Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1350

Chapter 1350: Chapter 1350

They walked as one, Jude leading, their fingers linked, the moss soft beneath their feet. The portal pulsed once as they approached, then opened without sound, its woven limbs folding inward like a curtain parting for honored guests.

And on the other side was a garden.

Not the wild, jungle-overgrown kind they had known. This was deliberate. Designed. Stones shaped into spiral paths, water flowing through carved channels that glowed with faint golden light. Trees arched overhead, bearing fruit the size of hearts and colored like dusk. Everything breathed.

Jude took a step forward and gasped softly. "This wasn’t made by the island."

"No," Rose said, her hand brushing his. "It was made by us. The dream. The memory. The place we imagined when we slept. The island brought it forward."

Sophie looked around slowly, her mouth open. "It’s our dream. The one we shared before the awakening. The place we had children. Gardens. Firelight. Laughter."

Emma knelt near a tree and touched the soil. "We mourned it. We let it go. But it didn’t leave us. It rooted itself."

They moved deeper into the dream-made-real, rediscovering what they had once imagined lost. There was the long pool where they used to bathe. The curved shelter made from driftwood. The wide stone ring where they had once danced in dreamtime. All of it born from memory and made true.

They were silent a long while.

Then Scarlet turned to Jude and murmured, "Make love to us here. All of us. Like before."

His breath caught, and Lucy smiled as she slid her arms around his waist. "This time it’s not a dream," she whispered. "It’s our reality. Our beginning."

The others moved to surround him, pulling the last cloth from his hips, guiding him to the soft moss at the heart of the garden. The sun bent through the trees above like a spotlight made from blessing. And there, with the scent of jasmine and ripe fruit hanging thick in the air, they worshipped each other.

Sophie straddled him first, rocking gently as the others kissed every inch of his skin. Her fingers tangled with Zoey’s as their lips met over Jude’s chest. Grace sat behind him, her breasts pressed to his back, her fingers ghosting down his ribs. Emma kissed his throat, whispering soft, sacred nonsense that made him shiver.

Susan took him next, slow and aching, leaning back against Natalie, who held her hips and kissed her shoulder as they moved together. Jude gasped with each thrust, each cry, each new wave of unbearable beauty.

Then came Rose, like a goddess descending. She eased onto him with such grace it felt like prayer, her body already trembling with anticipation. Jude held her hips, kissed her collarbone, and whispered her name over and over as she came, head thrown back, light pouring from her mouth in soundless rapture.

Lucy, Stella, Layla... each one came to him, moved with him, shared with him the depth of their becoming. They didn’t rush. They didn’t chase climax. They sank into pleasure like it was communion. Each gasp was a song. Each moan was a hymn.

And when it was finally Zoey’s turn, she kissed him with a roughness that bordered on wild. "I fought this," she said breathlessly as she mounted him. "But not anymore. This is who I am now. Yours. Ours."

Their rhythm was fierce, crashing and rolling like waves against the edge of a dream. And when they both cried out, the garden around them pulsed with color - violet and amber, emerald and crimson.

They collapsed together afterward, tangled on the moss, wrapped in sweat and breath and heat. The trees swayed gently above. A new breeze stirred.

Then, the garden spoke.

Not in words - but in warmth.

Something rose from the soil. A soft glow. And in its center, a seed.

It hovered above the moss in a cocoon of golden air.

Jude sat up slowly, reaching for it. His fingertips brushed the cocoon and a pulse ran through the garden. The trees shivered. The light brightened. His wives gasped in unison.

The cocoon cracked.

And from within, light poured.

Not blinding, but pure. And when it cleared, something floated down into Jude’s hands.

A flower.

Black petals veined with gold.

Alive.

Rose reached for it, her fingers trembling. "She gave us the key."

"What does it unlock?" asked Emma.

Jude looked at the flower, and then at them. At his wives. His world. His forever.

"Whatever we choose," he said.

And somewhere far beneath the earth, in the place where gods once whispered, something ancient exhaled in contentment.

They had become.

That night, the garden stayed awake with them. Even when their bodies gave in to exhaustion and they rested in one another’s arms, the air continued to shimmer with life. Soft lights blinked above them - like fireflies, but slower, intelligent, more like stars deciding to descend just to be close. The island pulsed in waves, as though its heartbeat had aligned with theirs. No birds sang. No insects stirred. But the world felt anything but silent.

Jude lay between Lucy and Sophie, his hands tangled with theirs, his eyes fixed on the sky through the trees. He didn’t sleep. None of them truly did. Instead, they floated in a space between dream and memory, every breath laced with the scent of the flower now planted beside the stone pool, petals gently folding and unfolding as if breathing too.

"I keep hearing it," Grace whispered in the dark.

Jude turned to her voice. "Hearing what?"

She sat up slightly, her silhouette soft and nude in the moonlight. "Not the song. Not anymore. Something else. Like a voice, but deeper. Quieter."

"I hear it too," Layla murmured, her back pressed against Rose’s. "It’s not language. It’s... rhythm. Meaning in the bones."

"The flower’s talking," Natalie said. "Or dreaming."

Emma brushed her lips across Jude’s shoulder. "What if it’s waiting to be sung again?"

Rose sat up beside them, her long hair sweeping over her shoulders like silk. "It wasn’t just for us," she said quietly. "It was for what comes next."