Chapter 190: Cabin 5, Night 14
CABIN 5: Briv - Alya - Patricia.
The heavy wooden door of Cabin 5 shut with a definitive thud, sealing Briv, Alya, and Patricia inside a space that felt both claustrophobic and vast with unspoken history. The air, thick with the day’s residual humidity and the scent of impending rain carried through the open window, seemed to crackle with a different energy than the brutal carnality of Cabin 4. Here, it was a low-voltage hum of old grievances and new, sharp curiosities. Briv stood with his back against the door, as if bracing against the entire island, his gaze landing on Alya—his recent ex, his persistent haunt—before flicking to Patricia, the stunning blonde stranger who now shared their forced intimacy.
Alya dumped her small bag on one of the lower bunks, the movement abrupt, her shoulders tight. She didn’t look at him. “Home sweet home,” she muttered, her voice devoid of any sweetness. She ran a hand through her long brown hair, a nervous habit he remembered too well, and surveyed the room: two bunk beds, a simple sofa, a bathroom door. It was sparse, a stage set for either warfare or surrender.
Patricia, in contrast, seemed to float into the center of the room, her doll-like face a mask of calibrated amusement. “Cozy,” she declared, her blue eyes taking in every detail, every unspoken tension between her two cabin-mates. She placed her bag delicately on the other lower bunk, claiming it without debate. “Better than some damp shelter. I heard Cabin 2 has a leak right over Thomas’s bed.” She smiled, a brilliant, practiced thing. “Serves him right, the slippery fuck.”
Briv finally pushed off the door, a forced casualness in his step. He could still feel the phantom adrenaline from the trial, the shock of being paired with Alya, the calculating look Chris McLean had given him. “You two voted together,” he stated, more accusation than question, looking between them. “In the trial. You aligned against me.”
Alya turned, her brown eyes flashing. “It wasn’t against you, Briv. It was for us. To keep us together in a cabin. Strategy.” Her tone was defensive, but a flush crept up her neck. “Unless you’d have preferred to be stuck with Sean and his grunting, or watching Joaquin and Andre play macho-men with Fatima and Diletta?”
The image of Cabin 4, and the unmistakable, aggressive sounds they’d all heard echoing from it earlier, hung in the air between them. Patricia let out a light, knowing laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Sounded like they were having a grand old time. Very… team-building.” She sat on the edge of her bunk, crossing her long, toned legs. She was wearing tiny shorts and a crop top, every inch the influencer. “But Alya’s right. This is better. Manageable. A known quantity.” Her eyes slid to Briv. “And a new one.”
Briv felt a familiar itch of jealousy, sharp and acidic. Patricia’s comment about Cabin 4 felt like a challenge, a benchmark he was already failing. His breakup with Alya had been ‘mutual’, a public-facing term for a messy private erosion, but seeing her here, so close yet walled off, and now this flawless, confident woman assessing him… it lit a competitive fire in his gut. He wasn’t Andre, a brute-force titan. He wasn’t Joaquin, a smooth-talking conqueror. He was Briv: skinny, insecure, and currently pulsing with a need to prove himself.
“Manageable,” Briv echoed, the word tasting bitter. He took a step toward Alya. “Is that what I am? A ‘known quantity’?” The space between them, once so familiar, was now a minefield. He could smell her shampoo, the same coconut scent she’d always used, and it disoriented him, pulling him backward in time even as his body thrummed with present frustration.
Alya held his gaze, her fiery spirit rising to meet his prickliness. “You tell me, Briv. You’re the one who agreed ‘mutually’ that we needed space to see other people.” She gestured vaguely at the cabin, the whole island beyond. “Well, here’s all the space you could ever want. And plenty of ‘other people’.” Her glance toward Patricia was pointed.
Patricia watched this exchange like a fascinating sport. “Aw, look at you two,” she cooed, not unkindly but with a layer of deliberate provocation. “All that unresolved tension. It’s actually kinda hot.” She leaned back on her elbows, making her small, firm breasts strain against her thin top. “The whole island is a pressure cooker. I say we stop pretending we’re not in one. Cabin 4 isn’t pretending.”
The reminder was a spark to tinder. Briv’s jaw tightened. The sounds from earlier—the slaps, the screams, the possessive growls—weren’t just background noise; they were a leaderboard of a different kind. He looked from Alya’s defiant, beautiful face to Patricia’s inviting, sly one. The dynamic was clear: he was outnumbered, but not powerless. His confidence, always a fragile thing, coalesced around a sudden, raw desire not just for sex, but for dominance, for a reclaiming.
