Chapter 19

Everlee

Isnuggle deeper into the warmth at my back and the arm around my waist tightens, pulling me even closer. The nights are getting cooler, but the blankets that cover us and Wild Man's big body always pressed against mine keeps me nice and toasty.

I slowly blink open my eyes and it takes them a minute to focus. One of my hands rests on the pallet in front of my face, and my gaze snags on the bracelet around my wrist. Wild Man must have made me a new one and slipped it on my wrist last night after I fell asleep.

I'm still wearing the other two he made me. The lavender flowers have long since died, but the handmade bracelets are still just as pretty. This new one doesn't have any flowers, but the vines he used are delicate and fine. The way he intricately wove them together is beautiful.

I roll to my back and turn my head. Wild Man's on his side with his dark gaze on me. I always get caught up in his eyes when he looks at me. They're so dark, I can't tell where the pupil stops and the iris begins.

"Thank you for my new bracelet. It's beautiful."

My gratitude pleases him, if the smile he gives me is any indication. I don't think I'll ever get tired of seeing him smile. Through his thick beard, I notice two dimples.

Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through the coarse hair of his beard. "How do you keep this so short?"

"Scissors."

I roll my eyes, because his answer is obvious. "I know that. I've seen you do it. But how do you know how to do it?"

"Peepa hair on face. Let me cut when got long."

I can just imagine a little Wild Man standing in front of his kneeling father with a big pair of scissors in his little hand. He'd have a look of concentration on his face as he slowly snipped away the hair.

That image has a smile lifting my lips. "I bet your mom enjoyed watching that."

"Yes. She sit and watch with smile like you."

Unbidden, another image forms in my head of another little boy standing in front of Wild Man on his knees. He'd have dark hair like his father. Just as Wild Man trimmed his father's beard, this little boy does the same to Wild Man. Without thought, I place myself in the image standing a few feet away. I'd watch them with a smile, just as his mother did with her husband and son.

I don't like imagining Wild Man in the future with me still with him, but they keep coming more and more. And the kicker is, I'm there willingly, and I'm happy. I can't imagine staying in the wilderness like this. It's uncomfortable during the best of times and utterly horrible and frightening during the worst. The only enjoyment I get out of this situation is being with Wild Man.

His finger tracing the space between my eyes pulls me out of my nonsensical thoughts.

"Why stop smiling?" he asks, a frown forming on his face. "What are you thinking?"

I force the smile back in place. "Nothing important."

He looks like he doesn't believe me, but he lets it go.

He knocks the covers off of us, and I open my legs so he can slide between them. We always have morning sex, so I expected that's what he wanted.

The cool air hits between my legs, and I feel wet. I'm aroused, anticipating what's to come, but it's not the normal wetness. I look down and see red on my thighs.

Horror and embarrassment have my head jerking up to look at Wild Man to see if he noticed. His eyes are on my face and not what's going on down there.

"Off," I say, pushing against his chest.

Of course, he's unmovable.

"What's wrong?"

When he begins to dip his chin, I latch my arms around his shoulders and tug him down. The last thing I want is for him to look down and see all of the blood.

The only reason I'm able to pull him down is because of the surprised movement. He plants his fists on the pallet beside my head and lifts his chest off mine. I don't let him go, so I'm forced up with him.

"Momor?"

"I started my period," I blurt to distract him when he tries to pull away from me again. "I'm bleeding."

His brows slam down and his body jerks back. "Bleeding?"

"Yes." I feel the heat of embarrassment coat my cheeks. "I started my period," I state again. "Most women go through this every month."

I began to worry because my period was late, and I always start on time like clockwork. I've lost track of how long I've been with Wild Man, but I'm positive I should have started my cycle well before now, especially since I haven't been taking my birth control. I was certain the inevitable had happened, and I was carrying Wild Man's child. Now, relief mingles with my embarrassment. Getting pregnant by this man cannot happen.

