Chapter 15

Everlee

As you can probably guess, Wild Man likes sex. He likes a lot of sex. Doesn't matter where we are, what we're doing, or the time of day. If he becomes randy, he pounces.

Take yesterday for instance, while we were out picking berries. I was down on my knees trying to reach a nice juicy patch of plump blackberries. Of course, I was naked—he still refuses to give me clothes, the bastard—so my wiggling bare ass was up in the air. The next thing I knew, big hands were gripping my hips and pulling me back, angling me where he wanted me. I knew what was coming, and I opened my mouth to tell him I wasn't ready—seriously, who would be while picking berries and getting poked by thorns—but my protest died on a cry of sharp pain. No preparation. He just went for it as usual. And I was as dry as Sister Mary. So the sudden intrusion wasn't comfortable in the slightest, and I couldn't imagine it was much better for him. Did he care, though? Nope. He just kept going, banging me as hard as he could.

Thankfully—or not thankfully, depending on how you look at it—it didn't take long to get my juices flowing. That's what happens when you're unbelievably attracted to the man who's holding you captive. Your body gives your mind a big fuck you, along with the middle finger, and takes what it wants, even begging for more or to go faster, harder.

Another time, we were walking back from taking a bath. I was admiring a patch of pretty flowers and telling Wild Man a funny story about Rika. I was laughing and having a surprisingly good time, when my hips were suddenly caught in his hard grip. I was shoved over a large boulder, my breasts pressed against the abrasive surface. Then he mounted me from behind and fucked me silly. That time, I was wet. He had just fucked me in the water, and I still had part of him leaking out of me.

Several times a day, I find myself on my hands and knees or bent over, and since the time I rode him after his snake bite, a few times he's demanded I repeat the act in the same position. That's the only position I get to see his face when we fuck. We never do it missionary, but I think it's because he doesn't know about that position. I have to admit, face-to-face is my favorite. I like seeing the intensity in his eyes as I move up and down on his cock or grind my pussy against his groin. The way they flare and heat, like having me like that is a wonder to him. It usually doesn't last very long though. When he gets to the point of losing control, he tosses me back, manhandles me so I'm on my knees, and rams his full length inside me roughly. It's those occurrences when I come the hardest. A sick part of me loves when he loses control and dominates me. I like seeing his handprints on my thighs and hips. I like when he slams inside me so hard my teeth jolt and blackness dances at the edge of my vision. I like when he bites my neck and squeezes my throat until my vision goes dim.

Maybe I'm a masochist.

Right now, we're both lying in his bed after having one of those intense fuckings. My heart has just settled down and my breathing is back to normal. Sweat coats both of our bodies. Wild Man is on his back and I have my head on his shoulder. His fingers slide through the ends of my hair. One of my hands is on his chest, and my eyes catch on another bracelet he made and gave to me a few days ago. I've gotten plenty of gifts from guys over the years. Some expensive and some not. It cost Wild Man nothing to make these bracelets and they're so simple, but they're honestly the sweetest gifts anyone has ever given me.

I tilt my head back to look up at Wild Man. His eyes are open and he's looking at the canopy of trees above us. The dark hair on his face is thick, tempting me to run my fingers through it. I have a couple of times and surprisingly, although coarse, the hair is also kind of soft.

"What's your name?" I ask. I've been wondering this since the first moment I met him. It's become normal to call him Wild Man and he answers to the nickname. But I want to know what his real name is.

He dips his chin into his chest so his eyes can meet mine. A line appears on his forehead, as if he's thinking hard about my question.

"Fey."

"Fey," I repeat the name, my brows dropping. That can't be right. It has to be a shortened version of something. Maybe his parents gave him Fey as a nickname and he can't remember his full name. I try to think of something that would constitute such a nickname, but come up short.

I say it again aloud, this time slower. "Fey."

The word has barely left my lips when Wild Man bucks up from his lying position and he hovers above me, his body wedged between my thighs. His face is so close, I have to nearly cross my eyes to look at him. Beneath his beard, his jaw his tense and a muscle works in his cheek.

He looks angry, and I don't understand why. Is it because he doesn't like me using his real name?

When he speaks, it's a low growl. "Again."

