Chapter 7

Everlee

Hours of doing nothing as I sit on my burlap sack and watch Wild Man piddle around is driving me fucking crazy. I've tried talking to him a few times, but all I get in response is nothing or a stupid grunt.

Earlier, he brought me the water jug and a few dried pieces of meat. When I asked him if I could have my cloth back, he ignored the request and continued skinning a squirrel. A fucking squirrel. It made the meat I ate earlier sour in my stomach.

I'm currently sitting with my legs out in front of me, my ankles crossed together. I've lost all modesty. Being forcefully taken by a man then sitting naked in front of him all day does that to a woman.

I haven't been sitting idle though. I've been slowly, and discreetly, trying to work at the knots on the rope. So far, the dumb thing hasn't budged. I'll eventually get it though. It's only a matter of time. Then a new worry will follow. How in the hell I'm going to get away.

Sweat trickles between my breasts and the grit of dirt abrades my skin anytime I move. I hate being dirty. Especially my hands and feet. It's a pet peeve I have. Even the slightest bit of dirt on my hands or feet has me rushing to the bathroom to clean them. I've been this way since I became an adult. You'd think it strange since I spent a good portion of my childhood outside.

I abandon the rope when I notice dirt beneath my nails. I use my thumb nail to try to scrape it out, but I can't get all the flecks. My eyes slide past my hands and land on my feet. My toenails are worse. I even have dirt between my toes.

At least I'm sitting on a burlap sack, so I don't have to worry about dirt getting in my buttcrack or coochie.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when a shadow looms over me. I didn't even notice Wild Man get up from his spot. That goes to show how much I detest dirty hands and feet.

I say nothing as he stares down at me. If he wants to play the silent game, so can I.

The staring contest only lasts for a few seconds before he's reaching down and grabbing my wrist. He pulls me up from the ground so fast that I slam against his chest. My hands land on the hard plains of his abs. If this were any other guy and any other situation, I may have curled my fingertips against those firm muscles, because let's face it, he has a killer body. You'd have to be blind to not appreciate the dips and valleys.

But this is Wild Man and he's holding me against my will, so I push against those delicious muscles and take a step away from him. I tilt my head, way back because he's so tall, waiting to see what his next move is. His long, thick hair falls over his shoulders, a few strands getting stuck in his beard. The black in his eyes as he looks at me seems bottomless and it makes me wonder what he's thinking. What he's been thinking since he brought me here. What made him decide he wanted to keep me? What is it about me that makes him think I'm his? Is it really me, or would he have felt this way about any female?

I tense, preparing to attack when he lifts a hand toward me. But instead of grabbing me and doing whatever the hell he wants, he takes hold of the rope. At first I think he's going to use it to drag me somewhere, so I'm surprised when he actually starts working on the knot.

Is he letting me go? Hope flutters in my stomach at the thought.

Once the rope is untied, he drops it to the ground. His brows fall into a frown when he notices the red marks around my waist from where the rope rubbed against me. His fingers are surprisingly gentle when he slides them over the spot. I would have never thought the man was capable of being any type of soft.

Then suddenly, he grabs my upper arm and bends at the waist. The breath whooshes out of me, and I let out a squeak when he rams his shoulder into my stomach. In the next second, I'm up in the air, dangling upside down. The move leaves me speechless. For all of two seconds.

"Put me down, you brute!" I pound my fists anywhere they can reach. His back, the too firm globes of his ass, his thighs. My hits are like feather-light taps, for all the good they do me. "Hey, asshole!"

A loud smack fills the air, followed quickly by the sharp sting on my butt. The motherfucker spanked me again.

I turn stiff as a board, clenching my buttcheeks, in case he delivers another one. I wait a few seconds, and when he doesn't slap me again, I slowly relax and just hang there. Over the last twenty-hours, I've learned the sooner I stop fighting him, the sooner he quits whatever he's doing. No matter what I do, he wants me over his shoulder—presumably to cart me somewhere—so I may as well just suck it up and let him take me wherever he wants.

