Chapter 14

Everlee

Isit between Wild Man's legs with my back pressed against his chest. He's leaning against the log he usually sits on, and we're in front of the fire as the flames cook our food. It's been a few days since I woke to Wild Man feasting between my legs, and while I know he's not fully recovered from the rattler bite and should probably rest more, he was insistent that we go find food. He chose fish this time, something I was grateful for.

Not only because I was able to bathe, but I wasn't ready to chance running across another snake. Before he went fishing, he bathed with me. Of course, bathing led to other things.

Since our conversation about lovemaking, Wild Man has tried doing it softly, but I've purposely made it impossible for him. He starts out slow, but I do something that drives the softness right out of him and he ends up taking me roughly.

He fucks me.

I'm not ready for soft and gentle yet. I'm not sure I ever will be.

I pick at the threads of the rope around my waist and hold up the loose part in front of our faces.

Earlier, when I came out of the tree hut after taking a nap, I found Wild Man sitting on the log. When I moved to sit across the fire from him, he ordered me to come to him. I expected him to have me sit in front of him on the ground like usual or to have me sit on his lap like I have a few times, but instead, he moved to the ground and had me sit between his legs.

"Will you take this off me?" I ask Wild Man, rolling the rope between my fingers.

He doesn't say anything at first, but I sense his eyes on the rope.

"No."

I don't know what I expected, but his flat out refusal wasn't it. I thought we had made at least a little bit of progress. You know, with me caring for him while he was practically dying. I could have easily left him while he was unconscious, but I didn't. I stayed by his side, took care of him, worried for him.

"Why not?" I ask, my tone tight from the anger slowly building in my veins.

"You leave," he grunts. He slides an immovable arm around my waist. "I not let you."

I smash my teeth together. There's no sense in telling him that I won't leave the first chance I get, because he probably wouldn't believe me. And leaving is exactly what I plan to do.

I may be softening toward him, and that's all the more reason to flee when I can. The longer I stay here, the deeper those feelings will root themselves inside me, and the harder it'll be to leave.

Instead, I repeat what I've already told him before and will probably repeat another hundred times. "You can't keep me forever."

"Yes," he answers resolutely. "You stay till I die. Momor is mine."

I don't say anything after that, because what's the point? It's obvious that when Wild Man comes to a decision, he won't be swayed from it.

It's not like the second the rope is off me, I'll take off. I won't leave until I know for sure I can get away. I'm just tired of it chafing my skin. But it would be useless to tell him that. Me being uncomfortable doesn't seem to bother him.

I keep quiet as Wild Man feeds us both the fish he cooked. He refuses to let me feed myself, preferring for me to take it from his hand with my mouth like I'm a toddler.

Whatever.

The water jug is passed to me and after taking a couple swallows, he takes it back, drinking from the same spot.

We sit for a while longer. The fire is far enough away that the heat isn't too much. The sun is still high in the sky and the birds overhead chirp. Every so often, something rustles in the brush surrounding us, and I jerk my head in the direction it comes from. I think I might have PTSD from the stupid snake.

As angry as I am at his refusal to remove the rope, I'm reluctant to admit, sitting with him like this, even in the silence, is nice.

After a while, though, I become restless, and I start squirming around. I've never been the type to sit idly, and that's all I've been forced to do lately.

After adjusting my position for the fifth time, Wild Man grabs my hips and flips me around so I'm on my knees in front of him. I look at him warily. I have no idea what to expect from him because he's always so unpredictable.

His legs are bent, spread out with me between them. Since he's not wearing the cloth covering, his dick lies on the ground between his legs. He's not hard, but he's not fully soft either. His eyes trace over the features of my face, but then stops when they touch my lips.

He runs one of his hands up my arm and over my shoulder. When it reaches my neck, goosebumps erupt over my skin. His touch is caring and feather light, something a gentle lover would do. It has apprehension replacing the good feeling.

His fingers slide through my hair and he slowly tugs me toward him. With his gaze still pinned on my lips, I know what his intent is. At the last minute, just before his lips touch mine, I turn my head to the side, and they brush against my cheek. His fingers tighten in my hair, and I know he doesn't like my avoidance.

"Give me mouth," he growls, the rough sound filling my ear.

I shake my head against his tight grip. "No."

He growls again, using his grip to try to move my head where he can get to my lips. I hold steady, even when the strands of my hair threaten to snap and the sting of pain brings tears to my eyes.

"Mouth," he repeats.

I put my hands on his shoulders, digging my nails into his flesh. "No."

He's taken everything else from me and is keeping me captive. I willnot give him something as intimate as my kiss.

"Female," he grates.

"No, Wild Man." I tug against his hold until I'm able to see his face. "You don't deserve my mouth."

His lips press into a grim line and anger tightens his eyes. I prepare myself for Wild Man to forcefully take my mouth. He could and there's really nothing I can do to stop it. I've underestimated his strength before, but I quickly learned how big of a mistake it was. What he wants, he gets, even if taken by force.

