Page 41 of The Wild Man
He growls, the sound sinister and savage as he stiffens below me. If possible, I feel him grow bigger inside me seconds before the warmth of his seed fills me and he lets out a mighty roar.
* * *
Sometime later, after we’ve settled back down in bed, I lay with my head on Wild Man’s chest. I run my fingers through the hairs over his pecs, my thoughts all over the place. The ends of my hair tickle my shoulder as Wild Man plays with the strands.
I adjust against him, and the scrape of the rope tied around my waist irritates my skin.
It’s a stark reminder of why I’m here, even if my recent actions don’t show it.
I’m here because Wild Man refuses to let me go. I’m here because of his unhinged obsession with me.
It makes me wonder if he would have done the same if another woman had wandered across his path. Is it me that he wants? Or would any female with working feminine parts do?
I feel rage when that thought crosses my mind. I want to take that stick Wild Man used to kill the snake with and jam it through an imaginary female’s neck.
There are so many things wrong with that thought.
My eyes move to Wild Man’s injured arm. It looks no worse for wear after our fucking. I run a fingertip just below one of the puncture wounds. The blisters are gone now and there’s hardly any swelling. It still has a long way to go to fully heal, but it looks tons better than it did.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, breaking up the silence around us.
“No.”
I doubt it really doesn’t hurt, but Wild Man is the typical male and won’t admit to it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it because it might make him sound weak. Or maybe he’s concerned it might worry me.
“Not first time,” he says, his voice hesitant. Unless it’s a one or two word sentence, his words always come out slow and stilted, like he’s making sure he’s using the right ones.
I tip my head down, looking past his, for once, flaccid cock, to the spot on his thigh where there’s another pair of puncture wounds. I trace the small dots with a finger.
“Were your parents alive when it happened?”
“No.”
My throat closes, and I blink back the tears welling in my eyes.
I clear my throat before asking my next question. “Was it the same kind of snake?”
“Yes.”
Jesus. Twice he’s survived a rattlesnake bite. Once when he was all alone with no one to care for him. Obviously, this man has a guardian angel.
I bring my hand back to his chest and run my fingers over the slash marks on his ribs.
“And this?”
“Big cat.”
It takes me a moment to process what he said. Cougars and bobcats are known to be in this area. How in the hell could he have possibly survived an attack like that?
“How did you get away?”
“Big knife. Big cat dinner.”
I don’t know why, but his answer nearly has laughter bubbling out of me. There’s nothing amusing about the situation. It’s actually quite heartbreaking and scary as shit.
“What… fuck mean?”
The sudden change of subject and the question itself throws me for a loop. I tip my head back to look at him and find his steady black gaze on me.