“You think it’s hot?” Briv said, his voice dropping, losing its waver. He directed this at Patricia but kept his eyes on Alya, challenging her. “All this tension?”
“Uh-huh,” Patricia murmured, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “It’s a waste of good energy. We all know why we’re really here. The show’s just the wrapper.”
Alya shook her head, a dismissive snort escaping her. “God, you’re both so transparent.” But she didn’t move away. She stood her ground, her arms crossed over her chest, a defense that only highlighted the curve of her firm, small breasts.
Briv took another step, now within arm’s reach of her. “And you’re not? Voting to be in a cabin with me? That’s pretty transparent, Alya.” He reached out, not to touch her, but to brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead, a gesture that was eerily intimate, a ghost of their past. She flinched but didn’t recoil. “Or was it just to keep an eye on me? Control the narrative?”
“Fuck you, Briv,” she breathed, but there was no heat in it, just a weary resonance.
“Maybe later,” he shot back, the words surprising him with their cold assurance. He finally turned to Patricia. “You want to not pretend? You want to match Cabin 4’s… team spirit?”
Patricia’s smile widened, all predatory delight. “I want to see what you’ve got, Briv. The famous long, thick dick. The one Alya here probably misses.” She was playing a dangerous, exquisite game, poking both their rawest nerves.
Alya’s composure shattered. “Shut up, Patricia!” she snapped, turning on the blonde.
“Why?” Patricia asked, genuinely curious. “You had him. You let him go. Mutually.” She stood up, closing the distance between herself and Briv. She was tall, almost his height in her bare feet. “That makes him fair game. And right now, he looks like he wants to play.” She placed a hand flat on Briv’s chest, feeling his heartbeat hammering against her palm. “He’s not your scared, insecure ex-boyfriend in here. Look at his eyes.”
Briv was scared. Terrified. But under Patricia’s hand, under Alya’s furious gaze, it mutated into something else: a reckless, potent defiance. He covered Patricia’s hand with his own, holding it against him. He looked past her, at Alya. “She’s not wrong,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I am fair game. You made sure of that.”
The directness was a slap. Alya’s anger visibly quivered, then broke, revealing something hungrier and more desperate beneath. The pressure cooker, as Patricia called it, was whistling. The resolve she’d clutched since their breakup, the image of the strong, independent woman she needed to project for the cameras and for herself, frayed at the edges. She was here, on an island designed for temptation, locked in a room with the man she’d loved and a woman who embodied everything the competition promised.
“Fine,” Alya said, the word a surrender and an accusation all at once. “You want to play their game? Play it.” She uncrossed her arms, her body language opening. “But don’t for a second think this changes anything between us.”
“It changes everything right now,” Briv countered, pulling Patricia closer by the hand still on his chest. He dipped his head and kissed her, hard and without preamble. It was a performance for Alya, a declaration of his new terms. Patricia melted into it instantly, her mouth open and greedy, her tongue meeting his with experienced enthusiasm. She moaned into his mouth, a loud, deliberate sound.
Alya watched, frozen for three pounding heartbeats. The sight of Briv, her Briv, kissing this perfect blonde stranger with such claiming intensity, unleashed a torrent of possessiveness she’d denied for weeks. The ‘mutual’ breakup felt like the lie it always was. With a strangled sound—part sob, part snarl—she moved. She didn’t pull them apart. Instead, she pressed herself against Briv’s back, her hands sliding around his waist, under his shirt, her nails scraping the skin of his stomach.
Briv shuddered, breaking the kiss with Patricia. He turned his head, and Alya was there, her angelic face flushed with fury and desire. She kissed him, a messy, angry clash of teeth and tongue that was more authentic than any moment they’d shared in months. Patricia, not to be outdone, began kissing his neck, his jaw, her hands roaming down his chest to the button of his jeans.
The dam had broken. Pretense evaporated, leaving only a raw, three-way current of need, jealousy, and competitive fire. Briv fumbled with the hem of Alya’s top, pulling it over her head in one rough movement. Her small breasts were bare, her nipples already hard peaks. Patricia, in a swift motion, divested herself of her crop top and shorts, standing naked and gloriously unselfconscious. Her body was a masterpiece of fitness: the narrow waist, the impossibly round, firm ass, the smooth curve of her stomach.
“Bed,” Briv commanded, his voice thick. He shoved Alya gently towards the lower bunk Patricia had claimed. Alya fell back onto the mattress, and Patricia immediately crawled over her, kissing Alya deeply, passionately. The sight of the two beautiful women, their bodies entangled, their mouths moving together, sent a jolt of pure, animal lust straight to Briv’s cock. He stripped off his clothes, his erection springing free, long and thick and already leaking.