My arms hang down, and I remain pliant. I expect Wild Man to stomp through the dense forest, jostling me to and fro, but surprisingly, his steps are fluid and graceful. I barely feel them.

I turn my head left and right, taking mental notes of anything I can use as markers when I finally manage to escape. And I will escape. I refuse to believe anything otherwise. Wild Man will make a mistake sometime or another, and I'll be ready to take advantage.

I don't know how long Wild Man carries me. A slow pounding starts in my head where all the blood has rushed to it. I can imagine how red my face must be.

After a few minutes, I hear the splash of water. Wild Man flips me over to my feet, and I look around. We're in the same spot as when I first found him. The little waterfall oasis. It really is pretty out here. Even prettier being this close.

The crystal clear water looks refreshing, and my dirty hands and feet beg me to dive in.

I turn and look at Wild Man and find him naked with his loincloth tossed on the ground behind him.

I take a step back. He takes one forward, a look forming in his eyes that I don't like. I take two more steps, wincing when something sharp presses against the sole of my foot. I ignore the pain. I don't have time to think about it because Wild Man keeps stalking toward me.

A few more steps, and I feel the cool water on my feet. It feels so damn good that I almost forget the precarious situation I'm in.

Keeping my eyes on Wild Man, I continue moving backward. He matches each step I take, but his are longer, so he's easily closing the distance between us. Why he's not rushing me, I'm not sure, but I'm prepared for it. I don't look down, but I can see in my peripheral vision that he's hard.

The water laps at my knees. It's cool and feels wonderful against my heated flesh. It irritates me because I can't enjoy it more with the crazed man in front of me.

When the water reaches my hips, Wild Man makes his move. Before I can register what he's doing, he eats up the space between us until he's practically in my face. I try to move backward, but he stops me with his fingers wrapped around my throat. This time, I don't fight him. It's useless anyway.

He lifts his other hand and puts it on my shoulder. It's then I realize he's holding something. It's the same kind of leaf he used when I watched him bathe.

"Wash," he grunts in his deep voice. Slowly, he slides the leaf from my shoulder down my arm.

He wants to… bathe me?

For some reason, the notion of him cleaning me isn't as abhorrent as it should be. I tell myself it's only because I'm desperate to feel clean again, but a little niggle in the back of my head—something that I refuse to acknowledge—says it's more than that.

I stand still and watch him curiously as he runs the leaf down to my fingertips. I flip my hand over and he washes my palm. I don't know what kind of leaf he's using, but it leaves a sudsy film behind. I rub my fingers together and they feel slick.

He moves the leaf up my forearm and all the way back to my shoulder. Then he rubs it over my collarbone. The leaf is gently abrasive. It kind of feels like those bath gloves people use for exfoliating.

His fingers release my neck and he works the leaf over my other collarbone to my other shoulder. Down my arm he goes, and I again flip up my palm.

We keep our eyes on each other while he does this. I don't know what his thoughts are, but mine are all over the place. Thinking about things I don't want to think about. Stuff that should never even cross my mind, given what Wild Man has done to me.

With his free hand, he cups some water and dribbles it on my shoulder then runs his bare hand down my arm. He does the same to the other side.

He washes my neck and starts moving the leaf down my chest between my breasts. My muscles stiffen and my knees lock into place when he moves it to the top of my right boob. A curious note enters his eyes and he tilts his head to the side as he moves down the slope and over my nipple.

I press my lips into a firm line, fighting back the need to tell him to stop. I tell myself that I do want him to stop, and the reason I keep quiet is only because it would be useless. It's not like he would listen anyway. It's certainly not because what he's doing actually feels good.

Liar, liar, Ever.

I shake my head and ignore the taunting voice.

Using the leaf, Wild Man slides it down my breast until he reaches the underside. He cups my flesh and uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch my nipple.

I bite the inside of my cheek, willing away the unwanted feelings he's slowly evoking in me.

