Chapter 3 Spearfishing

As I debated the merits of trying to fish, Isabella retrieved a waterlogged pouch from the sand behind us.

Before I could fully form the thought, she pulled out a wrinkled, slightly soggy loaf of bread.

Bread? Surprise, then disappointment, flickered through me. Even if there was bread, it wouldn't last long. The loaf in Isabella's hand was likely the only one on the entire island.

A pang of hunger, sharp and sudden, hit me as I stared at the bread. I swallowed hard, feeling a blush creep up my neck.

"If you want some, I can spare a little," Isabella offered, noticing my embarrassment. She tore off a small piece and extended it towards me.

It was a meager offering, but I knew it was a significant gesture on her part.

It was clear that despite her wariness, she also saw me as a companion. She'd saved me because my death would leave her utterly alone on this island, a prospect even more terrifying than my presence.

That was probably only part of the reason, but it was definitely a factor.

Isabella looked at the offered bread with a flicker of reluctance. I knew she didn't want to part with it, any more than I would. I gave her a small smile and pushed the bread back towards her.

I understood that bread was a precious commodity. I needed to find my own food source.

"You don't want it?" Isabella asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"You need it more than I do," I said, my smile widening. I spotted a suitable branch at the edge of the trees and, using the metal shard and some strips of cloth I'd scavenged, fashioned a crude spear.

During my earlier reconnaissance, I'd noticed a shallow, fish-filled tide pool near the beach. Catching fish barehanded was notoriously difficult. A spear would significantly increase my odds.

I'd always been fascinated by survival techniques, and I'd even tried spearfishing once or twice. The fish in the tide pool were packed in tight, making them easy targets.

Plus, I was built a little bigger than most guys. Even though I wasn't exactly a high-flyer in my career, I'd always been popular with the ladies, thanks to my physique and, well, my considerable endowment. I'd left more than a few women breathless in bed.

Ideally, fruit or coconuts would be the easiest food to find on a deserted island, but there were no coconut trees on this side of the beach. I'd have to venture into the dense jungle.

But even from the shore, I could hear the unsettling roars of wild animals echoing from the dense foliage. In my current state of hunger, recklessly entering the jungle seemed like a bad idea. Spearfishing was the safer bet.

Isabella, wisely, also avoided the jungle. She was scared, and that fear, ironically, had saved my life.

"Don't bother," Isabella scoffed. "I already tried. It's impossible to catch them. They're too slippery. I almost had one a few times, but they just wriggled away." Her tone was laced with disdain, as if recounting a particularly tedious chore. She clearly understood the need for food, but her attempts had been unsuccessful.

I didn't rise to the bait. This woman, this infuriating Isabella, seemed to have forgotten the precariousness of our situation. Her arrogance had returned. Arguing wouldn't achieve anything. I knew she looked down on me, so I'd let my actions speak louder than words.

I figured catching a fish would quickly deflate her condescending attitude. Later, when hunger gnawed at her, she'd be singing a different tune. And when that happened, I'd make sure she tasted my cock first.

The image of her kneeling before me, my cock disappearing between her lips, sent a jolt of anticipation through me.

I walked to the edge of the tide pool and carefully selected my spot.

Seeing my lack of response, Isabella's face tightened with annoyance. Her full lips moved silently, undoubtedly muttering curses under her breath.

But she didn't dare to voice them aloud, not like before. She was afraid of provoking me, of pushing me too far.

Before rescuing me, she'd hesitated. But compared to the unknown dangers of the island, I was a familiar entity, her subordinate. Her fear of me was undoubtedly less than her fear of wild animals.

Even if something bad happened, would it be any worse than being eaten alive?

The sky was darkening, so I stopped wasting time and lowered my spear into the water. An experienced spearfisherman could judge the type, size, direction, and depth of a fish based on the subtle ripples and bubbles on the surface, then strike with precision.

I wasn't an expert, but the bay was teeming with fish. It was a numbers game.

My first attempt came up empty.

Isabella's pretty face twisted into a smug smirk. She almost seemed pleased by my failure. If I succeeded at something she couldn't, it would bruise her ego.

I didn't let it rattle me. After a moment of quiet observation, I struck again. This time, I almost got one. I saw the crude spear graze the fish, not enough to secure it, but enough to draw blood.

It was encouraging. I could see a thin trail of blood swirling in the water. But it wasn't the right moment to strike again. I'd startled the fish twice already. I needed to wait for another opportunity.

As the sea breeze picked up, a thrill coursed through me. Isabella, however, shivered. She'd finally managed to find a tattered piece of clothing to wrap around herself.

If I'd still been ogling her, I might have been disappointed. The makeshift garment covered a lot of her delectable flesh.

Seeing my continued silence, Isabella's impatience finally boiled over. "Don't waste your time. You're not going to catch anything. We should be thinking about how we're going to survive the night. It gets really cold out here." Her tone was a mixture of mockery and genuine concern. The reality of our situation was finally sinking in. The nights on the island weren't just cold; they were also when the predators came out to hunt.

But I already had a plan. I wasn't about to share it with her just yet. Let her stew in her fear for a while. It might knock some of the arrogance out of her.

On my third attempt, I struck again. The spear plunged into the water. This time, I felt the satisfying resistance of a solid hit. I pulled back the spear, a ten-pound grouper impaled on the metal tip.

Success. I recognized the fish instantly. It was a grouper, a warm-water fish that frequented shallow areas.

Of course, spearing a grouper on my third try was pure luck.

My mood soared. Isabella's shriek, instead of annoying me, brought a smile to my face.

"Oh my god! How… how did you even do that? You actually caught one! That means we'll have food!" Isabella's initial disbelief quickly morphed into embarrassed awe, then into unrestrained excitement. She actually hopped up and down.

In that moment, she clearly viewed my catch as a shared victory. I decided to correct her misapprehension. "Hold on! Lady, I'll have food. Not we."