That thought slides through my head, followed by a little niggle of regret. It's a stupid and irrational thought to have, but I can't help but wonder what a child that we created would look like. It hurts knowing I won't get to see him as a father. There's no doubt in my mind that he would make a wonderful dad.

Wild Man reaches back, unlocks my arms around his neck, and begins to lean back.

"What are you doing?" My voice comes out loud and panicked.

He doesn't answer. He just continues on his merry way and gets to his knees. I try to close my knees to block his view, but his hands land on top of them, stopping me. When I reach for him, frantically grabbing at his hair, arms, anything, to pull him back down, he grabs my hands in one of his big hands and places them down on my stomach, trapping them.

His eyes drop down, and I close mine in mortification. I'm not ashamed of my period. I just don't want Wild Man to see the evidence. I mean, come on, what woman would?

His frown deepens into worry when he sees all of the red on my thighs. "Why do you do this?"

Mortification doesn't even begin to describe what I'm feeling right now, but I push the feeling away. I can't imagine what he must be thinking. He was too young when he was left alone to understand the workings of a woman's body. Blood usually indicates an injury, so for him to see so much without me withering in pain must confound him.

"It's part of the cycle of life for women," I tell him, his rapt gaze still locked between my legs.

How embarrassing!

"Women have something in their stomach called a uterus. During the month, if the woman doesn't get pregnant, the lining of the uterus sheds away, which is what's called a menstrual cycle. That's the blood."

His eyes lift to mine, and I can see them working as he absorbs what I've just told him.

After a moment, he asks, "So if woman sheds blood, she doesn't have baby in belly?"

"Usually."

His brows slant down as if he doesn't like my answer.

"Wild Man?—"

My words are cut off when Wild Man suddenly grabs my hips and pulls me downward. My ass is pulled up so it lays on his thighs. I know the look in his eyes, and his intent, before he even spreads my legs so they wrap around his waist.

"Oh, no." I try to slap his hands away. "We are not doing this right now."

I know some people are into having sex while the woman is on her period, but I am not one of them. Even the thought of it has my stomach churning with revulsion.

Wild Man stops my attempts to shove him away by grabbing both of my hands and clamping them together into one of his big ones. He presses them down on my stomach, his dark gaze meeting my frantic ones.

"Stop, momor," he grates, his voice dropping several octaves.

Against my better judgment, I do stop, but I look up at him pleadingly. "Please. I don't want to do this."

After the first few failed attempts, I stopped fighting Wild Man when he wanted to have sex. It took me a while to admit it, but I enjoy the way he makes my body feel. But this is different. I'm on my period for fuck's sake.

"Why?" he asks with genuine curiosity.

How could he not know? Even with his lack of knowledge of such things, how could he possibly think I would be okay having sex while bleeding between my legs?

"Because it's—" I can't think of the appropriate word to voice my thoughts, so I go with, "—dirty."

His expression doesn't change, but his eyes darken. "Dirty sex." The hand not holding mine in place moves up the inside of my thigh and my legs stiffen. "Sounds like fucking."

"It's not the same."

I try to worm my hips off his thighs, but his hold doesn't allow me to go anywhere.

"Not the same," he says huskily. "But can feel good like fucking."

His hand travels further upward, moving over the wetness covering my thighs. I swallow the lump that's formed in my throat.

How could he be turned on right now? More importantly, how is it possible that his hand getting closer and closer to my pussy is turning me on right now?

I try again to tug my hands from his grip. In return, he tugs on my wrists until I'm scooted further up his thighs.

"No! Stop, Wild Man!"

"I feel your heart beat here." He squeezes my wrists to show he's talking about my pulse. "You like this."

I shake my head. "No!"

I jolt when his finger grazes over the lips of my pussy, and I can't tell if it's more from mortification or desire. My head swims with so many emotions. I want to demand he stop, at the same time I want to beg him to touch me harder. I feel disgust at myself at the same time I feel my skin heat sensually.

His finger slips between my folds before he skims them up and over my clit. My back bows and a little whimper slips out of my mouth.