This has turned into more than bathing. I still don't try to stop him though. Again, there's no sense in even trying. Wild Man will do whatever he wants.

I drop my eyes from his, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Not with the way he's watching me, like he's waiting to see what I'll do, how I'll react to his ministrations.

He moves to my other breast and gives it the same treatment. My toes curl into the soft sandy ground, and I ball my hands into fists.

Disgust sours my stomach at my body's betrayal. How can I find anything this man does to me even remotely pleasurable? He's done nothing so far to constitute such a reaction from me.

My eyes focus on the tanned skin of his chest. He has coarse hair over his pecs, but not much. It thickens slightly further down his stomach, leading to his happy trail. I've never understood the term ‘happy trail' more than I do right now. From the thing that's bobbing out of the water, a part of Wild Man is very happy. Not to mention that ordinarily, that thing could make a woman very happy.

It's only brought me pain so far.

My eyes jerk up when Wild Man moves the leaf slowly down my stomach, on a path to parts of me that I don't want him to touch. I clench my stomach muscles and my hand darts out to grab his wrist. The muscles in his jaw bunch as he grinds his teeth. I can see the determination in his eyes to continue, but he surprises me by dropping his hand.

He latches them around my waist and spins me around so my back is facing him. Part of me likes this position better because it means I can't get lost in his black eyes. But it also spikes up my anxiety because I won't know what's coming.

I suck in a startled breath when Wild Man sets his hand on the center of my back right below my neck. The slightly rough texture tells me he's still using the leaf. With leisurely movements, he washes my back, going from one shoulder blade to the other and sliding the leaf down my spine. I close my eyes, and let myself, just for a moment, imagine that I'm somewhere else and enjoy the feeling of being taken care of.

His ministrations are unhurried, as if he's getting just as much enjoyment as I am.

My eyes flutter open when he reaches my lower back. He stops just above my butt, then cups more water and lets it rain down my back. I feel the trickles of water run down the crease of my ass.

I'm turned around and my eyes drop when Wild Man holds out the leaf.

He thumps his closed fist against his chest and grunts. "Me."

Seeing no way around it, I tentatively take the leaf, understanding what he wants. It's my turn to bathe him now. I don't know why, but the idea of me washing him is more daunting than him washing me.

I swallow the saliva that's gathered in my mouth and drag my eyes up to his to find him watching me with a look of eagerness.

Licking my lips then rubbing them together, I place the leaf on his shoulder. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts enough to glide my hand down his arm. It's no surprise the man is so darkly tanned and has the muscles he's built over the years, but it's a whole new experience feeling those muscles beneath my hands. Even through the leaf, I feel every single hard ridge.

It makes me wonder how they would feel if there was no leaf in the way.

Again, I shove those thoughts out of my head.

I move the leaf to his other arm. I feel his eyes on me, but I don't look up. I'm not sure what I'll do if I see the look in his eyes. I know he's enjoying my hands on him, but I don't want to see the proof. It's already hard enough ignoring the huge dick that's bobbing in the water.

When I finish with his arm, I follow the same path he took with me. I start at his collarbones and slowly move the leaf across the hollow of his throat then down the firm planes of his stomach. My gaze gets caught on two marks beside his belly button. They're scars, about an inch apart and each about three inches in length. They look like slash marks. Like maybe an animal attack. They're old and faded, which makes me believe whatever happened was years ago.

I want to ask him about them, but hold back the words. I came here to learn about the mysterious Wild Man, but this trip has turned into so much more. I worry that if I hear any of the horrors this man must have endured, it may lessen the hatred I've formed for him. I need to hold on to that hatred, keep it strong, because he doesn't deserve anything softer than that.

I steer clear of the appendage popping out of the water as I finish washing his stomach. No prompt is needed once I'm done. He turns around and gives me his back. Doing this side of him is a little easier. I don't have to worry about his eyes on me, and while the backside of him is no less appealing, it's not quite as distracting.

