Chapter 2 Desert Island

The wind whipped at my face, stinging my eyes so fiercely I couldn’t open them. My thin clothing flapped like a frantic bird, the sound a high-pitched whine against the roar of the wind. Fear, pure and primal, consumed me. In that moment, Isabella’s presence was completely forgotten.

I plummeted, the ground rushing up to meet me. Then, blackness.

I don’t know how long I was out. When I finally came to, a torrent of curses ripped from my throat. I cursed the company executives, that bitch Isabella, and the shitty hand life had dealt me. It was the only thing that offered a sliver of comfort.

My ranting continued until Isabella’s voice cut through the haze.

"Michael! I risked my life to save you, and this is the thanks I get?" Her voice, stripped of its usual arrogance, held a softer edge.

A hint of her usual haughtiness remained, but it didn’t grate on me as much.

I didn't have time to process it. Relief flooded through me. She'd saved me! I opened my eyes, taking in her face, pinched with annoyance.

My tirade had clearly pissed her off, but relief flickered in her eyes too. We were alive.

And her full, luscious lips were slightly swollen.

We were on a vast, sandy beach, completely alone. She must have dragged me to shore.

The realization melted away a good portion of my resentment. We’d survived a plane crash, and she’d saved my life. I couldn't hold onto my anger.

Looking at her beautiful, albeit irritated, face, I forced a smile, trying to project a sense of peace.

Her expression was unreadable, a complex mix of emotions swirling in her blue eyes.

"Just blowing off steam, mostly at the execs, not you," I mumbled, then began to assess our surroundings and my own condition.

We were stranded on a deserted island. Location unknown.

Miraculously, I was uninjured. I remembered reading somewhere that even a minor injury could be fatal on a deserted island without proper medical care.

I made a mental note to be extremely cautious.

After surveying the area, I glanced back at Isabella. That’s when I noticed her necklace was gone, her clothes ripped and tattered, her ample breasts practically spilling out of her torn black bra.

Perhaps it was the seawater, but her breasts seemed even larger than usual. It was absurd that I was fixated on this, yet my body reacted instinctively.

I wasn't embarrassed. In fact, I felt a surge of perverse satisfaction. A hard-on meant I was alive, my body still functioning.

I remembered grabbing her breast during the crash. The memory, surprisingly, was pleasant.

And now, it was just the two of us on this deserted island. In a twisted way, it was good news.

Maybe my fantasies could become reality, not on a plane or in a plush hotel bed, but on the sandy shores of a deserted island.

"What the hell are you thinking about?" Isabella snapped, her eyes blazing. My stare must have been too intense, making her uncomfortable. The power dynamic had clearly shifted, and she knew it.

"Just so you know, I know how to box. And I saved your ass." She scrambled to her feet, striking a clumsy boxing stance, trying to project an air of menace.

But the attempt was far from intimidating. If anything, it was kind of hot.

Her skirt, apparently lost to the sea, left her clad only in her underwear and those expensive stockings. The thin material of her underwear, soaked through, was practically transparent.

Her boxing pose gave me an unobstructed view of her pussy. I wanted to compliment her on her form, but I was too busy scanning our surroundings for anything useful.

I had to admit, her legs, long and slender, were just as captivating. Maybe she did know how to box; they looked surprisingly powerful. I imagined them wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.

"Dammit! Stop staring! I saved your life! You can't… do this. The rescue team will be here soon. Do you want to go to jail?" Isabella finally blurted out, realizing her current attire wasn't exactly projecting authority. Fear and frustration warred in her voice as she reminded me of her heroic act and the impending arrival of rescuers.

Sure, international conventions dictated a rescue effort after a plane crash, but I doubted they’d arrive as quickly as she hoped.

Even if they did, it would take time. Until then, survival was paramount.

We needed to figure out how to stay alive, and thankfully, I had a few tricks up my sleeve. I might have been a mediocre salesman, but I was a wilderness survival enthusiast. I possessed a wealth of knowledge on the subject, and that knowledge gave me confidence.

I wasn't planning on forcing myself on Isabella, but she would need me to survive. Food, shelter… those were things she probably knew nothing about.

This was a deserted island, not a five-star resort. No burgers, no fried chicken, no soda, no fries. Without the skills to procure food, she would starve.

I almost laughed when she unearthed a “weapon” for self-defense. It was a thin shard of metal, more like a dull knife than anything else. In this environment, it might offer a sliver of psychological comfort.

I didn't mock her. Instead, I gave her a thumbs-up and began to comb the beach, searching for anything useful.

Like the metal shard Isabella had found, it was a valuable find. It could serve as a makeshift knife and even be used to collect sea salt.

Salt, like water, was essential.

Isabella watched me, clearly puzzled. She didn't ask questions, though. Instead, she used the metal shard to scratch a large SOS into the sand, the international distress signal.

If a rescue plane flew overhead, they might see it. It was a smart move. But there was no guarantee. I, on the other hand, was more concerned with finding something to eat.