Alya broke the kiss with Patricia, her eyes wide as she took him in. “Jesus, Briv,” she whispered, a flicker of their old intimacy in her voice. It had always been a point of private pride for them, his size, her ability to take him.
Patricia whistled, low and appreciative. “Okay, the rumors weren’t exaggerated.” She didn’t wait. She slid down Alya’s body, kissing her stomach, and then took Briv’s cock in her hand, guiding the swollen head to her glossy, parted lips. “Let’s see if the rest of you keeps up.”
She took him into her mouth, not slowly, but with a deep, sucking descent that made his knees buckle. Her mouth was hot, wet, and expert, her tongue swirling around the broad head before she plunged down, taking more of his length than he thought possible. Alya propped herself on her elbows, watching, her own hand sneaking between her legs.
“That’s it,” Briv groaned, tangling his hands in Patricia’s blonde hair. “Suck it. Suck that fucking cock.” He looked down, watching his length disappear between her lips, her cheeks hollowed. The obscenity of it, the sheer filth of the act in front of Alya, fueled him. “You like that, you blonde fucking slut? You like tasting me?”
Patricia popped off with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his tip. “Love it,” she panted, her blue eyes glazed. “Now give her a turn. I want to watch.” She moved aside, lying next to Alya, her hand resuming its work between Alya’s legs.
Briv turned his attention to Alya. There was no hesitation in her now. She looked at his cock, glistening from Patricia’s mouth, and a wild hunger crossed her face. She leaned forward, wrapped her lips around him, and took him deep with a familiarity that was jarring and intensely erotic. She knew his rhythm, the spot just beneath the head that made him twitch, the way he liked her to use her tongue.
“Fuck, Alya,” he moaned, his head falling back. The sensation was overwhelming—the physical perfection of Patricia beside them, watching, touching herself, and the emotional cyclone of Alya’s mouth on him, a devastating mix of past and present. “Just like that. God, you remember.”
Alya hummed around him, the vibration shooting sparks up his spine. Her hand came up, cupping his balls, rolling them gently, then less gently. She was showing off, reminding him, and Patricia, of her expertise. Patricia, meanwhile, had slid two fingers inside Alya, curling them, and Alya’s moan around Briv’s cock was the most arousing sound he’d ever heard.
“Switch,” Patricia demanded after a minute, her voice husky. “My turn again. I want him in my pussy first.”
Ayla released him with a wet, sucking sound, a defiant gleam in her eye. “Fine. But I’m next.”
Briv didn’t need to be told twice. He nudged Patricia onto her back, her legs falling open. She was already dripping wet, her pink flesh slick and swollen. He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against her. “You ready for this?” he grunted, not a question of consent but of challenge.
“Stop talking and fucking wreck me,” Patricia growled, bucking her hips up to try and impale herself.
He obliged. He drove into her in one long, powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Patricia’s back arched off the bed, a sharp, guttural cry tearing from her throat. “Oh fuck! Yes! That’s it! So fucking deep!” Her inner muscles clenched around him like a velvet fist.
Briv set a brutal pace from the start, each withdrawal and thrust a claim. The bunk bed shook with the force of it. He looked down at her, at her perfect doll face contorted in pleasure-pain, at her big, round ass slapping against his thighs with each impact. “You wanted to see what I’ve got?” he panted. “You feel it now? You feel this thick fucking cock splitting you open?”
“Yes! Yes, Briv! God, it’s so big!” she screamed, her hands clawing at his shoulders. “Fuck me! Fuck your pretty little blonde slut!”
Alya watched, kneeling beside them, her own need written plainly on her face. She was fingering herself fiercely, her eyes locked on where their bodies joined. “Don’t you dare come in her,” Alya hissed, the possessiveness shocking even her. “That’s mine.”
Her words lit a new fire in Br
xv’s thrusts became even more punishing, spurred by Alya’s claim. He hammered into Patricia, the sound of their slapping skin a violent rhythm in the small room. "You hear that?" he growled down at the blonde beneath him. "She says my cum is hers." He punctuated his words with a deep, grinding stroke that made Patricia’s eyes roll back. "But this tight little cunt feels so fucking good."
Patricia could only gasp, her earlier composure shattered into pure, wanton sensation. "Then… give it… to her," she managed to choke out, her hips meeting his drives. "But fuck me hard… first." Her request was a dare, a plea wrapped in competition.