Later. Later I'll let the reality of what we're doing have the light of day. Right now, I just want more of what he's doing.

He dips his finger back down to my hole, and I ignore the fact that he's wetting the digit with more than just my arousal. Two fingers go in while his thumb presses against my clit. I bite my tongue to keep from crying out, but a low moan still manages to escape. My eyes close in blissful delight.

He fucks me slowly with his fingers for several long agonizing moments. I need more. I need to be stuffed full of him. My period is now the last thing on my mind.

When his fingers leave me, my lids snap open. It's on the tip of my tongue to beg him to put them back. My hands are now free, so I reach for his wrist.

I pause when he lifts my hips and grabs the base of his cock. He stares down at me, his expression full of dark desire, as he lines himself up to my opening.

"My momor doesn't carry my baby in her belly," he grates between clenched teeth. "I will fuck her till she does."

The last word has just left his lips when he's forcefully pulling my hips down at the same time he surges forward.

The pain is sharp, but it's mixed in with a delicious pleasure I know I'll never get with anyone else.

I've barely had time to recover from his first brutal thrust before he's pulling out and slamming back inside. I throw my arms over my head, grabbing the cloth in a tight grip, and arch my back.

"Oh God, Fey! Yes!"

Several more thrusts follow, his grunts filling the space around us with each one. His fingers wrap around my waist, and I'm hoisted up so I'm straddling him with our chests pressed together. He grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back. His black eyes filled with heat stare down at me.

"Ride, momor," he growls. "Fuck my pussy with my cock."

My walls clamp down on him as the filthy words leave his mouth. I love when he talks like this to me. And what's even hotter is when he calls my pussy his. Because it is. It has been since nearly the beginning.

I dig my nails into his shoulders for leverage and angle my hips upward, sliding off his shaft. With only the head left inside, I let myself fall back down on him. He hisses out a breath while a low moan leaves my lips. I move up again and repeat the movement, going faster with each stroke.

"More. Harder," he grunts. One palm moves to my butt where he grabs a cheek. His other wraps around my throat, squeezing hard enough to nearly block my air. "This is your cock." He emphasizes his point by pulling me up and yanking me back down. "Take like you own. Your cock, momor."

I don't know where it comes from, but the need overwhelms me, and I couldn't ignore it even if I wanted to.

I slide my fingers through his hair, fisting the thick strands and pull his head back like he's done to me so many times. I stare down at him, letting him see the truth in my next words.

My voice doesn't sound like my own when I say, "It is my cock, Wild Man." I grind down on him, smashing my clit against his pubic bone and hitting a spot inside that nearly leaves me dizzy. "Mine. Only evermine."

I don't realize how true those words are until I say them aloud. Just the mere thought of someone else touching Wild Man or his hands on another has an anger growing so hot inside me it scorches the sides of my brain. I've never been the possessive type, but this man brings it out in me. I feel just as crazed about him as he does about me.

His eyes move down to my lips, and for a brief moment, I wonder if he's going to try and kiss me again. The thing is, I'm not sure I have it in me to stop him this time. Each time he tries, it gets harder and harder to deny him.

One moment I'm sitting on his lap and the next I'm tossed on the bed, flat on my stomach. I haven't had time to register the new position before Wild Man's big body is mounted over mine from head to foot. He doesn't pull me to my knees like I expect. My legs are spread and his cock is spearing my pussy once again. One of his hands sneaks beneath and up my body to wrap his fingers around my throat. His grip is so tight he steals my air. But, God, does it feel good.

He rams his hips forward over and over again, growling and snarling. His head dips and his teeth latch onto his usual spot. I've grown to love the marks he leaves on me. I want him to leave more all over my body.

"My momor," he snarls against my neck.

His pace picks up, his thrusts becoming harsher, like he's trying to insert himself so far inside me that he'll never get free. The whole time, his possessive hand stays around my throat.

I let out a hoarse cry when my orgasm hits. My release spurs his own. He lets out a roar and his hips buck so hard against my ass, I wouldn't be surprised if I have bruises from his hip bones later. More marks for me to admire later.

