Siren Island: Shipwrecked (An Erotic Adventure Series) Read online

  Siren Island

  Shipwrecked

  By Virginia Wade

  Copyright © 2012 Virginia Wade

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by I Love Stacy

  Kindle Edition

  Virginia Wade

  http://virginia-wade-erotica.com

  http://twitter.com/VirginiaErotica

  Email:

  [email protected]

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this book is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  Chapter One

  As I clung to the crate, my dress sodden with seawater, lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating a ceiling of ominous clouds. The roiling waves forced me to grip the edges of the wooden crate, the ocean pitching me back and forth, wind and rain lashing my face. I’d kicked off my shoes and my underthings; pantaloons, petticoats, and the crinoline now floated somewhere in the darkness, no longer weighing me down.

  “Lucy!” It was a woman’s voice, my chaperone, Pricilla Mayfair.

  “I’m here!” A wave smacked me in the face.

  I had seen her last on deck, wet and screaming, as the ship had begun to sink, enormous waves crashing into the hull, breaking the mast in two, killing scores of people. Those final moments would live in my nightmares until the day I died. Debris surrounded me along with floating bodies of women, children, and crewmembers. It was heartening to know that my chaperone had survived, but what about my fiancé, Samuel? What about his brother, Jack? I hadn’t seen either of them in those last, horrifying moments. He’d promised to stay with me, but an enormous wave had thrown him overboard.

  I prayed to God the crate remained sound. “Samuel?”

  We were going to be married in Australia where his parents had fled after the war, having lost their plantation and way of life. They escaped the turmoil of reconstruction to take their chances on a continent founded by convicts. None of it mattered now, because we were doomed entirely.

  “Lucy!”

  “Here! I’m here. Follow my voice!” Something dark moved towards me, lifting and falling in the waves. “Pricilla?” My hand encountered a soft object, and I screamed. It was the body of a crewmember, his face eerily white. He sank and drifted away.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m here!” She was getting closer. “I’m here!” I paddled towards the voice, the water lapping against me, forcing my head under. When I surfaced, I glimpsed my chaperone, clinging to a barrel, horror etched into her face. “Pricilla!”

  “Dear Lord in heaven, child!”

  I grabbed for her, but had to let go for fear of losing my lifeline. “Have you seen Samuel? Jack?”

  “No!”

  “Take my dress. We mustn’t separate.” She clutched the material.

  “Dear Jesus! The saints preserve us. Watch over us in our time of need…save us from the ocean. Please, dear God.”

  “Hang on, Pricilla. Don’t give up!”

  We floated for hours during that dark and stormy night. Splintered pieces of wood and bodies drifted around us. I was terrified of sharks. I had survived the sinking ship, but would I now be eaten alive, plucked out of the ocean by ferocious teeth?

  As Pricilla and I clung together, alternating between weeping and praying, the sky began to lighten and an enormous shape appeared in the distance, rising out of the water. We seemed to be heading towards it, the swells less volatile now, because the storm had passed. My fingers were numb from clinging to the crate, trying to hold on. Pricilla rested her head against her barrel with her eyes closed, her face pale and drained.

  It would be another hour before my feet encountered the sharp ends of a reef, scratching me painfully, rousing me out of a semiconscious state. “Pricilla!”

  “Um? Leave me alone. No don’t…” she mumbled.

  “There’s a beach! I see land!” Excitement renewed me with energy. Sharks wouldn’t eat me after all! The stark light of morning revealed a gray ocean, the storm having churned the contents into a sooty soup. The object I had seen at dawn was now revealed, and mountains covered in vibrant green greeted my grateful eyes. The squawking of seagulls was a welcome sound.

  “Are we dead?”

  “No! Paddle, Pricilla. There’s the shore!”

  I kicked my tired legs, propelling me forward. It was a relief to feel sand beneath my toes. I let go of the crate, walking for the first time in hours, wading through waist deep water. I reached the beach, my waterlogged dress weighing me down. I collapsed onto the sand and closed my eyes. The sound of screams awoke me.