Alya moved. She couldn't just watch any longer. She crawled behind Briv, her naked skin pressing against his sweaty back. She kissed his shoulder, then bit it. Her small hands reached around his hips, her fingers finding Patricia's swollen clit. She rubbed tight, fast circles, making Patricia jerk and cry out. "You like that?" Alya whispered into Briv's ear, her breath hot. "You like watching her come on your dick while I make it happen?"
Briv’s rhythm faltered for a second, overwhelmed by the dual assault of sensation and psychological warfare. He was buried in one gorgeous woman while his ex orchestrated her pleasure. "Fuck, Alya," he groaned, the sound torn from him.
"Fuck her," Alya corrected, her voice low and vicious. "Then fuck me. In my ass. Like you used to when you were really pissed at me." The memory, illicit and raw, hung between them. It had been a rare, stormy act of reconnection, not anger. Her using it now was a weapon.
The demand sent a shock of pure lust straight to his core. He pistoned into Patricia three more times, hard and final. She climaxed with a shattered scream, her body clamping around him in intense, fluttering waves. Briv pulled out of her, his cock slick and glistening. Patricia collapsed onto the mattress, boneless and spent.
He turned, his erection jutting, and faced Alya. Her brown eyes were blazing, defiant, wet with unshed tears of fury and arousal. She presented herself on her hands and knees on the bunk, her tiny round ass offered to him. "You remember how," she said, throwing the words over her shoulder, a challenge and a surrender.
He did. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly. He positioned the head of his cock at her tight, small entrance. There was no gentle preparation, only the blunt pressure of insistence. "You wanted this," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
"Do it," she hissed, pushing back against him.
He pushed forward. The resistance was fierce, a hot, impossible tightness. Alya cried out, a sharp sound of pain that morphed into a deep groan as he worked the thick head past the ring of muscle. "Oh god… Briv…" Her voice was broken, all actressy pretense gone.
"Shit," he breathed, sinking deeper into the unbelievable, clenching heat. When he was fully seated, they both paused, trembling. The intimacy of the act was colossal, a violating closeness that tore through every 'mutual' agreement they'd ever made. He began to move, slow, deep rolls of his hips that made her whimper with each withdrawal.
"Harder," she begged, her face pressed into the mattress. "Don't you… fucking… pity me."
He obliged, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. The slap of his thighs against her ass was louder now, a sharper crack. He gripped her narrow hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Whose is it?" he grunted, the possessive fury from the trial, from seeing her across the fire, from every man looking at her, boiling over. "Whose cock is this, Alya?"
"Yours!" she screamed, the word torn from her. "It's yours, you bastard!" She reached a hand between her legs, frantically rubbing her clit as he fucked her ass. The added stimulation tipped her over an edge. Her whole body clenched around him, a vice grip of pulsing, rapturous pain-pleasure that milked him mercilessly.
It ripped his orgasm from him. He pulled out of her ass at the last second, his body demanding a more primal marking. He staggered back, his cock throbbing. "Open your mouth," he ordered, his voice raw.
Alya, still shuddering from her climax, turned her head, her lips parted, angelic face flushed and streaked with tears. Patricia, watching with heavy-lidded eyes, did the same, presenting her mouth like a wanton offering.
He took his swollen, reddened cock in his fist and stroked furiously. With a guttural shout, the first thick, pearly stripe of come landed across Alya's tongue and cheek. The next pulse splashed against Patricia's lips. He continued, painting their faces, their open, waiting mouths, until he was spent, dripping the last drops onto Alya’s lower lip.
The only sound was their ragged breathing. The air reeked of sex and salt and conquest. Briv stood over them, swaying slightly, looking at the two beautiful women debased and glistening before him. The hollow feeling that followed the rush was immediate and vast.
Alya swallowed, the taste of him acidic and familiar on her tongue. She looked at Patricia, who was licking her lips clean with a lazy, satisfied swipe of her tongue. There was no victory in Alya's eyes. Only a shattered, hollow exhaustion.
Patricia smiled, a slow, cat-like curl of her lips. "Cabin four's got nothing on us," she murmured, her voice hoarse.
But the silence that followed was brittle. The game had been played, a point had been proven, but the cost hung in the air, thick and unsettling as the smell of their bodies. The bed was a tangled, damp mess. Briv sat heavily on the edge of the other bunk, the adrenaline draining away, leaving a cold, nauseating clarity. He had done exactly what the island demanded. He stared at his own hands, unable to look at either woman. The chapter of the night was closed, but the story between them all felt more dangerously open than ever.