* * *

Hours later,after another round of sex and after Wild Man took me to the pool of water to wash—because there was blood all over us, something that didn't seem to bother Wild Man in the least, but it sure as shit did me—I'm lying in bed.

The cramps started an hour ago, and they hit with a vengeance. My period has always been light, but I've had bad menstrual cramps since I started my menstrual cycle at twelve years old. They've gotten so bad in the past that my doctor prescribed pain meds. Obviously, I don't have them with me, so dealing with the pain now is not a good time.

Thankfully, after explaining in more detail to Wild Man that I'll be bleeding for a few days and demanding I be allowed something to cover at least my lower half, he found some cloth for me to use. My top half is still bare, but at least I have something for my bottom half to staunch the flow of blood.

I'm curled on my side with my hand pressed against my stomach when Wild Man walks into the bed area. He carries a bowl and a jug of water. When he sees my huddled form, a slight frown appears between his eyes.

When I told him I was lying down earlier, I didn't tell him why, only that I was tired. It was the truth. The pain hadn't hit yet, but I knew it was coming.

He stops near my head and drops to his knees, setting the bowl and jug beside him.

"What's wrong? Do you hurt?"

His concern touches a place near my heart. I reach out and grab his hand, thankful the cramps have resided for the moment.

"Cramps," I say.

"Cramps?"

"A pain in my stomach. A lot of women have them with their period. It's normal."

He scowls. "I don't like it."

A light laugh leaves me. "I don't either."

"I brought food and water."

At the mention of food, my stomach growls.

I smile at Wild Man. "Good call. Thank you."

When I place my hands behind me to sit up, he stops me. "Stay."

His hand dips in the bowl, and I open my mouth for him to slip the small piece of fresh fruit in my mouth. The juicy flavor has my mouth watering for more. We're quiet as he continues to feed me.

I've just taken a sip of water when I feel a cramp starting. I grimace in pain when my lower stomach tightens.

I feel Wild Man's eyes on me as I take in a slow breath and let it out through my lips. I'm panting like I'm in fucking labor.

"What you need?" he asks, his voice gruff.

I slide my hand down to my lower stomach and my fingers get caught on the rope. Frustration has my teeth gritting.

"Take this fucking rope off me!" My voice comes out louder than I intended, but I don't apologize. I am so tired of feeling it around my waist, like I'm an animal that needs to be leashed.

I expect Wild Man to deny my demand or at the very least ignore it, so I'm surprised that after a moment of hesitation, he begins to work on the knots.

I'm lying here with my mouth hanging open, staring at his hands when the rope falls away and he tosses it near the entrance.

A huge weight lifts off my shoulders and it feels like I've shed a hundred pounds.

Does this mean he trusts me to not run away? The more pressing question is, will I try to run away if given the chance?

Of course, this could only be a temporary reprieve. For all I know, he plans to put it back once the pain is gone. Only time will tell.

Another cramp begins, but I ignore the pain and grab his hand, bringing it to my cheek. "Thank you."

He doesn't say anything to my gratitude, but simply gives a jerky nod. "Do more?"

I shake my head, wishing there was, but unless he can make my pain meds magically appear, I'm going to have to suffer for the next few hours. Luckily, I typically only have cramps for several hours each cycle.

"Roll over," he says, setting the bowl and jug on the floor.

Once I'm facing away from him, I feel his warm body move so he's pressed against my back. His arm comes around my body, the weight settling on my hip so it's not pressing on any squishy parts of me that might cause discomfort. His big hand presses against my lower stomach, moving in slow, soothing circles.

The hair on his face gets caught in my hair, so he uses his chin to push it off my shoulders. He presses a light kiss against my neck. It's not a sexual kiss, more like a calming gesture.

I snuggle into his chest, the muscles in my stomach finally relaxing.

Who knew being wrapped in the warmth of a man's arms and having him lightly rub your stomach could be so effective.