My brows pucker, and it's then that I realize he doesn't hate me saying his name. He likes it. And from the fierce expression on his face, he likes it a lot.

"Fey."

His lips tighten, and I swear if eyes could light someone on fire, I'd be a pile of ashes right now.

He drops his head, his eyes intent on my mouth. Right before his lips meet mine, I turn my head to the side.

Nope. Still not ready to give him that. The act of kissing is far too intimate. He hasn't earned the right to my lips, and I'm not sure he ever will. Not when he's still holding me captive, literally tied to him, and forcing me to stay naked.

Wild Man growls, the sound harsh. I couldn't care less if it angers him. He can go suck a big dick.

It's the same song and dance as the other time he tried kissing me. When he grips my hair and tries to force my head where he can get to my lips, I hold steady, feeling a couple of strands of hair pop from their follicles.

"Mouth," he grunts.

"No."

He drops his head closer and his heated breath fans over my cheek. "Mouth."

"I said no," I reply forcefully.

I feel his glare on the side of my face, and I ignore it.

After a moment, his lips press against my cheek, and I'm once again surprised he doesn't force his kiss on me. I don't know why, but it's like he wants me to give it willingly.

His lips slide to my ear and he pulls the lobe between his teeth. He releases it a second later.

"Your mouth, mine."

He can think my lips are his all he wants, but it doesn't change the fact that I will never willingly kiss him. Not in our current situation anyway.

After his words of possession, he uses his fists against the bed and jackknifes up. My eyes follow his movements as he stalks out of the enclosure. It takes me a few minutes to calm my racing heart. As much as I want to keep from kissing him, a small part of me wonders what it would be like to have his mouth against mine. I don't want that curiosity in my head. It would be so much easier to continue to deny him if it wasn't something I secretly crave.

I push those thoughts away and get up. I expect Wild Man to have left the tree hut, so I'm surprised when I find him near the fire pit. I eye him warily as I make my way over to the water jug. I adjust the rope around my waist when the coarse hairs irritate my skin. I've gotten used to having it around my waist, so for the most part, it doesn't bother me anymore. Is it possible to get calluses around your waist?

I pick up one of the mint leaves from a small stack and wrap it around my pointer finger. Opening my mouth, I gently rub it against my teeth. A few days after Wild Man first took me, he showed me how to use the leaves to clean my teeth. While it's not the same as brushing your teeth, I'll definitely take it over not cleaning them at all.

After I'm done, I take a mouthful of water and swish it around my mouth before spitting it out onto the ground, then swallow another mouthful. My mouth isn't as fresh as if using a toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash, but I'll take it.

Once that's over, I walk over to Wild Man. He waits for me, an expectant look on his face. I flick the rope out of my way and sit on his thigh where he'll hand feed me. He still won't let me feed myself. I feel like a fucking toddler being fed by her parent. But seeing the enjoyment on Wild Man's face, I know how much he likes doing it—and for some asinine reason, I like giving him pleasure. At least in this regard—so I don't complain.

After feeding me several bites of fruit and dried meat, he picks up a piece for himself. Before he can bring it to his mouth, I reach out and snatch the piece of meat from him. I hold it up to his lips. He doesn't immediately open, so I look him in the eye with a raised brow. I watch in amazement when after several seconds, his lips twitch at the corners and amusement enters his eyes.

I don't know why he finds the notion of me feeding him amusing, but I can't think of that right now. All I can focus on is the pleasure lines by his eyes and the way the black orbs seem to sparkle with his amusement. I realize I want to see him laugh. I want to see a grin split across his face.

I give my head a little shake, not wanting, nor needing, those thoughts to fill my head. I push the meat closer to his mouth and he parts his lips. After I drop the food inside, I try to pull my fingers free, but Wild Man grabs my wrist. He holds my fingers in his mouth and swirls his tongue around the tips. Once. Twice. Three times before he lets me slip my fingers out.

My heart thumps in my chest and the muscles in my upper thighs twitch.

Jesus, the way this man can so easily get my motor running is pathetic.

Realizing the mistake I made by offering to feed him, I let my hand fall to my lap. When I don't reach for more of the food, Wild Man's brows pinch together and his arm tightens around my waist.

"More," he grunts.

