Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1448

Chapter 1448: Chapter 1448

Grace whimpered as the tendrils climbed her torso, curling between her breasts before coiling around her throat in a silken loop that didn’t constrict - just held her. "It’s making love to us," she breathed. "It’s... Jude. It’s all of you. It’s everything."

Jude couldn’t move. Not out of fear - but because the power pouring through the grove held him in place like gravity itself had locked on to his soul. The second-born turned her glowing eyes to him, and though she didn’t speak aloud, he heard her in his mind.

You planted me with your passion. You nourished me with your desire. Let me give you something in return.

She stood then, slowly, gracefully, her glowing body lit by the pulsing tree. The vines released the women, slipping from their bodies like water, but the ecstasy they’d sparked lingered in every face, every breath.

Then the second-born approached Jude.

Each step she took felt like a drumbeat inside his chest. Her fingers touched his cheek, then slid down his chest, across his belly, to his still-hard length, which twitched at her touch.

She smiled.

"I was made from your seed," she whispered aloud now, her voice impossibly sweet. "Let me return it."

She knelt before him, her mouth parting, and when her lips wrapped around him, Jude’s knees buckled.

She moved like she had been made for this - no hesitation, no urgency, only precision and devotion. Her tongue curled, her lips suckled, and when her golden eyes met his, the world spun. Jude groaned deep in his throat, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping the tree behind him for balance.

The others watched, breathless.

Not with jealousy - but reverence.

Rose stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso, her breasts pressed to his back. She kissed his neck, whispering, "She’s your offering now. Let her worship you."

When Jude came, it was with a sound that tore from his chest like a thunderclap. His whole body shuddered as he emptied himself into her mouth, and she drank every drop, glowing brighter with each swallow. The tree pulsed with gold light, brighter, stronger. The vines writhed in approval.

And then she stood, wiped her lips with her fingers, and pressed them between Lucy’s parted lips.

Lucy sucked them in without hesitation, moaning as the taste filled her mouth. "You’re right," she whispered, eyes fluttering. "You’re made of him."

The circle was whole again.

They lay together afterward, tangled and bare, skin touching skin. The second-born curled beside Jude like a daughter, like a goddess, like a perfect echo of everything he had ever given them. Her presence didn’t feel wrong. It felt like continuation. Like the story had turned a page and now something larger had begun.

That night, under the stars, they all made love again - not for ritual, not even for creation - but because the island had become their church, and their bodies were the hymns. Zoey rode him first, slow and fierce, her nails dragging down his chest as her back arched, every muscle in her taut with need. She kissed him hard when she came, then bit his shoulder, marking him.

Sophie took him next, laid him down and straddled him with a smile. "You feel more ancient now," she teased as she guided him in. "Like the island’s already claimed you."

He grabbed her hips, thrust up, and she gasped. "Let it claim me through you," he growled.

She did.

One by one, they all came to him, gave themselves to him, filled him and were filled by him. The island didn’t just watch. It absorbed them. And somewhere, deep beneath the soil, another seed stirred.

And far above, in the tree’s highest bough, a third fruit began to grow.

Emma saw it first. Just a glimmer at the very top of the tree, barely visible through the crisscross of glowing branches and swaying leaves. She leaned back on her elbows, still panting from where she lay tangled with Grace and Natalie, her chest rising and falling against the press of soft skin and the damp earth beneath them. The golden light of the second-born still flickered faintly nearby, but Emma’s gaze was already caught by what bloomed above.

"There’s another," she murmured.

Heads turned slowly. Jude, lying on his back with Lucy draped across him like a second skin, followed her gaze. His heart stuttered.

High above, nestled like a secret in the curve of the highest bough, a new fruit had begun to form.

It was darker than the others. Not gold. Not red.

Midnight blue.

Rose stood slowly from the edge of the grove. Her body shimmered in the dim light, dew sliding down her thighs as she stepped barefoot into the center again. "It’s a new kind of birth," she said softly. "Not just creation. Transformation."

Sophie approached the base of the tree, eyes narrowed. "The island isn’t waiting for us anymore. It’s growing with us. It’s... responding."

The second-born tilted her head up, smiling. "It wants to make more than children now."

Jude felt a shift then - not just in the air or the soil but in himself. Something ancient stirred inside him, like a memory he’d never lived. His body still thrummed with the echo of everything they’d done, every kiss, every breath, every inch of pleasure etched into his skin like sacred scripture. But deeper now, there was more.

The tree wasn’t just feeding on their pleasure.

It was evolving from it.

He rose, slow and unsteady, his body marked with love bites and scratches, his thighs slick with his wives’ desire. They watched him, one by one lifting their heads, their faces soft with reverence. No one spoke. They simply opened themselves to him. A smile. A parting of thighs. A stretch of arm. A tilt of the head.

He was the sun they circled.

And they were the moons that pulled his tides.

Lucy stood and took his hand. "Come with us."

She led him back into the grove’s center, where the vines coiled softly around their ankles like affectionate pets.