Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1495

Chapter 1495: Chapter 1495

The crystal above her flared - not with color this time, but with shadow. Deep, purple-black tendrils danced inside it, as if reacting to a different note in the melody. A counterpoint. An anchor.

Emma touched the moss with her fingers. It welcomed her. Soft, warm, pulsing.

"I don’t know if I want this," she whispered.

Rose sat up, her hair cascading down her back. "Then offer what you do want."

Emma’s lips parted. Her breath came slow. She sat down, legs folded beneath her. "I want to stay awake. I want to remember who I was before. I want to feel without losing my mind."

Lucy knelt behind her and began to undo the simple tie holding Emma’s dress. The fabric slipped off her shoulders like a sigh, revealing the elegant strength of her back, the gentle curve of her waist. She gasped when Lucy’s mouth touched her shoulder, but she didn’t move away.

"Then let us hold that with you," Lucy whispered.

Jude moved next. He came to her, kissing her gently - her temple, her jaw, her collarbone. Slow, reverent. Emma turned her face into his, her hands gripping his sides. Their kiss wasn’t hunger - it was surrender. The kind that happens when two strong things stop resisting and finally fit.

He laid her down slowly, pressing over her, between her thighs. She didn’t protest when he kissed her breasts, when he slid his hand lower. Her legs parted gradually, her breath quickening, her fingers trembling against his arms.

"I’ve got you," he whispered against her ear.

She arched when he entered her.

It was slow. Gentle. A rhythm like waves. Like breath.

And around them, the others sang - not with words, but with soft moans, kisses, bodies pressed and twisted and woven into a living, breathing hymn.

Sophie kissed Lucy while lying across her chest, one hand between her thighs. Grace, ever tender, lay cradled in Stella’s lap, suckling her breast as though tasting honey from a goddess. Zoey moved against Natalie with slow, purposeful thrusts of her hips, their sounds rising in crescendos that never broke into chaos - only harmony.

Jude’s hands threaded with Emma’s as he made love to her, their bodies meeting and parting in slow, perfect rhythm. Emma looked up at the crystal, eyes glassy, lips parted.

"It’s inside me," she whispered.

"I know," he breathed.

"The light?"

"No. The dark."

She trembled then. But she didn’t pull away.

The light from the crystal dimmed, and the purple-black within it began to spread through the vines, curling along the walls like ink through water. The flowers pulsed darker. The cave shifted. The melody deepened.

And Emma came.

Hard.

Her cry wasn’t loud - it was deep. Guttural. Her body bucked under Jude’s, her fingers dug into the moss, and her back arched like she’d been struck by lightning. Her release sent a wave through the crystal. It flared - then cracked.

Everyone froze.

The sound wasn’t destructive - it was liberating. The shard didn’t shatter, but it changed. Its edges softened, its glow dimmed into something warmer, fuller, as if acknowledging what Emma had offered it.

Rose knelt beside them and touched Emma’s cheek.

"Now," she said softly, "we can begin again."

The crystal drifted down slowly, hovering over them like a star descending from the sky. Rose lifted her hand and touched it. A strand of golden light extended from her finger to the shard, then from the shard to Jude, then Lucy, then Sophie, then the others.

They were all connected now.

A web of light.

A bond.

And it sank into their skin, leaving faint glowing lines across their chests, down their spines, through their arms - beautiful, intricate tattoos that pulsed with life.

Jude sat back, his breath ragged. "What is it?"

Rose smiled. "It’s us. All of us. One song. Twelve notes. One rhythm."

Emma sat up, now naked and marked like the rest. Her body trembled, but she was not weak. She looked down at the symbols on her skin. "And what now?"

Rose looked toward the back of the cave, where a new passage had opened - dark, vast, humming with low, beckoning sound.

"Now," she said, "we follow the music."

They stood in silence, the twelve of them around Jude, their skin still damp with sweat and dew, each of them marked by the shimmering pulse of the crystal’s bond. The tattoos still glowed faintly, like the embers of a fire that hadn’t yet died, curling over hips, along spines, between the curves of breasts and thighs. Jude’s heart thudded in his chest, not with fear, but with wonder. With desire. With something too big to name.

The new passage was unlike the others. It wasn’t carved or collapsed. It hadn’t been grown over or hidden behind vines. It had simply not existed until now. A wide arch, smooth as if shaped by hands instead of nature, and beyond it - darkness that hummed in tune with their bodies. Not a single one of them spoke. Not yet. They didn’t need to. The air was thick with meaning, with understanding, with some shared awareness none of them could explain.

Rose stepped forward first, her bare feet silent on the mossy floor. Her hips swayed gently, naturally, like a dancer’s. The gold thread of her new markings glittered as it caught the shifting light. She turned to look at Jude, then the rest of the women. "It’s not just a door," she said softly. "It’s a threshold."

"To what?" Emma asked, her voice husky, raw with the aftermath of everything.

Rose smiled. "To ourselves."

No one tried to stop her. One by one, they followed.

Jude moved last, but not from hesitation. He watched each of them go - Lucy, her fingers brushing the curve of her own stomach where a golden spiral now glowed; Sophie, strong and silent, jaw tight but eyes soft; Stella, half-drunk on Grace’s mouth even as she stepped away; Layla, who looked at him with a lover’s gaze as she passed; Zoey, who nodded once, solemn but ready.