Surprisingly though, he doesn't force my head forward like I expected. Instead, after several tense moments, in which he spends looking at my mouth, he releases me so suddenly, I fall back on my ass. Thankfully, the ground is soft with crushed leaves, so I'm left no worse for wear.

He gets up from the ground and stalks through the opening, slapping the branches out of the way. It's almost comical to see his semi-hard cock slapping around his thighs with his movements.

I watch the opening with trepidation. Wild Man doesn't know how to give in, so I expect him to return at any moment and demand my kiss. But when he doesn't appear after a while, I finally start to relax.

I get up from the ground and look around me. I haven't gotten many chances to check out his living area. More often than not, Wild Man takes me with him when he leaves his tree hut. Or if he does leave me alone, it's not for long.

I rummage around a couple piles of stuff, finding nothing interesting. I do come across the clothes I was wearing the day he decided to keep me, and as tempting as it is to put them on, I leave them where they are. Wild Man will just take them off me. For some reason, he likes to keep me naked. Maybe because he's always naked. Or because it gives him easy access when he wants to fuck. Or maybe he just likes looking at a female body. Regardless, I make note of where they are for when I leave.

At the bottom of one pile, I come across a small stack of local newspapers. The thin pages are dirty and crumpled. I look at the date of the first one. Seven years old. I flip through it, not finding anything interesting. I look at the next one with an eight-year-old date.

Where did he get these, I wonder to myself as I flip through another.

When I reach the bottom of the pile, my brows jump up and my hand pauses on the cover. It's not a newspaper, but a dirty magazine.

What the hell?

The cover has a busty brunette sitting with her legs bent and spread open. She's sitting on a bed of black silk. One of her hands is holding a red popsicle that she's licking up the side. Her big perky tits with hard rose-colored nipples are on full display. Her other hand is cupping herself between her legs, hiding her goods from the viewer.

A heated flush coats my cheeks as I stare at the woman.

Why does Wild Man have this? I mean, it's obvious why he has it. He may have grown up in the wild, but he's still a man with working parts. But where did he get it from? And how many times has he looked at it? From the worn state of the pages, my guess would be a lot.

An image pops in my head and the heat in my cheeks gets warmer. Wild Man sitting on his log in front of the fire, one hand flipping through the pages of this magazine, while his other strokes up and down his cock. His breathing is heavy as his eyes eat up the images of carnal acts. Why that thought has my legs sliding together is a mystery I refuse to acknowledge.

I lift my head and peek at the opening he left through a bit ago. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I flip the magazine open to a random page. I've looked at nudie magazines before, and have even watched my fair share of porn, but it still feels erotic doing it now. I don't even know why I'm doing it. I guess I want to see what Wild Man has possibly gotten himself off to.

The picture is of a naked blonde woman lying in bed. Her head is hanging off the edge, her long hair touching the floor. A man, equally naked, is in front of her with his hard cock pointed at her lips. Her mouth is wide open as she waits for the man to feed it to her. Another man is on the bed holding her legs open. Her hips are lifted and his cock is nestled inside her. He stares down at where they're connected with a look of pure lust.

Warmth pools in my stomach at the erotic image.

I flip to another page.

This one is even kinkier.

A redhead woman, again wearing not a stitch of clothing, has her arms raised above her head where she's tied to a hook in the ceiling. She has on a blindfold and a ball gag stuffed in her mouth. There's a man behind her, his hips pressed to her ass, no doubt filling her back hole. One of his hands is on her hip and the other is pulling her head back by her hair. Another man stands in front of her, his hand wrapped around his impressive length. He looks like he's getting ready to stuff his cock in her clean-shaven pussy.

A rustling sound comes from behind me, and I snap the magazine closed. Embarrassment reddens my cheeks more as I spin around and face Wild Man. He stands just inside the opening, his pointed gaze on me. His eyes drop to the magazine in my hand before they lift back to my face. He shows no discomfort at my discovering his dirty magazine, not that I expected him to.

I drop the magazine when he starts walking toward me. Again, I don't know what to expect from him, and his face gives nothing away. He stops when he's only a foot from me, forcing my head to tilt back to keep him in view.

He grabs my hand and lifts it, and I feel something slide over my wrist. I look down, and I'm not quite sure what to think at what I find.

A delicate twig, no thicker than a piece of twine has been fashioned into a bracelet. Woven into the twig are tiny lavender flowers.

I lift my arm, a sudden pain scratching the insides of my chest at the kind gesture. In my boredom, I've made several twig bracelets. I used to do that all the time when I was out camping with my dad and brothers. While they were out fishing, hunting, or gathering wood, I'd sit and fashion bracelets. They were never really anything special, just something to do when I didn't want to join my family while they foraged the area.

This one is beautifully perfect though.

I tilt my head back up. Is this his way of apologizing after storming away from me earlier?

If so, he's definitely on the right track.

"Thank you," I say.

"Fuck."

The word is barely past his lips before he's grabbing my waist and lifting me up. My legs automatically go around his waist, and a moan slips out of me when his hardness encounters my softness.

Without another word, he carries me to his bed, and we do what he said.

We fuck.