Page 15 of The Wild Man
Another piece is brought to my lips, and this time, I open them. But instead of him pulling his fingers away, he keeps them in my mouth. Just inside, the tips grazing my tongue. Another rumbly growl leaves his throat.
I relax my jaw and let my teeth lightly close against his fingers. I apply light pressure. Not enough to hurt, but the threat is no doubt felt. I should bite his fucking fingers off, but something tells me the consequences would be dire.
Wild Man lifts his onyx gaze to mine and a look of challenge flashes in the dark orbs. The grip he has on my hair flexes tighter, and I feel some of the strands pop. My head is jerked back further, the angle nearly too far.
For a split second, I let my teeth sink deeper into his skin, silently letting him know, he may hurt me, but I can cause pain too.
When I release my teeth from their grip, he doesn’t yank his fingers from my mouth like I expect him to. Rather, he slides them along my tongue to the back of my throat, nearly activating my gag reflex. He slowly pulls them free and releases his grip on my hair. Reaching to his right, he picks up another piece of fruit and brings it to his mouth. He closes his lips around his fingers before he slowly pulls the digit out, tasting not only the fruit, but also me.
He again reaches to his left, but instead of fruit, he holds up the same jug I drank from last night. Knowing it would be foolish to refuse him, I grab the small jug with my free hand and bring it to my lips, once again surprised at the cool freshness of the water.
Wild Man takes the jug from me when I’m finished and does the same thing he did last night. He moves it around so his lips touch the same spot where mine were. He does this while keeping his eyes on me. The hand holding the sheet under my arm tightens.
Once he’s finished drinking, he drops the jug to the ground and it tips sideways, the last of the water leaking out to soak the ground.
The next moment, I’m pulled to my feet and turned to face him. The cloth is ripped from my arms, and I’m left standing in front of him bare-ass naked. All of this is done within seconds, before I’m able to even comprehend what’s happening.
Natural instinct has my hand darting out, balling into a fist to slam against his face. Inches before I’m able to connect with his cheek, my wrist is caught. I try with my other fist, but that wrist is caught too.
I release an unladylike growl and try jerking up my knee. He’s still sitting and I’m standing between his spread legs, so it’s the perfect height to nail him in his nose. But once again, I’m stopped prematurely, this time by his legs closing around my thighs and his hands, which have moved mine behind me to my lower back, yanking me forward. I’m immobilized, and the worst part is, my bare breasts are right in his face. I shoot daggers down at him from my eyes as he looks past my breasts and up at me. His nostrils flare and he looks angry.
Well, boo-fucking-hoo. I’m goddamn livid.
I wiggle and jerk against his hold, which is a mistake because it causes my boobs to bounce in front of him. His eyes drop and zero in on them.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
It might be my imagination, but it looks like he might drool.
His eyes flash to me at my expletive, and I hold completely still, afraid to move.
My spine goes straight when I feel the hand not holding mine touch the outside of one of my legs. It starts below my knee. Slowly, as if gauging my reaction, he moves it upward.
I’m pretty sure my expression must show my distaste but he doesn’t seem to care, because he continues his movement.
When he reaches my upper thigh, his hand veers and his palm comes in contact with my ass. His fingers flex there when I clench my buttcheeks together. A distressed sound leaves my throat, and I shake my head rapidly from side to side, telling him, begging him, without words, that I don’t want this.
His brows drop low, as if my negative reaction confuses him. It doesn’t stop him though. His hand moves from my butt and around to my front. It travels up and up until it stops just below my breasts. He pauses and his eyes jump to mine.
I shake my head again and his look becomes a scowl. The hand holding mine tightens its grip at the same time he pulls me forward.
“No!” I yell, knowing it’s a vain attempt, but refusing to give in without a fight. “Stop!” He easily holds me in place with his arm around my waist as he uses his other hand to settle his long fingers around one of my breasts. He palms it gently at first, the look in his eyes almost reverent. As if he’s fascinated just by the weight of it in his hand.
I refuse to allow that curious look to get to me. I give not one shit that this man may not know any better. That the female body is an anomaly he’s never seen before and the differences between my body and his are fascinating. That, at this moment, he’s exploring something new to him and he enjoys the way it looks and feels.
He may not remember what the word no means, but he has to know from my struggles right now and my fighting him last night that I did not, and still do not, like what he’s doing. Therefore, he should stop.
I wince and break eye contact with him when his gentle grip around my breast flexes and tightens. I look over his head and my eyes immediately fall on the shiny piece of metal I saw earlier. What I thought could possibly be my gun. My shoulders sag with disappointment when I realize it’s not my gun but a stupid utensil. It’s not even a knife or fork—either of which I could have used as a weapon—but a spoon. I could still use it against Wild Man, but it wouldn’t be nearly as effective.
Something rough and prickly grazes the skin of my breast, and I jerk my chin down. A noise, a cross between a strangled cry of surprise and a grunt, leaves my lips. I stare down at Wild Man as he plumps up one breast with his palm and rubs his cheek against the soft skin. He does it again on his other cheek. His nose is next. He runs it over my flesh like he’s smelling me.
Against my legs, I ignore the hardness of his cock as it begins growing behind the cloth covering him.
Because of the stimulation, my nipple has become a hard little point, and of course, this interests Wild Man. Nipples aren’t new to him—he has his own—but a woman’s are different. More sensitive and bigger.
He shows his interest by forcing my body forward at the waist so I’m slightly bent backward. When my nipple brushes against his mouth, his lips fall open and his tongue peeks out. He runs the tip over the tight bud, just barely touching it. I bite my bottom lip until I taste blood.
I watch with mutinous eyes as Wild Man draws more of my nipple into his mouth. He sucks the bud, flicking it this way and that with his hot tongue. I feel the rumble against my skin as he releases a low growl from his throat.