His hair, thicker and softer than I realized now that I've touched it, goes almost to the middle of his back. I brush the strands out of my way. Starting at his shoulders, I work my way across both. With his eyes not on me, I selfishly enjoy looking at him. His shoulders are wide and his trap muscles are deliciously defined. I run the leaf over them, and a stupid part of me wishes I could feel them beneath my bare hands.

I move to the center of his back between his shoulder blades. When I reach his lats, they feel tense, as if he's holding his body stiff. The urge to massage those muscles to loosen them hits me all of a sudden, but I ignore it.

I reach his waist, and I quickly move the leaf across his skin. I don't want to linger too long in this area because it's way too close to his tanned ass.

Thankfully, as soon as I'm done and I take the leaf away, Wild Man spins back around. My eyes spring up to his before they can latch onto his cock. I hold the leaf out to him and he takes it.

My hair isn't wet, so I take a step back to dunk myself, but before I get the chance to, Wild Man grabs me by the waist and pulls me toward him until our chests are pressed together. I tell myself the feeling of our skin touching, of my breasts smashed against his firm chest, my nipples scraping against the coarse hairs on his pecs, isn't arousing. I tell myself that, knowing deep down inside this isn't the first lie I've told myself in the last ten minutes.

My hands latch onto his shoulders, whether to push him away or to simply hold onto him, I'm not sure.

"Legs."

I know what he wants and before my brain can compute my actions, I wrap my legs around his waist. It's a mistake that I should have foreseen. I'm an idiot for not thinking before acting.

The length of his cock wedges itself perfectly between the lips of my pussy. Sensations that could lead to stupid things if I let them smack me right between my legs.

I wiggle my hips, unhooking my legs, and push against his shoulders. "Put me down," I say with no small amount of panic filling my voice. I can't afford to let anything he does to me feel the smallest bit of good.

My movements become frantic, and I don't even care that I'm wasting my time. I shove and dig my nails into his shoulders, trying my best to jerk my hips away from him. To get his dick away from me.

He puts both hands on my butt, pulls me snug against him, and the next thing I know, Wild Man submerges us both in the water, holding us beneath the surface for several seconds. The water is so clear that I can clearly see his face. Little bubbles form and pop out of his nostrils and his long hair floats around him. I'm still wrapped around him, but I've stopped my struggles.

When he brings us to the surface, I suck in several deep breaths. I open my mouth to tell him exactly how I feel about his stupid maneuver, but I snap it shut when he starts swimming further out into the water. He's heading toward the waterfall and a giddy sort of excitement makes my belly squirm. I've always wanted to play in a waterfall.

Before we reach it though, Wild Man veers to the right and stops us at a couple of rocks jutting out of the water. One rock sits lower than the other. There must be more rocks underneath the surface or it's not as deep, because he lifts us both and sets me down on the lower rock. He moves back, and my shoulders relax when our bodies separate, giving me the relief of no longer having his dick pressed against me.

I try to close my legs, but Wild Man stops me by putting his hands on my knees. "Stay," he says. His voice is low and rough as his eyes stay locked between my legs.

A warm blush coats my cheeks. I want to argue, but I press my lips together to hold the words in.

He holds the leaf out to me. "Bathe."

I don't take it at first. I sit stubbornly on the rock, my back ramrod straight and my hands balled into fists on my thighs. It takes him a moment to realize this and when he does, his eyes slowly lift to mine. I swear every inch his eyes touch, is like a caress to my skin. I don't like the feeling.

When his gaze finally meets mine and he sees the determination in my expression, the pulse in his temple begins to pound. I can literally see the vibration of that pulse.

He takes my hand in one of his big ones and uses the other to uncurl my fingers. He slaps the leaf in my palm, leans over me, and issues with a low growl, "Bathe me."

I'm tempted to rip up the stupid leaf and throw it in his face for good measure. But I haven't reached that level of tantrum yet. Besides, he'll just get another one.

I let out a huff of hot air through my nose and grit out, "Fine."

Seeming satisfied with my capitulation, he leans back. I drop my gaze and come face to face with his groin. Our positions puts my head even with his waist, and of course, he's still hard, so his dick juts out at me.

