Chapter 9

Everlee

I'm bound again by the stupid fucking rope. I thought I got a reprieve and was able to walk around free when we came back to the tree hut yesterday after our bath and he didn't immediately attach the rope around my waist. My freedom lasted until it was time to go to bed.

I fought and kicked and screamed and even tried to run when he picked up the rope and looked at me with expectation. Like I would willingly go to him and let him tie me up again. He's delusional if he thinks that'll ever happen.

After he secured the rope around my waist, he tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carted me to his bed. He pushed me to my hands and knees and fucked me again. I tried to force myself to not react, but my treacherous body is working against me. My only consolation was I was able to hide my reaction from him. As far as he knows, I hated every minute of his rough fucking.

And I could tell he didn't like that, me not reacting the same way I did at the pool of water. The displeasure on his face was palpable. I wanted to give him the middle finger, but I figured that would come across as childish.

Now I'm lying on the pile of blankets and the warmth at my back indicates that Wild Man is still in bed with me. It's still mostly dark outside. Only a sliver of light peeks through the leafy roof, but it's enough to break up the pitch blackness.

Slowly, so as to hopefully not wake him, I roll to my back and turn my head in his direction. He's on his back with one arm lying above his head. And although the other end of the rope is tied around his wrist, he still grips it tightly in his fist.

His face is turned toward me. There's just enough light that I can make out his features. Long, dark lashes rest against his high cheeks. His thick beard almost looks like it would be soft to the touch. I have to curl my fingers into a fist to keep from reaching out and testing that theory.

Full lips, redder than you'd expect on a man, peeks out from the beard. They're parted, and I hear the soft sound of his breathing. The thought of what kind of kisser he would be filters through my mind. I push it away, but it's replaced by something more dangerous. Like how it would feel to have his lips on other parts of my body.

I close my eyes and shove the dirty devil who conjured those thoughts off my shoulder. She has no place here.

I open them again and take in the rest of his body. His slender neck, wide shoulders, and the dark hair under his arm that looks oddly appealing. Who knew armpit hair could be attractive. The thin blanket is pushed down and barely covers his hips. I narrow my eyes and dip my head for a closer look, then jerk it back when I see the head of his cock poking out of the blanket.

And then it moves and peeks out even further.

I snap my head up to his face, only to find his onyx eyes watching me. Sitting up, I suck in a sharp breath and the air gets lodged into my throat. I brace my arms behind me, ready to scramble backward, but at the last second, I stop. I don't know why. I should be doing everything I can think of to get away from this man. Even just lying there, relaxed and barely awake, he exudes power. A power that scares me shitless and can force me to do whatever he pleases.

We both stay still for several minutes, each watching the other. I'm warily waiting for his next move, and what pisses me off and confuses me is that I don't know if I'm waiting with anticipation or dread.

His hand comes up and his fingers catch around a lock of my hair. He rubs the strands between the pad of his thumb and forefinger. The act seems so inconsequential, something a normal man would do. Certainly not this primitive male.

I don't know how long we stare at each other, but something catches my attention over his shoulder. It's one of the skulls I saw yesterday. A shiver races down my spine at the way its hollow eyes seem to be watching me, as if judging me for something. I felt the same thing yesterday.

Who are they and why does he have them by his bed?

I open my mouth to ask, but snap it shut when Wild Man moves. He lowers the arm that the rope is attached to. Grabbing the loose portion, he begins sliding it through his fingers, gathering the extra. He does this slowly, never removing his eyes from me.

What does he want once he reaches the end of the rope where I'm attached to it?

All too soon, I feel a tug around my waist. I strengthen my stomach muscles, not giving in to the pull he has on me.

He tugs harder, and unless I want the rope to leave hellacious bruises around my waist, I've got no choice but to give in. I brace my hands on his firm chest and the hard muscles under my palms flex. He keeps pulling until I'm hovering over him, our mouths only inches away from each other.

His eyes move to my lips and his tongue darts out and runs along his, leaving a glistening sheen behind. He moves his other hand to the back of my head and slides his fingers through the strands. I want to fight and pull away from him, but I'm oddly caught up in the look in his obsidian gaze as he looks at my mouth.

His grip on my hair tightens and then I'm being tugged down more. I press my lips together when his surprisingly soft ones touch mine. The rough hairs above and below his lips tickles my flesh.

My head is pulled back by my hair an inch. Just enough for him to rumble out, "Open."

I smash my lips together tighter and shake my head.

His eyes narrow. "Open," he growls.

I dig my nails into his pecs, reminding him that there are some things he may be able to force me to do, but kissing isn't one of them. He won't ever get that from me.

The muscle in his jaw tics and his eyes flare with ire, but he doesn't repeat his demand, even though I can tell he wants to.

Yeah, buddy. How does it feel to want something and not get it?

He pulls my head back down, but instead of pressing our lips together again, his tongue darts out and runs along my bottom one. I'm so startled by the move that I almost open my lips to suck in a breath.

I keep my mouth closed as he continues to explore my lips with his tongue in soft licks. He groans a few times and the sound vibrates against me, sending unwanted shockwaves into my stomach. A couple of times I nearly give in, but at the last second I remember why I'm here.