  “No! Dear Lord, no!” It was Pricilla.

  “What is it?” I sat up, squinting under the sun. I licked my parched lips, wishing I had water. My chaperone stood over a nearby corpse. “Don’t look at it. Get away from it, Pricilla. There’s nothing you can do for him.”

  The crazy woman had managed to stay afloat with her shoes, petticoats, and crinoline on. My toes peaked out from beneath the darkly colored material of my garment. It was scandalous to not be properly dressed, but I could have cared less. Long brown hair was tangled around me, my hairpins having loosened and fallen out in the water. A movement on the beach caught my eye. Someone was coming!

  “Look, Pricilla!”

  “Why has the Lord forsaken us? How could he do this?” She knelt and wept, bowing her head. “So many people are dead,” she wailed.

  “Someone comes!”

  It was a man. He plodded barefoot towards us, a slight swagger in his walk. It wasn’t until I saw his face that I recognized him. My fiancé’s older brother, Jack, had survived the shipwreck. He wore a waistcoat, shirt, and trousers. It was far too hot for a sack coat. I met him for the first time aboard The Lady Jane, and I had loathed him on sight. There was something about him that made me feel as if he knew what I looked like naked. His reputation as a gambler and blackguard were well known. The name Jack Carlyle was not mentioned in polite society.

  “That horrible man,” blurted Pricilla. “They kill the innocent, yet the devil lives.”

  I rolled my eyes. My chaperone was frequently dramatic and prone to fainting spells, which I had learned to accept over the years.

  “Cover your legs, my dear!”

  What did it matter now? I’d lost half my clothing to the ocean. Who would care if my legs were exposed in this isolated place? I could feel sand under my corset, rubbing painfully into my skin. I would remove the contraption at the first opportunity.

  “Good morning!” he shouted. “Fancy finding you here.” His grin was huge, white teeth flashing. “Miss Wordsworth. Miss Mayfair.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Carlyle,” said Pricilla primly.

  “It’s just Jack. The formalities hardly matter now, eh?” He took a lengthy drink from a wine bottle. “Thirsty?” There was a pleasing southern drawl to his voice.

  I eyed him with disdain. “Have you seen Samuel?”

  He shook his head. “There are survivors down the beach. Come on. I’ll take you to them.” He reached for me, helping me to my feet.

  “Thank you.”

  His presence always set me on edge. There was something about his look, a certain gleam in his eye, that made me feel like I was parading a
round in front of him naked. He took in my appearance, the bedraggled hair laced with sand, the crumpled dress still damp with seawater, and my shoeless feet, which I quickly hid under my hem. I could only imagine what he was thinking. I never left the house without my bonnet and gloves.

  “What survivors, Mr. Carlyle? Who are they?”

  He squinted at my chaperone. “You’ll be relieved to hear that the Reverend Jeremiah Hancock is alive and well, prayer book and all. He’s in the middle of a sermon as we speak.” Sarcasm laced his voice.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “There are women, men, and a few crew members.”

  “What about Samuel?”

  His dark eyes rested on me. “Yes, what about that plucky little brother of mine? Where could he be?”

  It was no secret that the Carlyle siblings were frequently at war. Samuel, light haired and sweet, was the apple of his mother’s eye, while Jack, dark, brooding and sinful, was barred from the family home. They’d gotten into fisticuffs at the onset of the voyage and had avoided each other ever since.

  I tingled from his look, appraising me, missing nothing. He seemed to enjoy my distress and the fact that my fiancé was missing and more than likely dead. I was now trapped on an island with the one man no woman should be alone with. He was the last person on earth I could trust with my money, my bible, or my virtue…and he knew it, the smug bastard.

  He grinned as if he’d read my mind. “Please. I’m not all that bad. Let me escort you to the others.” I glanced at the wine bottle, feeling hopelessly parched. “Have some. It’s not a bad Bordeaux.”

  I was utterly tempted, eyeing the bottle. “No. I shouldn’t.”

  “Take it.”