I've already washed him from the waist up, so what's left is right in front of me. There are his legs too, but something tells me it's not those body parts he wants me to concentrate on.

The hand holding the leaf shakes. I'm nervous for some reason. I've seen plenty of dicks in my lifetime, but the one in front of me has been used against me. Half of my brain urges me to grab it and yank the fuck out of it until it detaches from the owner's body. That's one way to incapacitate Wild Man so I can get away.

The other half—the dirty devil on my shoulder—is curious and wonders if Wild Man's cock is as smooth as it looks. Each time I see it, it astounds me that it actually fits inside my body. It's not only long, but thick. It's a wonder he didn't do permanent damage to my insides. Bluish, prominent veins run the length of it and the head is an angry deep shade of red. A patch of dark hair surrounds the root and the two balls below it hang low. My eyes zero in on the clear drop of liquid that clings to the slit.

A guttural groan has my eyes jerking up. A lump lodges itself in my throat when I see the desirous look in Wild Man's eyes.

Clearing my throat and getting back to the task at hand, I don't touch the dangerous thing nearly slapping me in my face like I know he wants me to. I lean to the side away from it and press the leaf to the top of his thigh, methodically rubbing it down his leg. The hair on his legs is thick and dark, matching the hair on the rest of his body.

On the outside of his thigh, I come across another scar. This one is two small round holes about an inch apart.

I force my eyes to not focus on the two puncture wounds, even though my curiosity is more than piqued. What kind of snake bit him? How old was he when it happened?

I shove those questions out of my head. They won't help me escape. If anything, they'll hinder me.

I make sure to wash the rest of him slowly, because I know once I'm done with his legs, Wild Man will give me no choice but to move on to his dick. I wash his feet too, even between his toes, just to give myself more time.

All too soon, I'm finished. I lean up and tilt my head back. Wild Man looks at me expectantly, and I grit my teeth.

My eyes drop to his cock just as it bounces in the air between us. Like it has a mind of its own and it's waving to get my attention. I know if I don't do this on my own, he'll just force me to do it anyway.

So I wrap the leaf and my fingers around it, intending to get this over with as soon as possible. At least I'll have the leaf as a barrier.

But the moment I touch him, Wild Man darts his hand out and grabs my wrist. I release him and he takes the leaf from my hand, dropping it on the rock beside me. Then he puts my hand back on him.

A swarm of butterflies form in my belly at my first real touch of him. He's much smoother than I thought he would be. And dear God, he's so damn hard it's like touching titanium.

A hissed breath blows out between his stiff lips.

Without being ordered to, I slowly glide my hand down his shaft all the way to the root. He's so big, I can't wrap my fingers all the way around him.

I slide my hand back and by the time I reach the tip, a small bead of precum has formed on the slit.

Unconsciously, I imagine myself leaning forward with my tongue sticking out to catch the drop before it falls away.

Sometimes, my mind is stupid and likes to think about things that it shouldn't be thinking about. Like willingly taking this man's cock in my mouth. I must be certifiably insane for the thought to even cross my mind.

I don't know exactly what Wild Man expects of me, so I twist my wrist and do my best to make him feel good, even though good is the last thing I want him to feel. He doesn't deserve to feel good. But the sooner I make him come, the sooner this will be over.

More precum leaks from the tip and it drips down my hand. To hopefully speed things up, I reach up with my free hand and grab his balls, gently rolling them around.

I don't look at his face as I work his cock and balls, but I don't look at said body parts either. I can't. I'm afraid if I do, they'll catch too much of my attention. It's already hard enough trying to ignore the small grunts of pleasure I hear coming from him. Instead, I stare at his belly button. It's an innie and it's surrounded by dark, coarse hair.

I'm so focused on that part of his body, that I startle when my head is suddenly jerked back. The hair on the back of my head nearly snaps at the harsh way he's fisting the strands. His eyes bore down on me and his nostrils flare with his heavy breathing.

