Page 43 of The Wild Man

“Will you take this off me?” I ask Wild Man, rolling the rope between my fingers.

He doesn’t say anything at first, but I sense his eyes on the rope.

“No.”

I don’t know what I expected, but his flat out refusal wasn’t it. I thought we had made at least a little bit of progress. You know, with me caring for him while he was practically dying. I could have easily left him while he was unconscious, but I didn’t. I stayed by his side, took care of him, worried for him.

“Why not?” I ask, my tone tight from the anger slowly building in my veins.

“You leave,” he grunts. He slides an immovable arm around my waist. “I not let you.”

I smash my teeth together. There’s no sense in telling him that I won’t leave the first chance I get, because he probably wouldn’t believe me. And leaving is exactly what I plan to do.

I may be softening toward him, and that’s all the more reason to flee when I can. The longer I stay here, the deeper those feelings will root themselves inside me, and the harder it’ll be to leave.

Instead, I repeat what I’ve already told him before and will probably repeat another hundred times. “You can’t keep me forever.”

“Yes,” he answers resolutely. “You stay till I die. Momor is mine.”

I don’t say anything after that, because what’s the point? It’s obvious that when Wild Man comes to a decision, he won’t be swayed from it.

It’s not like the second the rope is off me, I’ll take off. I won’t leave until I know for sure I can get away. I’m just tired of it chafing my skin. But it would be useless to tell him that. Me being uncomfortable doesn’t seem to bother him.

I keep quiet as Wild Man feeds us both the fish he cooked. He refuses to let me feed myself, preferring for me to take it from his hand with my mouth like I’m a toddler.

Whatever.

The water jug is passed to me and after taking a couple swallows, he takes it back, drinking from the same spot.

We sit for a while longer. The fire is far enough away that the heat isn’t too much. The sun is still high in the sky and the birds overhead chirp. Every so often, something rustles in the brush surrounding us, and I jerk my head in the direction it comes from. I think I might have PTSD from the stupid snake.

As angry as I am at his refusal to remove the rope, I’m reluctant to admit, sitting with him like this, even in the silence, is nice.

After a while, though, I become restless, and I start squirming around. I’ve never been the type to sit idly, and that’s all I’ve been forced to do lately.

After adjusting my position for the fifth time, Wild Man grabs my hips and flips me around so I’m on my knees in front of him. I look at him warily. I have no idea what to expect from him because he’s always so unpredictable.

His legs are bent, spread out with me between them. Since he’s not wearing the cloth covering, his dick lies on the ground between his legs. He’s not hard, but he’s not fully soft either. His eyes trace over the features of my face, but then stops when they touch my lips.

He runs one of his hands up my arm and over my shoulder. When it reaches my neck, goosebumps erupt over my skin. His touch is caring and feather light, something a gentle lover would do. It has apprehension replacing the good feeling.

His fingers slide through my hair and he slowly tugs me toward him. With his gaze still pinned on my lips, I know what his intent is. At the last minute, just before his lips touch mine, I turn my head to the side, and they brush against my cheek. His fingers tighten in my hair, and I know he doesn’t like my avoidance.

“Give me mouth,” he growls, the rough sound filling my ear.

I shake my head against his tight grip. “No.”

He growls again, using his grip to try to move my head where he can get to my lips. I hold steady, even when the strands of my hair threaten to snap and the sting of pain brings tears to my eyes.

“Mouth,” he repeats.

I put my hands on his shoulders, digging my nails into his flesh. “No.”

He’s taken everything else from me and is keeping me captive. I will not give him something as intimate as my kiss.

“Female,” he grates.

“No, Wild Man.” I tug against his hold until I’m able to see his face. “You don’t deserve my mouth.”