  It was before me, the maroon color glinting, the colors deepening to rich red from the light of the sun. “Um…well…” Throwing caution to the wind, I grasped the bottle, and, while Pricilla hissed for me to stop, I had a long, unladylike pull.

  “My dear, no!”

  Being dehydrated and nearly dizzy with thirst, the wine felt marvelous pouring down my throat, warming my belly. “Won’t you have some, Miss Mayfair?”

  “I shall not, nor shall you. Put it down!” She glared at Jack. “How dare you offer a lady wine straight from the bottle, Mr. Carlyle.”

  “Didn’t see any glasses, Miss Mayfair. We’re not exactly in the drawing room at Oaks Plantation, now are we?”

  “A woman must never forget her manners, Mr. Carlyle, no matter where she is.” Having regained her strength and senses, she threw back her shoulders and marched ahead of me, her feet sinking in the sand. “Let’s find the others. Come now, Miss Wordsworth. The Reverend Hancock will know what to do. He’s a man of God. He will save us.”

  Jack drawled, “I wouldn’t put my money on it.”

  Chapter Two

  We were reunited with passengers of The Lady Jane; among them were several crewmembers, two men, the reverend, Jack, and several women. We were a sorry lot, damp, tired, and thirsty. An industrious passenger cracked open several coconuts, and we drank the sweet nectar and ate the contents.

  At the earliest opportunity, I wandered into the palm trees, giving myself the privacy I needed to remove my corset. I was able to untie it without having to take my dress off. The relief I felt was immediate. A branch snapped behind me, and I spun around.

  “Oh, my!” It was Jack. He eyed my corset, which I had left on the ground.

  “That’s not proper now is it, Miss Wordsworth?”

  “Um…it’s impolite to sneak up on people, Mr. Carlyle.” The intense way he looked at me sent little shivers down my spine.

  “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.” The front part of his trousers had grown, the brown material stretching over his unmentionables.

  “I’m sure whatever you wish to discuss can be saved for the beach. Excuse me.” I went to pass him, but he grabbed me. “What are you doing?”

  “I think we should talk.”

  He pressed me to a tree. “Stop it!”

  “I’ve been having lustful thoughts about you, Lucy. Since the first day I saw you standing there with your bonnet and parasol, I’ve been wonderin’ what you look like under all those clothes.”

  I gasped, “Oh! You should be ashamed of your—”

  “I’m not acquainted with that emotion.” His voice was low and husky. “You and I are gonna get to know one another better. A lot better.”

  “I know more than I want to, Sir.”

  He shook his head, something dark and carnal glinting in his eyes. “I don’t think you do.” His lips descended to mine, but I pushed against him, fleeing, only to be caught in a steely embrace. He picked me up off the ground, my feet kicking. “I like a lively woman,” he chuckled. “I know you won’t disappoint.”

  “Stop!”

  I was taken to my knees, my hands grasping the trunk of a palm tree while rough hands found their way under my dress. I’d foolishly taken off my stockings and underthings, giving this heathen easy access to my womanly parts. Intrusive fingers slid to my pussy, where he touched me in such a way, I gasped with indignation.

  “Help! Somebody help me!”

  His hand covered my mouth, while his lips found my neck, kissing hotly, leaving wet spots. I bucked and thrashed, trying to dislodge him, but he seemed intent on seducing me. Lifting my skirt, his cock pressed against my opening, hard and demanding. I’d never experienced anything like this before in my entire life, and I was unprepared for him breaching me, causing pain.

  “Ouch! No!”

  A persistent finger brushed my sensitive nub, shocking me with strange sensations that were beginning to materialize. His voice was raspy in my ear, the sounds of his pleasure base and shocking.

  “It’s so tight,” he breathed. “You’re mine, Lucy.”

  “No!”

  “You need a real man. Someone who knows what to do with a woman.”

  “You bastard! This hardly qualifies.”