He leaves my mouth and moves his lips down my chin to my neck, nipping and sucking the flesh into his mouth. When he hits the spot that he's bitten and sucked a couple times before, I squeeze my eyes shut. The area is tender to the touch, but he doesn't seem to care, because he latches his lips around it and sucks hard.

A whimper tries to escape my mouth, but I forcefully hold it back.

He lets my flesh go, but then lightly runs his tongue over it, like he's lapping at it to take away the sting of pain. He licks the spot for several moments before he pulls my head back by my hair.

I'm let go, and I scramble back on my ass to the edge of the bed. He doesn't look at me as he slowly gets to his feet. I watch him warily with my arms wrapped around my raised knees. Once he's on his feet, he pulls on the rope, indicating he wants me to come with him. Because I have no choice and I'm still picking my battles, not to mention, my bladder is screaming at me, I get up and walk after him.

He leads me out of the tree hut. I recognize the way he's going and a breath of relief loosens the muscles in my back. A few minutes later, we stop in the same spot we did yesterday. I move before he tells me to, my stomach cramping with the need to pee. It hurts so much that I can't even feel embarrassed that I'm doing it in front of him again. I turn so he has my profile and squat.

Once again, the moment my stream hits the ground, he's in front of me, aiming his to mix with mine.

I've owned dogs before. They do the same shit Wild Man is doing. Marking his territory. I assume other alpha animals do as well. It's fucking weird, but a part of me realizes, for Wild Man at least, it makes sense. He was raised in the wild, so it's logical for him to pick up some animal characteristics.

After we're both done, he turns on his heel and starts walking. I wait until the rope is almost pulled tight before I start following. When we're back in the leafy walls of his home, I come to a stop. I don't know what to do with myself.

My decision is made for me a few minutes later when he yanks on the rope. He's gathered some food and is sitting on the same log as yesterday. When he pulls on the rope again, I reluctantly make my way over to him. His legs are spread wide, his dick swaying, and he indicates for me to sit between them.

As soon as I'm down on my knees with my ass on my heels, he offers me a piece of meat. I try to take it from him, but he shakes his head and grunts, "Open."

With an eye roll, I part my lips and he slips the meat inside, his finger lingering on my bottom lip too long. I chomp on the meat, more hungry than I realized. He gives me two more pieces before he pops one into his mouth.

I lick my lips, the savory flavor of the meat tasting better with each bite.

I keep my hands limp in my lap as I peek up at him through my lashes. "Who do the skulls belong to?" I ask, my voice low.

I don't really expect him to answer, so I'm surprised when he does.

"Noeny and Peepa."

My brows drop at the unusual names.

He holds up a dried piece of fruit, and I automatically open my mouth. It's the same fruit as yesterday.

"Who are they? What happened to them?" I ask after I've swallowed the bite.

"Dead," he answers, his eyes on the bowl as he brushes his fingers over the fruit, flicking several pieces out of the way.

"I know they're dead. How did they die?"

Seeming to find the piece he wants, he holds it up to my lips. It's bigger than all of the other pieces. He takes one of the smaller pieces and pops it in his mouth. He plucks up a piece of meat and offers it to me.

"Bear."

My eyes snap to him. "A bear killed them?"

A grunt is my only reply. He digs through the bowl of meat until he finds the one he wants. My lips are already open waiting for his offer.

I quickly chew and swallow. "Who were they?"

He waits until he drops another piece of meat into my mouth.

"Noeny and Peepa."

"Did you know them?"

He just repeats the names again.

We sit in silence for several moments as he continues to feed me, alternating from the meat to fruit. I eat a few of each before he indulges himself. I've noticed that he always gives me the bigger pieces, leaving the smaller ones for himself. When he holds the water jug to my lips, I greedily take several swallows. Again, he takes his own sip from the same spot my lips touch.

I think of the names he said. I've never heard of such strange names before and they sound made up. I say them over and over in my head.

Noeny and Peepa.

Then something clicks.

Could it be?

"Mommy and Papa," I say out loud, looking up at Wild Man.

A line forms between his eyes. "Mommy and Papa," he says the two names slowly.

I look to the opening where the skulls are then back to him. "Are they your parents? Your Mommy and Papa?"

It takes a minute for him to answer. "Yes."

Having already suspected, it doesn't make his confirmation any less heartbreaking. Now I understand why he has them. It's the only way for him to keep his parents with him so he wasn't alone. How utterly fucking devastating.

A part of me wants to wrap my arms around him. To comfort the little boy who lost his parents at such a young age and was forced to care for himself in the wild. I can't imagine how scared he must have been back then. How much he cried for them. It's a miracle he survived. I knew he had lost his parents—or rather, that's what the rumors say—but to lose them in such a horrific way was probably terrorizing. Was he there when the bear attacked his parents? Did he witness it? He was a child when they died—again, according to rumors—so how did he get away? How did he not become a victim himself?

Despite the direness of my situation, I still want to know the mysteries of his life.

"Did you… see it happen? Were you there when your parents died?"

"Yes."

The corners of my mouth tip down. "How did you manage to get away?"

"Run," he grunts. "Peepa said run. Hide."

My heart breaks for the little boy he was and for the man he is now, because he must still feel the grief over the death of his parents.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I say quietly.

He doesn't acknowledge my sympathy, not that I really expected him to. He may still grieve his parents, but he's understandably built a protective wall around himself. It's what helped him survive so long out here.