Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1470

Chapter 1470: Chapter 1470

"I felt something too," Jude said quietly. "When I was inside her. She gave herself completely, but she was also connected to something deeper. Something waiting."

Lucy pressed her lips to his shoulder. "Do we call again?"

Sophie stood, naked and regal, hands on hips, scanning the trees. "Not yet. If something else is coming, it’ll come on its own. The island’s watching now. Listening."

Susan stirred beside Stella, her voice low and curious. "Then what do we do?"

"We rest," Rose said. "And prepare."

"Prepare for what?" Emma asked.

Rose smiled faintly. "To receive. Whatever comes next, it will want more than our bodies. It’ll want our truth. And if we don’t offer it, it’ll take it anyway."

Sophie met her eyes. "Then we better choose to give."

By midday, the clearing had been cleaned - petals gone, moss smoothed, the scent of sex replaced by firewood and boiling herbs. They moved together with quiet efficiency, no longer needing to assign roles. Jude fetched water with Grace and Lucy, who splashed each other playfully as they filled gourds at the river, both still glowing from the night before. Emma and Natalie washed the blankets at the edge of the stream. Zoey sharpened her blade with a wet stone, more from habit than suspicion. Layla tended to a fresh scar on Susan’s thigh with practiced hands, her touch soothing.

Sophie sat with Jude again by the fire, her chin on her knees. "You’re different now."

He looked at her. "So are you."

She smirked. "I haven’t ridden you in a circle of singing wives under a storm yet."

"Don’t worry," he murmured. "There’s time."

Her smirk faded, and her expression softened. "You’re really okay with this? With... changing?"

He thought about it. About the humming, the glowing skin, the tree that grew from stone, the woman who bloomed from lust and vanished into petals. About how every kiss now felt like it carried more than heat - like it carried meaning.

"I don’t think I have a choice," he said. "And honestly, I don’t want one. This is more than surviving. This is becoming."

Sophie leaned in and kissed him softly, her lips lingering. "Then let me become with you."

That night, the fog returned.

It rolled in quietly, threading through the trees like fingers dragging lace. The wives gathered on the platform again, not in fear, but anticipation. Naked or half-dressed, their bodies tangled in rest and slow touch, but no one tried to sleep. They were waiting.

For the second calling.

It came not as a figure in the woods, but a sound. A long, low thrum in the earth that pulsed up through their bones, through the soles of their feet, into the base of their spines. Not a hum - something deeper. Older. And with it came heat.

The ground warmed.

The trees bent inward.

And in the middle of the clearing, something pushed up from the moss.

A shape.

No longer a woman.

A stone altar.

Smooth, veined with gold, and pulsing.

Natalie gasped. "It’s like the one from the dreams."

Stella whispered, "It wants us again."

Rose stepped forward, arms wide. "It remembers. And it wants more."

Jude stood, naked, drawn. He walked toward it without a word.

And the wives followed.

He stepped onto the moss before the altar, and the heat hit him like breath against his skin - wet, sultry, impossibly intimate. The stone pulsed faintly underfoot, golden veins lighting with every heartbeat as if responding to his nearness. Jude felt it call to him, not in words, but in sensation: a slow ache building in his core, a hunger that had no name. He turned to look at the others behind him, and they were already beginning to move.

Rose was the first to disrobe entirely, her fingers gliding down her sides as if shedding more than fabric. She walked to the other side of the altar and placed her palm against it, sighing like she had just touched the skin of a lover. The light flared where her fingers met the stone.

One by one, the others followed.

Sophie approached from the right, silent, solemn. She touched the altar and her eyes fluttered closed, a shiver running visibly through her. Then Zoey, her jaw clenched but eyes soft. Then Layla, who dropped to her knees beside it as if praying. Lucy circled to the left and pressed her forehead against the side, her breathing quickening.

It wasn’t lust at first. It was reverence.

Then Emma moaned.

Low, breathy, unintentional - but unmistakably aroused.

Her fingers dug into the moss, her back arched as she knelt near the base. "It’s... inside me. I can feel it moving."

Grace gasped, stumbling forward to catch her, but the moment her hand touched Emma’s thigh, she stiffened too. "Oh... gods..."

"It’s not pain," Stella whispered, eyes glassy. "It’s awakening."

Jude stood still at the head of the altar, watching as his wives began to writhe - not in chaos, but in perfect rhythm, like leaves caught in a breeze they all understood. Susan slid her palm up Natalie’s side, and Natalie let her, leaning back into the touch as she parted her lips. The moss beneath them pulsed now, alive, aware, and welcoming.

Then Rose looked at Jude.

"Come to us."

He didn’t hesitate. He stepped between them, climbing onto the altar. The stone was warm against his feet, almost slick, like it was breathing. As he knelt, hands braced on the surface, Lucy rose to meet him. Her body glowed faintly, her pupils wide, her lips parted in a smile that held no fear.

She straddled him, slow and reverent, taking him inside her in a single, fluid motion that made them both gasp. Around them, the others began to moan, not watching, not waiting, but joining. Emma pressed her body against Jude’s back, kissing the sweat from his spine, while Sophie knelt behind Lucy, caressing her breast with one hand, sliding her other between her own thighs.

They were one.