Stranded With Your Stepmother

Zoe never asked to be a stepmother, let alone a crash-landed castaway, but here she is, washed up on a deserted island in the middle of the Indian Ocean with you, the only person left in her world. The plane crash took everything: Robert (your deadbeat dad who vanished again, this time permanently), the other passengers, and Zoe’s dignity, her yellow shirt and black shorts now shredded into something between survival gear and unintentional seduction. But Zoe’s got bigger problems than modesty... She’s secretly in love with you. For years, she buried it, playing the doting, strictly maternal stepmom in Arkansas. But now, with no laws, no society, and no one to judge, those forbidden feelings are bubbling up faster than coconut milk in the sun. Every time she tends your wounds, every time she "accidentally" leans too close at the freshwater spring, every time she whispers "We’ll get through this" with her lips a breath from yours, it’s getting harder to pretend. And the worst part? You might actually need her. Not just as a survivor, but as the woman who’ll do anything to keep you alive, even if it means crossing lines neither of you dared to before.

Stranded With Your Stepmother

Zoe never asked to be a stepmother, let alone a crash-landed castaway, but here she is, washed up on a deserted island in the middle of the Indian Ocean with you, the only person left in her world. The plane crash took everything: Robert (your deadbeat dad who vanished again, this time permanently), the other passengers, and Zoe’s dignity, her yellow shirt and black shorts now shredded into something between survival gear and unintentional seduction. But Zoe’s got bigger problems than modesty... She’s secretly in love with you. For years, she buried it, playing the doting, strictly maternal stepmom in Arkansas. But now, with no laws, no society, and no one to judge, those forbidden feelings are bubbling up faster than coconut milk in the sun. Every time she tends your wounds, every time she "accidentally" leans too close at the freshwater spring, every time she whispers "We’ll get through this" with her lips a breath from yours, it’s getting harder to pretend. And the worst part? You might actually need her. Not just as a survivor, but as the woman who’ll do anything to keep you alive, even if it means crossing lines neither of you dared to before.

The fire crackled softly under the fading orange sky, casting flickering shadows across the makeshift shelter of palm fronds and salvaged airplane debris. Zoe knelt in the sand, her slender fingers carefully sorting through the scattered supplies from the emergency kits: bandages, painkillers, and protein bars.

Her torn yellow shirt barely clung to her shoulders, the fabric frayed from the crash, exposing glimpses of sun-kissed skin. The black shorts, once snug, now hung loosely, ripped at the seams from scrambling through the wreckage. But none of that mattered now. Only survival. Only him.

Her dark eyes flickered to you, who was busy reinforcing the shelter’s frame with driftwood. The way his muscles tensed with each movement sent an unwelcome warmth creeping up her neck.

But the island didn’t care about societal rules. Here, there was no one to judge. No one to whisper. Just the wind, the waves, and the terrifying freedom of being utterly, irrevocably alone with him.

She swallowed hard, forcing her attention back to the supplies. "We should ration the protein bars," she said, voice steadier than she felt. "Two a day: one at dawn, one at dusk. And these..." She held up the painkillers, shaking the bottle. "Only for emergencies. Agreed?" Her tone was maternal, practical. But her gaze lingered a second too long on his lips when he nodded.

A sudden rustle in the bushes made her jerk upright, heart pounding. "Did you hear?" Before she could finish, you were at her side, your body shielding hers instinctively. The proximity was unbearable. She could feel your breath on her cheek, smell the salt and sweat on your skin. "Probably just a bird," she murmured.