement flowing through my body.
“My back,” she said laughing.
I smiled awkwardly.
“I knew that,” I said as she rolled onto her belly.
I took the sunscreen in the palm of my hand and slowly massaged it into Annabel’s soft skin. Her shoulders yielded under my touch as I pressed my fingers into her warm brown flesh. Slowly rotating my fingers I worked my way down from her neck, between her shoulder blades and progressed feeling her tight muscles ease beneath my touch. She sighed as I worked on her.
“Oh, that’s so good,” she murmured.
I knew it was only a matter of time before she rolled onto her back and pulled me to her. I marvelled how a body, so slight and feminine to look at, could be so powerful. In Annabel’s insistent grip I found myself pulled to her. She pressed her mouth to mine and I felt her grind against me. My body was steered by her strength and naturally gave way to her touch. There was no doubting who was the more persuasive here.
I yielded to her motions and in a moment I heard her breath quicken. She was as hungry for this as I was.
Quite suddenly I was taken by the forcefulness of her passion. She pushed me away, and then turned me around pressing me to the ground before her. I felt her hand on my neck, pushing my face into the towel, the soft sand giving way beneath this powerful movement. Hurriedly she pressed herself to me, and I heard myself gasp, deliciously invaded by her.
I willingly gave myself to Annabel, feeling nothing but a wonderful sense of submission as she seemed to gather pace and strength and lost herself in this rush of passion. I could sense Annabel’s total immersion in her desire. For her I was merely a plaything sacrificed to her need for sexual satisfaction.
And it felt perfect.
As we lay together in the sun after Annabel had finished, sweat dripping from our bodies, I felt a cascade of emotions. One was the satisfaction of have given my lover what she needed. And, hell, did she need it! Somewhere in this kaleidoscope of feelings was something else.
I think I knew in that moment that for the first time Annabel was afraid. The way she had taken me. It was not just about satisfying passion. It was a psychological escape. She didn’t just make love to me. She took me selfishly and purely for her own satisfaction – a place to hide from our predicament.
Should I feel lessened by the inequality of this lovemaking? No. I was able to give her what she needed, and that was important to me. It was the most important thing of all. If she needed to use me like that, I had no problem with it.
Soon I heard Annabel’s breathing soften as she dozed. I held her as she slept and savored the moment.
+++
As Annabel lay dozing in my arms, contentment washing over me, I felt the warmth of the sun and wondered how long this might last. Part of me didn’t care. A moment like this in a lifetime seemed fulfillment enough. Is this what it is to be truly connected to another soul, I asked myself.
Gradually I felt Annabel coming alive beside me. She was sitting up and stroked my hair gently.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “We’re here because there’s some sort of turf war going on in the cartels. A power struggle of some kind. I just wonder if the people holding us are still in control. I mean, it’s possible they’ve been taken over. Maybe someone else is in the driving seat now. Someone who doesn’t need us to be a part of their plan.”
“You mean we may be under new management?” I suggested.
“Yes. Look, it’s anybody’s guess,” she said. “But I’m not feeling so good about things now. When Miguel was in touch with his people his instructions were to keep us safe. We were an asset. If there’s new management, we might have become a liability.”
“I see what you mean,” I agreed, quietly thinking to myself that this explained Annabel’s behaviour.
While I was still feeling that languid glow of our lovemaking, this was something of a passion killer, but I still had that warm glow of contentment within. How very different lovemaking was as a woman, I thought. I never felt like this as a man.
“I’m sure something will turn up,” I said.
In the distance I could see Miguel retiring to his house to get out of the heat of the day. He’d be opening a bottle of Tequilla soon. There wasn’t much else to do in the heat of the day. As the waves continued to rhythmically sweep up the beach I caught sight of something in the surf in the distance.
“Turn up?” said Annabel despondently. “What the hell can turn up on this godforsaken island?”
I rose to my feet and shaded my eyes from the sun. I stared into the distance.
“That,” I said, pointing to the far end of the beach beyond the airstrip.
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