It was fading into dusk, and a sable pall was descending swiftly over the verdant island and across the water to a smaller, sandy spit jutting from the atoll like an undersea tongue, casting the formerly shimmering swells into a mass of rolling darkness. The soft light of the descending sun reflected warmly off the softly lapping waves, glinting with flecks of blazing orange and red and casting the sea into an endless expanse of fire. It would be a humid summer night, the inky, endless heavens devoid of the heavy cloud cover that had rolled in from the west during the early afternoon, bringing with it a chain of violent rainstorms that blackened the sky and bathed the sea in liquid fury. The air was stifling, seeming to cling to every surface like a smothering shroud, and still thick with gathered condensation from the tempest that had brooded sulkily over the island for the past several hours. The sharp tang of salt was heavy in the air and sweet, pungent bite of ozone could still be detected, left-over traces from the previous cloudburst. The only noises were the gentle crashing of waves, the soft rattling of sand as it was drawn out to sea by the retreating current, and the soft, nocturnal croaks of seabirds as they settled into their hidden roosts for the night.
Gregory was shocked awake by the freezing surf, which swept over his body, soaked through his water-logged shirt that clung in tatters to his body, and made the raw gashes tracing across his back burn like white-hot fire. Sucking in a startled, rasping breath, he sucked in a mouthful of seawater and immediately choked against it, his lungs burning in consternation and chest constricting painfully. Gasping hoarsely like a hooked fish and spewing soured seawater, he struggled upright into a sitting position, shakily surveying his surroundings.
The beach was sweeping and curved around the leeward edge of the island until it was lost to sight, a pure-white expanse of sand devoid of shells or seaweed. A perfect canvas of pale beige untouched but for spectral trails left in the sand from the aimless treks of hermit crabs. From the island's jungle wafted the heady fragrance of tropical flowers. He could see thick clusters of heliconia growing below overhanging trees. Their large, waxy blooms grew in vibrant, thorn-like bracts, ablaze among the foliage with bright hues of orange and yellow, perched delicately upon tender stems. Golden flowers the shape and size of swollen wine goblets flared as beacons of flaxen beauty among the thick canopy.
He suddenly caught sight of a prone figure far off down the beach, draped limply across a shattered length of ship's timber. Staggering upright, almost toppling over into the sand as he was overcome with vertigo, he lurched drunkenly across the beach, slowly regaining the feeling in his legs and growing more confident until he was hurtling across the shore in a sprint. Skidding to a halt as he came upon the body, plowing up a furrow of sand, he cautiously righted himself and was shocked to see a girl.
She was lying face-up across the wrecked timber, and he was enraptured by her beauty. She had a faintly heart-shaped face, softly curving nose, and thin, defined eyebrows arched delicately over closed eyes. Smooth, tender lips the color of a flushed sunset were parted gently, as if begging to be kissed, while small breasts pressed teasingly against a ragged, sapphire blue dress, firm and shapely under the sodden fabric. Her nipples stood out beneath the drenched cloth, silently provoking him. Curved, womanly hips and thick, creamy thighs peaked mischievously from under her tattered dress, begging him to lift up what was left of her gown and look upon her fully. Blessed with defined, muscled calves, her dense cascade of dark hair flowed across her left shoulder and accented the carnal pull of her face.
Gregory hesitated for a moment, lost in her beauty, before gently brushing the hair away from her neck to feel for a pulse. But he faltered once again, catching sight of the delicate, smooth skin that awoke some desperate longing within him. He could see her pulse, throbbing softly and steadily, and could discern no serious injuries except for a few minor cuts.
He shook her gently, and toppled backwards onto his heels as the girl jerked suddenly upright, coughing up seawater. She caught sight of him, and he fell into startlingly bright, deep, brown eyes that sparked with intelligence and something that he couldn't quite place. It was an air of mystery, a sensual daring that taunted him and awoke a predatory, lustful presence within him that roared a challenge of animalistic hunger.
Fighting it back, where it settled uneasily and promised to awake once again, Brandon asked, "Who are you?"
"Who are you?" the girl shot back, defiance briefly obscuring the swirling desire.
"Gregory. I was a sailor aboard ship." He replied, watching warily as she rose shakily to her feet, supporting herself briefly on the shipwrecked timber before standing upright. His eyes raced up and down her trim, athletic figure, noticing for the first time her rounded, sexy ass, firm and curved like a ripened peach.
"My name is Jane," the girl said, wringing the seawater out of her hair and glancing down in surprise at the ragged remains of her once beautiful dress, which barely concealed her sensuous, womanly figure, "Do you know where we are?"
He shook his head and tore his eyes away from the voluptuous outline of her ass, the hunger returning with a snarl of wanton desire, and stood up, wiping the sand from his sands and turning to watch the rapidly descending sun disappear below the cresting waves.
Jane felt naked before the young sailor, her dress in drenched tatters and scarcely hiding her body from his searching gaze. She had noticed his interest, his roving eyes that sought to drag away the remaining scraps of her gown and gaze upon her fully. It excited her, to know that he desired her with such carnal hunger and would be so brazen as to appreciate her body. She wanted him to tear off the dress, toss her bodily upon the sand, open her legs with his strong hands, and have his way with her, feeling his cock penetrate her and fill her fully, satisfying every desire she had ever had. It made her wet just to think about it.
Gregory was not unattractive, in fact, he was quite handsome. He had dark, auburn hair that flared a dull red in the last, glancing rays of sunlight, but mellowed to a soft brown in the encroaching darkness, cut short but still allowed to grow longer on the top. His face was tanned to a light bronze by the sun and burnt by the stinging salt, accented by a strong jaw line that had the slightest suggestion of stubble and soft lips. He had cast off his soaking shirt to reveal a defined stomach and toned, powerful chest, the lean, protruding muscles on his arms picked out in detail by shadow. His fingers were slender, an artist's fingers perhaps, but strong, worked day and night by the hauling of heavy ship lines and lashing. But his eyes, she noticed most of all her eyes, which were bright and scintillated with a predatory gleam that made her stomach drop. They were deep hazel in color, dark and rich like the Mexican coffee her father imported from the Spanish colonies. He seemed to exude a gentle air, but the suggestion of a dangerous power lay coiled like an awaiting serpent below the surface.
He excited her like no other man she had ever met, and she felt incredibly horny, the carnal desire rippling across her body and setting her afire. She was so wet.