  His finger refused to let up, rubbing and toying with me, inflaming the sensitive bud. Pleasurable pulses pinged in my tummy. He groaned, enjoying my virginal pussy and thrust into me mercilessly, causing twinges of discomfort. The intrusion was staggering and unexpected. A rough hand cupped my ample breast, tweaking a nipple, sending tiny shockwaves of sensation through me.

  “Oh, yeah, you little slut,” he rasped.

  I grasped the tree, while he used me from behind, fucking me senseless with a remorseless cock, intent on pleasuring himself, yet I felt pleasure as well, although I didn’t want to. I had to fight the tingly feeling that fanned out to my belly, making me shudder with bliss. His finger continued to rub me, forcing me to clamp my lips together to keep from moaning.

  This wasn’t how I thought my first time would be. I had expected to be properly married by a minister in a pretty white church, wearing my mother’s ivory lace wedding gown. I never anticipated losing my virginity on a deserted island to an absolute blackguard against a palm tree! If my mother were still alive, she would collapse in a dead faint.

  “No,” I gasped. “No…”

  “Oh, God…it’s so good, Lucy. Tell me you like it. Tell me.”

  “Go to hell, Mr. Carlyle!”

  “Been there.”

  He kissed, bit, and sucked the delicate skin on my throat. Harsh breathing filled my ears, pleasure clinging to his every utterance. A remorseless cock plunged deep into my sore pussy. Nothing had ever been in there before, not even my own fingers. The beginning of the end for me was when his mouth met mine. His tongue was eager and demanding, encouraging me to do the same, although I didn’t want to. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. Samuel had kissed me before, delicately and with restraint. He wouldn’t have dared to assault me with his tongue.

  “Oh…no…Jack!”

  “Tell me you want me. Tell me,” he breathed in my ear, gasping and moaning.

  “No. I hate you.” This declaration sounded hollow to me. “Don’t.” That damnable finger was my undoing. Although
my pussy smarted and stung, my body responded to the constant friction on my clitoris. He knew exactly how to bring me to the edge. As sensation hit, I cried out, “Ooohh…ooohhh…God…in heaven!” I shuddered helplessly, my muscles contracting around him, pulsing over and over in blissful repletion.

  He pulled me from the tree. “Get on your hands and knees.” He lifted my dress, exposing my pale bottom, and drove into me, his balls slapping against my pussy. I gritted my teeth, while he used me like a common street whore. “God-fucking-dammit!” He plunged deep and stiffened, squirting my insides with cream. “You little bitch…aaahhh…” He thrust over and over, taking what he wanted, while I bore it as stoically as I could. The ground blurred before my eyes, a wash of plants and grasses. He smacked my ass, which was stunning. “I knew you’d be good.” His hand drifted between my legs, dipping into my wetness. He examined his blood-tinged finger. “Samuel’s a fool. He should’ve had you first.”

  I stared at my seducer, anger blazing. “This is for Samuel.” I slapped him. “This is for me.” I slapped him again. “You’re a…a horrible person.” Tears filled my eyes.

  He smiled crookedly. “Aw now, come on.”

  “I hate you!”

  “Not five minutes ago. You were lovin’ everything I was doing to you.”

  I staggered to my feet, leaves and twigs clinging to my dress. “Never speak to me again, Mr. Carlyle.” I stomped towards the beach to find my chaperone, who had failed me today on several levels.

  Pricilla and I sat in the shade with the other women while the men gathered coconuts and strange looking island fruit. Jack had wandered off to search for a water source. I hope he drowns in it. Feeling worthless and bored, I cut away palm fronds from a nearby tree with a knife a sailor had given me. Georgette Lumley, a young, plain looking woman with curly brown hair, and I weaved the fronds together. A crude shelter had been erected, with bits and pieces of ship wreckage. Blonde and able, Constance Pickering had found a crate filled with bolts of fabric. After prying it open, we had taken the cloth and draped it over anything that stood still, in a bid to dry out the material. The men would be pleased to know that bottles of wine had also washed ashore, the corks still firmly in place. In addition to the usable items, dead bodies also appeared, bloated, eaten by fish and decomposing. We had to figure out what we were going to do with them…and soon.