With his head tipped down, his wet hair falls forward, framing his face. I want to reach up, grab a handful, and yank with all my might to see how much he likes having his hair pulled.

I let his dick go when my head was pulled back. Now he has it in his hand and is pointing the tip at my mouth. I press my lips together and shoot him ‘fuck you' vibes with my eyes. One corner of his mouth tips up and it pisses me off even more that he seems to be amused at my refusal. So much so, I barely manage to quell the urge to bite the tip of his dick off. I bet he'd lose that dumb smirk then.

He presses the wet tip to my mouth and coats my lips with his precum. "Open," he orders in a gruff tone.

I smash my lips together harder. Lifting my hands, I set them on his thighs and use my nails as words to tell him he can take his demand and shove it up his ass.

It's like he doesn't even feel them digging into his flesh because he shows no reaction.

After swiping his dick across my lips a few more times, he lets my hair go. I'm so stunned by the move, I just manage to catch myself from tumbling backward off the rock.

This man confuses the fuck out of me. One minute he harshly forces himself on me, demanding I give him exactly what he wants. But in other instances, he stops himself before he goes all the way. Why? Why give in to his urges one moment, then stop himself in the next?

I'm pulled from my thoughts when Wild Man grabs my ankle and lifts my leg. I'm forced to set my hands behind me before I fall over. He sets my foot on his thigh, which puts me in a very uncomfortable position. Uncomfortable because my legs are spread and my pussy is more exposed than before.

I try to pull my foot away, but he just latches onto my ankle with a firmer grip. The muscles in my calf tense, preparing to shove him backward with all my might, but the look in his eyes gives me pause. It's a look of daring, one that says the retribution of such an act would be swift and very unpleasant. Releasing a sigh of resignation, I relax my muscles and let him do whatever he wants.

He grabs the leaf he set away a few minutes ago and places it on my shin, then slowly begins rubbing it in circles. I have to admit, rather reluctantly, it does feel good to have someone bathe me.

He works on my lower leg, including my foot, before he moves to my knee and then my thigh. The closer he gets to the junction of my thighs, the tenser I become. But he stops before he gets there. Setting my foot down, he grabs my other leg and does the same to that one. Again, he stops before he reaches the center between my legs.

He puts that foot on the ground, and I wonder, with no small amount of trepidation, what's going to happen next. I don't have to worry for long. Grabbing my upper arms, he brings me to my feet, which puts me on even ground with him. He spins me around so my back is facing him. Pressing a hand between my shoulder blades, he tries to shove my top half over.

I resist. "What are?—?"

My words are cut off when he applies more pressure to my back and my hands automatically reach out for the rock so I don't land face first against it. I feel the slap of the leaf against my lower back. I'm tempted to try and wiggle away from him, but I know he'll only grab me to keep me in place.

So I drop my head and silently count to ten over and over in my mind.

I'm halfway through my third round when I'm pulled from my numerical thoughts. Wild Man, still using the leaf as his washcloth, moves it down over my right butt cheek. I turn my head to the side and watch him through my peripheral vision. His eyes are laser focused on his task, which happens to be my ass, like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.

He disappears from sight when he squats and moves the leaf down my legs. So far, he's left my private parts alone. I wonder how long my luck will last, or if he has no plans to touch me there.

It's like God has something against me, because as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I feel the slightest of touches on the outside of my pussy. The touch becomes firmer, and it's not coming from a leaf. It's Wild Man's fingers.

He flicks my lower lips before pinching them between his fingers and tugging on them gently. I bite my tongue almost to the point of drawing blood. The muscles in my back go stiff, and I'm just about to stand up to try to get away from him, but he anticipates my move and stops me with a hand on my back.

"Stay."

The way that one word leaves his lips, the deepness in his voice, has me freezing. It sounds sinister, like he's on the verge of something. And it's something I instinctively know I want no part of.

So I stay still. I close my eyes and pray that what comes next will happen fast and it won't cost me more than I've already given.