Page 23 of Wild Life

Dramatically trying to cover her body from me had been pointless. Her body parts were too obvious to hide behind her slender hands. Plus, I had already seen it all before. To be honest, I liked watching her. Her skin was smooth—pretty. And the way it curved down her neck and over her chest, creating a secretive valley between her two perfect breasts, made something vibrate deep inside me much like when I hunted. My heart rate sped up. My senses sharpened. And whenever she looked at me with those big green eyes, I had to hold myself back from attacking her.

Like when she’d eaten the mangoes I’d picked for her. The mess escaping her lips had excited me. For some strange reason, I had only been able to think of licking the juice off her. I was sure it would’ve tasted better than the actual fruit itself.

Damn it.

I had let myself go there again—down the spiral of thinking of her in ways that didn’t involve sewing her mouth shut. In fact, her lips were very loose in my dark fantasies.

I was losing my mind.

I wished I could go back to the way life was before, when I hadn’t had to deal with her. Except, did I really want that? Could I go back to being alone?

The pile of firewood was victim to my irritation when my foot smashed into it.

Screech Owl and Poaka peered up from their dinner. She certainly wouldn’t be too thrilled when she realized the light-colored meat I’d been feeding her was iguana. Another reason I should speak so I could ruin her peace, as she did mine, with the ingredient list that was her dinner.

I set about my nightly routine, brushing my teeth and washing up quicker than usual. My head needed a break from the wild thoughts that raced through it.

The faint sound of thunder rolled through the air. A storm was coming again. The clouds were thicker this evening and the air more heavy than usual.

Screech Owl had finished her meal and threw the bones into the fire pit before taking her spot in the hammock. Her frame somehow grew more delicate after another round of thunder cracked overhead. She glanced up at the sky, her body shaking like she was cold.

She caught me staring and quickly turned a rosy shade of pink, deeper than the sunburn that had settled into her pale skin. Her cheeks reminded me of two flowers in bloom.

“Storms make me nervous,” she said quietly as she played with her fingers in her lap. “I don’t exactly have a good track record with them.”

She had washed up on the shore soon after the last storm, so that must’ve been what she was referring to.

I motioned to the opened door of the hut. As annoying as I found her, I would always offer for her to sleep inside. Tonight was especially one of those nights where shelter would be needed if rain was on the way. Plus, I knew she hadn’t been sleeping well. This morning, she’d already been awake, with heavy dark circles above her cheeks, when I had stepped outside.

“No, thank you. I’ll sleep out here,” she said, offering me a weak smile. She was upset, but quiet about it. Very unlike her.

I exhaled roughly. If only she would allow me to help her.

Suit yourself.

I extinguished the fire, bathing us in darkness, and Poaka’s hooves trotted on the wood as he took shelter inside.

Thunder rolled again, this time harder and louder. The storm was heading our way. A soft shudder echoed from Maris. I shook my head and stepped through the doorway before I did something rash, like throw her over my shoulder and carry her inside.

I groaned nearly as loud as the bed did when I lay down. Every muscle that worked like a machine all day finally relaxed. I was like a man in his sixties instead of one in the prime of his thirties. I often worried about how I would handle living here when I grew older. Could I continue without help?

Poaka was already fast asleep next to the bed, snoring louder than the thunder outside. He was a deep sleeper, and when he was out like this, nothing could wake him up. Thankfully, I could defend myself if needed because Poaka would’ve made a terrible watch pig.

Rain pelted hard outside, knocking against the wood frame.

The mattress beneath me was old and full of lumps, but it was the only one I had ever come across. My guess was it was a scrap from an old boat, much like most of my finds.

Other than the texture, everything was right about my bed. It was large enough—I’d made sure to build the frame to fit my body. It was cozy with fabrics I had collected over time, connecting them together to make full-length sheets. I had also fashioned a pillow, using discarded clothing as stuffing.

It felttoo right, too comfortable, that it made me uncomfortable.

Clearly, I was still overstimulated from the day. I wasn’t used to having someone around. And though I was separated from her by four walls, I could still feel her nearness. Like she was right by my side—a shadow. It was difficult to ignore her presence.

There was no way she was getting any sleep in the rain. She would be soaked to the bone by now and cold as the water drenched her. Her clothes would be dripping, clinging to her body. Goose bumps would dot her skin.

My dick twitched to life between my legs. It liked the visions my mind had created of her see-through wet shirt.

Touching myself had been more out of necessity than entertainment…untilsheshowed up. According to one of the romance books in my trunk, men often desired to pleasure themselves based on visuals of something erotic, namely a woman. “The breeze gently blew her hair against her chest…” “The woman’s lips were as bright as a ripe cherry…” “Her milky white skin pebbled under his touch…”

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