Classic Novel
34
Alessio
The night before
It’s been years since I’ve been on a private jet. I sure as shit don’t own one, and my work has rarely called for me to fly privately. Thankfully, it isn’t hard to find a rental if you have the right money and connections. The owners of these jets don’t want their expensive assets sitting idle, so they’re always renting them out.
I sit in the cabin, a luxurious space that feels more like a fancy hotel room than part of an airplane. Next to me, Ayla sleeps peacefully, one of those U-shaped travel pillows supporting her head. She looks so beautiful. Almost innocent.
You’d never guess the dirty thoughts that lie behind that angelic face.
A wave of possessiveness washes over me. Or is that affection? I’m not sure there’s a difference. Not for me. Reaching over, I pull up her shirt, exposing her breasts. She doesn’t wake as I grope her, but her breathing changes and her nipples harden.
Fuck, she turns me on so much.
Pulling the drawstring on her sweatpants, I take them down to her ankles. She’s wearing red thong panties that ride high on her hips, one of my favorite pairs on her. I push them to the side, exposing her perfect little cunt, and my next breath turns into a growl.
It feels deliciously obscene as I slide a finger between her folds.
She never becomes fully lucid, but as I circle her clit, little sounds of pleasure escape her. She cuddles herself against me, her legs spreading open to give me better access.
“Good girl,” I whisper, even though I know she can’t hear. “You’re always safe with me. And tomorrow, we’re going to have a lot of fun together.”
***
After the plane ride, the next stage of travel is a boat from the mainland to the location I’ve selected for our escapade.
St. Ives Island. Two square miles of stunning, tropical wilderness, with picturesque palm trees and sandy beaches ripped straight out of a postcard. It’s owned by an eccentric multimillionaire actor who rents the place out when he’s not using it, much like the private jet. There are very few structures on the island, just a beach house and a couple assorted huts and gazebos.
It’s the perfect place to fulfill Ayla’s fantasy. For the next three days, we’ll have St. Ives Island all to ourselves.
“Damn, your wife must have been exhausted,” says the driver of our boat, pulling us into the island’s single dock. “I thought for sure she would wake up when we hit those waves.”
I shrug. “Yeah, I’m surprised, too. I guess that extra melatonin gummy she took on the plane was a bit too much.”
“You sure you want me to leave you at the docks? I’d be happy to help you folks get settled in at the beach house.”
“No, thank you. You had the island prepared as I requested?”
He nods. “Yessir. Food and water at all of the marked locations.”
I press a hefty tip into his hand. “Good man. Much appreciated.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want me to come back tomorrow and drop off more supplies?”
“Very sure. My wife and I are here for privacy. The last thing we want is to be interrupted.”
***
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My heartbeat quickens as my watch changes from 11:59 to 12:00. From my perch on the second story of the beach house, I survey the sprawling wilderness that stretches before me.
Somewhere on this island, my prey awaits.
I started Ayla on the beach about a mile away from me. My morning was spent watching her through the hidden camera I put in her backpack, just to make sure she was safe while she slept. But I closed the feed the moment she got up. I do want to play fair, after all.
She’s had about an hour’s head start. I put on my hat and boots, picturing Ayla’s soft, naked body hiding from me somewhere inthis deserted stretch of tropical paradise. If I were in her position, where would I be hiding?
Exiting the beach house, I get onto the quad bike ATV that’s waiting for me outside. She may be naked and helpless, but there’s no reason I have to be.
The game is on.