Stranded with the Rockstar (Rockstar #1)

27. Sunny

It's amazing what a bar of soap and some toothpaste can do for a person. Add that to the granola bar we each got today, and I feel like a new person.

Even Harry has been in good spirits lately, which I hadn't seen since before Niall arrived two weeks ago. I didn't understand why he seemed to dislike him so much. Niall's extremely nice, bordering on excessive, and he's lent us everything he has to lend. Unfortunately he had been getting low on food before he landed, so we've only been eating bits at a time.

I understand that Harry wasn't exactly excited about sleeping separately, and neither was I, but we have shelter! When we walked onto the boat for the first time, it felt like my prayers had been answered. Harry and I were going be okay.

I want to talk to him and see what he's feeling, but we never seem to be alone anymore. Niall was eager to learn everything about the island, and how we've survived all this time. And turning down his requests for help, after he saved our lives, is impossible.

Harry's mood took an even darker turn after a week with our visitor. I could tell he was getting increasingly aggravated as the days went by. And maybe in an attempt to ease himself, he reached for my hand as we were walking to our pond that morning.

I pulled my hand away.

I don't know why I did it, except it almost felt like we would be rubbing it in Niall's face. He already must feel like the outsider, and I've been doing my best to dismiss that thought.

Harry looked at me like I'd slapped him. He stormed off and didn't speak to anyone the rest of the day. I didn't know where he was until supper time, when we ate Niall's first caught fish.

I watched Harry that evening, over the fire that he'd started on his own while I was helping Niall. He ate like he was starving, licking his lips between bites. God, I remembered what those lips felt like.

I felt a tickle at the apex of my thighs, and I pushed them together. It had only been a week and my body was going through withdrawal. I wondered if it ever crossed his mind.

The sexual frustration only got worse, however, the next day. I was taking a shower beneath the waterfall. The air was sweltering, and the boys stayed in the cool air of the boat.

With my eyes closed, I started thinking about Harry—Harry's tongue against mine, Harry's lips on my breast, Harry's hand between my legs. My hand began moving without any conscience thought. I tried to move it like he does, rubbing in the same spots, gliding across the same way, inserting to the same rhythm.

I wasn't as good as him—I'd never done it before—but I still got to where I wanted to be, prickling goosebumps covering my body.

When I returned to the boat, I couldn't look at anyone. I couldn't believe I'd just done that. Harry was lounging on his bench, looking really damn good. I wanted to straddle him and have him inside me so bad, I could scream. He'd make me feel ten times better than I had been able to.

I turned away when I felt the blush on my face. I thought masturbation was supposed to help? Not make me want him even more? I will never understand sex.

That was days ago, but with this memory swirling around in my head, I don't notice that I'm staring at Harry until Niall clears his throat. He gives me a head shake and a small smile.

Harry is oblivious as he dumps the remains of Niall's granola from the packet into his mouth. "Mmm. Bloody hell, that's good."