Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1567

Chapter 1567: Chapter 1567

A flicker of something passed through her - doubt, or maybe awe - and then she stepped closer. She pressed her lips to his in a kiss that wasn’t tentative but testing, like she needed to know that he was real, that this wasn’t just another dream conjured by the island. When he kissed her back, when their mouths parted and met again with deepening hunger, she sighed and slid the sword into the earth beside them.

The silver light didn’t fade - it grew brighter, responding to every breath, every caress.

Emma pushed him down gently into the moss, and climbed over him, her body taut and gleaming in the reflected light. Her clothes had become as symbolic as breath, and she shed them like shadows, revealing skin that drank in the moonlight.

"I want to feel everything," she said.

He did too.

They came together with an edge - there was no soft build-up, no careful rhythm. She wanted him deep and immediate, and he gave her that. Their bodies met like striking flint and stone, fire bursting between them. Her breath was sharp against his neck, her nails dragging over his chest, hips grinding with a rhythm that was hers and hers alone.

He met her thrust for thrust, anchoring her with hands to her hips, to her back, then sliding into her hair as she rode him like the warrior she was always meant to be. The moss trembled beneath them. The sword pulsed like a heartbeat.

She cried out his name when she came, arching against him, her body trembling with fierce release. Jude followed her seconds later, the world blurring as everything inside him surged forward into her, carried by silver light.

When they stilled, she collapsed onto his chest, both of them breathing hard, skin flushed and damp.

"I’m not afraid anymore," she murmured.

"You never needed to be."

She kissed his jaw, then rose and lifted the sword again.

The light had changed.

Where once it was pure silver, now a streak of gold curled through it like a vein. She smiled down at him, eyes shining.

"I’m ready," she said.

Jude stood, kissed her once more, and then turned again. The island whispered where to go next, guiding him north, toward the tangled rise of green that marked the edge of Grace’s path.

As he entered her domain, the world grew still.

Not silent - but reverent.

The trees bent over the path like guardians. The moss was thicker here, every color richer, every scent sweeter. Grace waited in a clearing surrounded by butterflies - dozens of them, all shades of pink and gold and deep, impossible blue. She stood with her arms outstretched, letting them settle on her shoulders, her hair, her open palms.

When she saw him, her smile bloomed like sunlight.

"I knew you’d feel me," she said.

"I feel all of you," he replied. "But you’re... gentle."

"Don’t mistake that for soft," she said, stepping close.

She reached for him with delicate fingers, but her touch carried weight. She pulled him into a kiss that was slow and immersive, like sinking into a warm pool. Her mouth parted over his, tasting him, opening him.

He responded in kind, sliding his hands along her waist, the small of her back, drawing her close until their bodies pressed skin to skin. She moved around him like music - no edge, no hurry. Just slow, building rhythm.

The butterflies lifted all at once and began to circle them.

When she pulled him down into the grass, her legs slid over his thighs, guiding him into her with the patience of someone who understood that pleasure didn’t need to be chased - it needed to be honored.

She moaned when he filled her, hips rolling in time with the wind, the pulse of the forest syncing with their own. She touched his face, brushing hair from his brow, and looked into him with eyes full of longing and joy.

They made love like prayer.

Each movement slow, reverent, each kiss a verse, each breath a vow. When they finally came together, it was quiet and deep, a flood of feeling that pulsed outward into the trees. The butterflies scattered, and the clearing lit from beneath.

A small tree unfurled near where they lay - its petals the same color as Grace’s eyes.

She kissed Jude once more and whispered, "You carry us all."

"I carry you," he said, and she smiled like she knew what he meant.

He left her surrounded by blossoms.

Stella came next.

Her path was wild - twisting vines, thorned flowers, scents so intoxicating Jude had to stop several times to breathe. He found her atop a stone slab, lounging like a goddess in a pool of filtered sunlight. Her legs were crossed, her smile wicked.

"About time you got here," she purred.

"You knew I was coming."

"I always do," she said, sitting up.

She wore almost nothing - just strands of vine across her breasts, a skirt of woven leaves. She rose with the feline grace of someone who lived in their body with complete ease.

"I’ve been waiting to be ruined," she whispered.

He didn’t speak.

Words wouldn’t do.

He grabbed her, lifted her, kissed her mouth open and swallowed her gasp. She wrapped her legs around him instantly, the vines falling away as he pushed her back onto the moss, settling over her like a force of nature. Their joining was raw and fast - hard kisses, wild rhythm, a shared madness that spiraled them higher with every movement.

She clutched his back, whispering filth and love in the same breath. She laughed when he bit her shoulder, moaned when his fingers found her hips and held her down while he drove into her with abandon.

It was heat.

It was need.

It was Stella.

They came hard and fast, then slower the second time, and slower still the third - until she was breathless, limp, but smiling like someone who had seen God and winked at Him.