Page 48 of The Wild Man

As I squat with my ass inches from the ground, I try my best to ignore the man in front of me as he aims his pee stream to splash over mine.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been with Wild Man, but it has to be at least a few weeks. In all that time, I’m still not used to him doing this. It kind of freaks me out every time he does it, but it’s also—and I’ll carry this to my grave before I admit it out loud—kind of a turn on. I am in no way shape or form into the whole watersports kink—not dissing those who are, to each their own—so it’s not like I want him to urinate on me. It’s the reason why he does it that does shit to my body.

At least Wild Man affords me more privacy when I have to go number two. Of course, I gave him no choice in the matter the few times I had to go. There was no way I was shitting in front of him.

I stay squatted for several more seconds to let myself drip dry. Toilet paper is a luxury I’ll never take for granted again when I get out of this place.

If I ever do, my mind adds.

Wild Man’s expression is blank, but his eyes are watchful of our surroundings when I get up. It’s like he’s keeping an eye out for any predators.

“Why do you do that?” I ask.

He directs his gaze at me. “What?”

I throw my finger to the spot we just peed.

“To cover scent,” he replies, giving me the answer I assumed. See? Who wouldn’t shiver at such protectiveness? I bet you just did. “To keep others away,” he adds.

He turns, keeping his eyes on me until I fall into step beside him.

“What others?”

“Creatures.”

“So, not people then? Just animals?”

He looks at me, his eyes flinty. “People too.”

I stay quiet for a moment. Wild Man’s steps are silent. Mine, not so much. I still haven’t perfected the art of walking light-footed.

“You do realize that masking my scent won’t work on people, right? It doesn’t work that way with humans.”

Surely he has to know that. People don’t have super sniffer noses like animals do.

Wild Man abruptly stops and faces me. “I keep people away. I protect.”

I take a step back from him at the look that enters his eyes. It’s a hard look. One that shows just how dangerous he can be if he or something that belongs to him is threatened.

I don’t reply, and he doesn’t wait for me to, before he turns around and resumes walking. I wait for him to take a couple of steps before I follow him.

We just left the waterfall. One good thing about Wild Man? He likes to bathe a lot. I’m a shower every day type of girl, sometimes twice, so my little heart is happy that he bathes every day as well.

Instead of leading me back to his tree hut, we head in a different direction, one we’ve never taken before. The growth gets denser and denser, which makes it harder to avoid stepping on pointy things. My feet have toughened up, but it still hurts like hell when I step on a hidden pine cone.

“Ow,” I mutter, glaring down at the prickly thing.

I lift my foot, seeing the little indents through the dirt. So much for taking a bath and having clean feet.

Wild Man stops and glances at me over his shoulder. When he sees my lifted foot, he walks back to me. He bends and scoops me up like a husband would his new bride. I always found the gesture romantic and swoon-worthy when a man does that to his woman.

I would have never pegged Wild Man as the romantic type, but in many ways, he is. It’s just his type of romance is more raw, rougher.

I wrap my arm around his shoulders and lay my head on his chest, my face close to his throat. I take a deep breath and his earthy musky scent fills my senses.

“Thank you,” I say and lay a kiss against his neck.

“Foot hurt?” he asks.