Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1723

Chapter 1723: Chapter 1723

Their bodies glowed. They burned. They ached and pleaded and came - again and again - until there was no part of them untouched, no breath unshared. When they collapsed, it was not exhaustion but satisfaction that wrapped them like vines. They curled in a circle again, limbs draped over each other, bodies sticky with love and glowing with island light.

And in the center of their circle, where the stone had vanished, a new shoot broke the earth.

Not a sapling.

A flower.

Wide open. Gold and violet.

And from its heart... a heartbeat.

A new rhythm.

Not just of the island.

But of them.

Jude looked around, eyes wet with tears he hadn’t realized he’d shed. "What have we done?"

Rose crawled into his lap and kissed him slow, deep. "We’ve created the next part."

Sophie curled against his other side, her hand over his heart. "And we’ll protect it."

Lucy pressed her lips to his cheek. "Together."

Above them, the stars turned slowly in the sky.

Below them, the island sighed.

And the flower pulsed.

The pulse of the flower echoed like a second heartbeat inside Jude’s chest, soft and rhythmic, as though the island had grown a voice inside him. He lay back against the warm moss, still wrapped in the afterglow of their bodies, their breath, their love. All around him, the women were quiet, listening, watching, their eyes glowing faintly with that same golden shimmer that now glowed from the petals in the center of their circle.

No one moved for a long time. Not out of weariness, but reverence.

Then Grace reached forward and touched the flower.

It didn’t wither. It didn’t recoil. Instead, its petals opened wider, unfurling into an impossible bloom. Each petal moved like silk in slow motion, and within the center of the flower, something glowed - not light, but something more like essence. Like condensed warmth. Like the breath of every kiss they had shared and the echo of every moan they’d made.

Natalie whispered, "It’s a piece of us."

Emma leaned forward, her fingers brushing over the glowing center. "It’s responding to what we did."

Jude sat up, the moss cradling his spine as if it wanted to keep him in place. "No. It’s becoming because of us."

The glow intensified, a slow, golden pulse like breath expanding and exhaling. The flower shifted again, its stem thickening, its roots digging deeper into the moss, and with it came a wave of heat - subtle but undeniably erotic. It moved over their skin like a lover’s sigh, raising goosebumps, making them inhale all at once.

Lucy turned to Jude, her lips parted, pupils wide. "It wants more."

Zoey smiled, sultry and slow. "It’s greedy."

"No," Rose murmured, drawing her hand down Jude’s chest, "It’s hungry."

For a moment, no one moved.

And then, Jude reached forward, cupping the glowing center of the flower in his palm.

He didn’t pluck it. He didn’t harm it.

He simply held it, and the light sank into his skin.

Not painfully. Not forcefully.

It joined him.

His chest glowed again, stronger this time. The golden veins ran down his arms, over his thighs, to the soles of his feet. His eyes darkened and glowed, his breath came faster, and when he looked up at them, the air changed again.

Not heavier. Not darker.

Thicker.

The island responded.

Behind him, the moss shifted - growing, rising, curling into a wide bed of vines and petals. A new space created not by nature, but by need. By pleasure. By anticipation.

The women moved as one.

No one spoke.

Lucy came first, straddling his lap, her thighs spread wide across his, her breasts pressed to his chest as she kissed him like she’d never kissed anyone before. Her mouth was slow, melting. Her hips moved with the rhythm of the pulse inside him, her body glowing, humming, aching.

She didn’t ride him with desperation.

She worshipped.

His hands held her like she was both sacred and necessary, and when she cried out softly against his ear, the island trembled beneath them.

Rose was next, wrapping herself around Jude from behind, her hands running over his chest, his stomach, his thighs, guiding his rhythm with Lucy. Her breath was fire against his neck.

Stella and Zoey leaned in from either side, their lips finding his shoulders, their hands slipping over his skin. Their touch was electric - not chaotic, but precise. Every caress purposeful, every press of their lips a benediction.

Grace and Natalie lay across his legs, their bodies tangled together as they kissed, moaned, let their pleasure ripple across him like waves.

Sophie watched.

She didn’t touch. Not at first.

She stood at the edge of the circle, her arms crossed, her lips parted, her eyes full of questions.

But when Jude looked at her - not with command, but invitation - her resistance cracked.

She stepped forward slowly, kneeling beside Lucy, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then to Jude’s chest.

"I want to understand," she whispered.

"You already do," he said.

And then she joined them.

It was a tangle of limbs, of mouths, of pleasure that built like a storm with no eye.

Each woman claimed him in her own way - Lucy with her softness, Rose with her command, Zoey with her wild fire, Grace with breathy praise, Stella with teasing precision, Natalie with gasping surrender, Scarlet with quiet passion, Emma with her endless kisses, Susan with fingers that trembled with want, and Layla who barely spoke, but whose eyes stayed locked to his like she was falling and flying at the same time.

And Sophie - fierce, hesitant, fierce again - took him in with a cry that echoed through the trees.

It wasn’t about who came first or who came most.

It was the act itself.

The giving.

The receiving.

The surrender to pleasure so deep it shattered all meaning of time.

When Jude could no longer breathe, when his body ached in the most beautiful way, when every part of him had been touched, kissed, taken - the flower beside them split open.