Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1343

Chapter 1343: Chapter 1343

The pool dimmed.

But they were not alone.

Jude turned back to the others.

Each one was glowing.

Each one was ready.

And this new temple - this Valley of the Thirteenth - was now theirs to fill.

To sanctify.

To make divine.

Jude stepped out of the pool, the silken liquid slipping from his skin like melted light. Each drop that fell to the sand shimmered briefly, vanishing before it touched the ground, as though the valley refused to hold onto anything he gave freely. The glowing thrones circled him like sentinels. The flower - still open, still warm - continued to pulse, slow and steady, like a resting heartbeat. The face within had vanished, but her presence hadn’t. She lingered in the air like perfume, in the shadows, in every breath they took.

Sophie was the first to rise from her throne. Her eyes were wild with something not quite human, but still so deeply her. She stepped down into the pool without hesitation and walked straight to Jude, her naked form gleaming in the golden light. Her hands found his shoulders, her mouth brushed his, and her body pressed against him with need so raw it felt holy.

"It’s not over," she whispered, voice cracking with reverence. "It’s only just beginning."

Then her mouth was on his again, tongue pushing deep with purpose. Her hands roamed his body like she was mapping sacred scripture, every line of muscle a verse to memorize. He answered with equal fervor, backing her into the heart of the glowing pool. The warmth surrounded them, soaked into them. Sophie pulled him down to the slick stone beneath the liquid and climbed over him, lowering herself with a moan that echoed between the thrones.

She rode him slowly at first, her back arched, hair clinging to her shoulders. The glow wrapped around them like steam, like mist that knew where to kiss. Jude’s hands gripped her waist, and his head tipped back as her body took him deeper and deeper, every motion like a hymn of worship. The pool pulsed in rhythm with their movements. The flower behind them breathed, watching.

The others did not wait.

Natalie stood next, her wrap falling away as if it had simply dissolved. She approached the pool, eyes glowing, nipples stiff from the ambient magic, and slid into the golden water beside them. She didn’t speak. She simply kissed Jude’s neck, then Sophie’s shoulder, then straddled his thigh, grinding herself against him with a rhythm that matched their dance.

Zoey and Rose followed.

Zoey’s fingers tangled in Jude’s hair as she kissed him, hard and hungry, even as Sophie moaned into his mouth, now moving faster, her pace urgent. Rose moved behind her, hands caressing both their hips, her mouth pressed to Sophie’s ear as she whispered words in a language none of them had ever spoken - yet somehow, all of them understood.

The golden water began to rise - not threateningly, but as if rising to meet them, to bless them, to complete the ritual.

When Sophie came, she cried out Jude’s name. Loud. Unfiltered. Sacred. Her body trembled violently as her release sent a visible wave through the pool, one that echoed into Zoey, then into Natalie. Each woman felt it. Each climaxed in its wake.

Sophie collapsed forward into Jude’s arms, her lips finding his collarbone, her breath shaky and warm.

But he was far from done.

Natalie pushed him gently onto his back, mounting him with fluid grace. Her eyes locked to his as she slid down, her body enveloping him slowly, almost reverently. She rolled her hips in small, devastating circles, her breasts bouncing lightly, her mouth parted in soft gasps.

Rose kissed his chest while Zoey knelt beside him, stroking his hair, whispering words only he could hear.

"You’re more than flesh now," Zoey murmured. "You’re the altar."

He believed her.

Natalie’s orgasm was quieter, but no less powerful. She whispered his name with such aching gratitude it brought tears to his eyes. Her fingers trembled against his chest. When she finished, she lay against him like something precious had been given and she was terrified to let it go.

Rose didn’t climb on next. She guided Zoey forward instead, stepping behind her like a priestess preparing her devotee.

Zoey mounted him like a force of nature. Wild. Intense. Her hands planted against his shoulders. Her pace was fast, almost punishing, and he met her with equal force, his body slapping against hers as their moans turned guttural. Her hair whipped around them both, her mouth open in a silent scream as she came hard and fast, collapsing against him, breathless and trembling.

And then Rose.

She didn’t ride him.

She rose over him.

She stepped into the deepest part of the pool, where the light was strongest, and the flower cast shadows across her skin like moving vines. Her body was perfect, as if carved from light and stone, ancient and unyielding. She knelt, straddled him, and for a moment, didn’t move. Her eyes searched his.

"We made this," she whispered. "This is our sanctuary. This is our legacy."

And then she sank down onto him, her breath catching, her body welcoming him with infinite warmth. She moved with control, every motion a declaration. Her moans were deep, slow, whispered between kisses and promises. She kissed his eyelids. His lips. His chest.

When she came, it wasn’t a climax.

It was creation.

The pool surged once more, and the flower pulsed gold and white, casting tendrils of light across the temple. The sand outside the pool shimmered. The thrones glowed brighter. And from above - high in the clouds - a soft chime rang out, distant but clear.

The island was awake.

And it was pleased.

The five of them collapsed in the center of the pool, tangled and wet and breathless. Jude was held in their arms, head resting on Sophie’s thigh, Rose’s hand stroking his hair, Natalie’s fingers tracing lazy circles over his chest, Zoey curled against his side.