I let out a small sigh, knowing it's pointless to deny him when he'll just make me do it anyway. I pinch a piece of fruit between my fingers and bring it to his lips. I try my best to not let it affect me, but I can't help the tiny thrill I get when his greedy lips pull it from my fingers, the glow of pleasure in his eyes growing.

This continues, him feeding me and me feeding him, for a while. We both watch the other, our expressions turning more and more heated. When I barely catch myself from squirming on his lap, I know I need a distraction.

"Do you remember your parents?" I ask after I swallow the berry Wild Man just popped into my mouth.

The lustful look in his eyes dims some with my question. He brings his fingers to his lips and licks off the black juice from the berry before he answers.

"Little."

His words are coming easier and less stilted now that I've gotten him to talk more.

"Can you tell me about them?"

He doesn't say anything at first, his eyes appearing unfocused as he looks across the way. I follow his gaze to the pile of random things on the ground. A lot of it is regular things a person might have. A few books, the nudie magazines I came across the other day, some utensils and plastic containers, some small broken down cardboard boxes, an old boombox style radio that probably no longer works, and a few other odds and ends.

I get the feeling that all of it must have belonged to his parents.

"Noeny had long red hair," he says quietly. "She—" he pauses for a moment, as if searching for a word. "—braid it. She like me play with it."

I smile. That must be why he likes touching my hair. His mother liked it, so he figured I would too, which I do. It's relaxing.

"Her eyes blue. She laugh, bright stars in eyes."

A knot forms in my throat at the way he talks about her.

"And your dad?" I ask, having to clear my throat before I speak.

His gaze moves back to me. "He big man. Very strong. Lot of muscles."

He says this with pride.

My eyes move to his chest. The dark hair covering his torso does nothing to hide the muscles beneath it.

"Muscles like you?"

At my question, he does the most normal thing I've seen him do so far. He grunts and rolls his eyes. "Mine bigger." As if to prove his point, he flexes his pecs.

I laugh. "You're such a typical man."

His expression turns serious as he watches my face. When his eyes drop to my mouth, I flatten my lips.

"Tell me more," I request, hoping to distract him. I don't want to fight with him right now, and from the intent look in his eyes, I know he's thinking about the kiss I refuse to give him.

Luckily, he takes the bait.

"Peepa was good mate. He protected Noeny and me all the time. Noeny was good mate too. She made him happy. Sometimes, they would stand with arms around each other and move around."

"Do you mean dance?"

"Dance." He says the word slowly. "Yes. Dance. Sometimes Noeny dance with me."

I move my arm around his shoulder and rest my side against his chest. "That's so sweet."

"Sweet. Noeny very sweet. Peepa said she sweet when he press his mouth to hers."

Despite the sore subject of kissing, I can't help but smile at that.

Wild Man gets really quiet and his arm tightens around my waist. His other hand lifts and his fingers delve through my hair. His palm is so big that the pad of his thumb swipes across my cheek, the tip close to the corner of my mouth. I can't help but stare at him. The way he's looking at me has my core clenching at the same time a knot of dread forms in the pit of my stomach.

"Are you sweet, momor?" he murmurs so quietly that I barely hear him.

There's that word again. Momor. I don't know what it means, but I like the way it sounds coming from his lips.

"I will know your lips," he continues, the tenor in his voice deepening, seducing me. "I will know your taste. You will know my taste." He swipes his thumb across my top lip, then my bottom. "These are mine." His eyes lift to mine, and fuck me sideways and upside down, the possessive look in them is harsher and more demanding than I've ever seen them. "You understand?"

My first reaction is to nod numbly, to agree without question due to the way he's fiercely watching and waiting for my acceptance. Anything to keep that look in his eyes. Like I'm the only thing he'll ever need to keep living.

But that's not what I do. I barely manage to stubbornly hold onto my resolve. I won't change my mind about this, no matter how fucking delicious he looks right now.

I hate that our easy, light-hearted moment is over and is replaced by something so controversial.

I keep my tone light as I lean toward him until only an inch separates our mouths. I pronounce each word slowly. "Fuck. You."

A salacious grin pulls up his lips, and I know he's taken my words for a different meaning than what I intended.

"No. I fuck you. Hard and fast."