Page 3 of Trapped for Her Blood
He exhales loudly, almost like a sigh of concession. “Come.”
Grabbing my forearm, he pulls me forward so suddenly I stumble, but I catch my footing and follow behind his vast expanse as he leads me toward the dark corner of the cave. At least I assume there’s a corner back there somewhere, but the light cast from the torch wanes, and there’s nothing ahead of me except his body, barely silhouetted in the darkness.
We turn a corner, the torchlight disappears completely, and I follow him blindly. It’s not like I have any choice and I fight the instinct to tug out of his grip. Where would I run to if I succeeded?
“Where are you taking me?”
He doesn’t answer, just keeps walking, and I stumble along behind him, my frozen feet stinging with each step like I’m walking in shattered glass slippers. Then I hear something new. The sound enters my consciousness so gradually I’m not sure whether or not it’s always been there in the background. A waterfall, or rushing water of some kind.
But I don’t fully trust my senses, and concentrate instead on the soft padding of the man’s footfalls on the rock, and on the occasional growls underlying his exhales.
I know the source ofthosesounds with certainty, just like I know that it’s his hand radiating heat through his tight grip on my forearm. Everything else is a dark mystery.
We turn another bend, and a soft blue light radiates in the distance, outlining his silhouette. As we progress, it seems like the light ahead is growing brighter, making him stand out more clearly, but I’m so cold and scared I can barely see.
Stopping, he drops my arm, and I raise both of mine to cover myself as best I can, shivering, shaking from cold and fatigue. The sound of flowing water is unmistakable now, and the increased moisture and freshness in the air are too, as I begin to trust my senses.
He moves away from me, and I shiver, my head twitching side-to-side as if glancing in different directions might change the reality of not having enough light or energy to fully see.
All I can see with certainty are his eyes, shining gold through the darkness and coming closer again, as his scent and heat also draw near.
“Here.” His voice is low and close, and then something warm falls over my shoulders.
Grabbing whatever he dropped onto me, I realize it’s a wool blanket, or something made of wool, based on the slight itch and wet dog smell of it, and I hug it around me.
The blanket itself is frigid, but I’m instantly warmed, my skin tingling with prickling goose bumps like the cold inside me is fighting its way to escape my body’s surface.
As the warmth takes hold, my surroundings become slightly clearer. It seems we are in a dark cave, with very steep walls that rise high to an arched apex where a pinprick of blue light shines through what must be a very small opening a skyscraper’s distance above us.
The faint light reflects down on the rippling surface of water—a sizable pool of it; it’s hard to make out the edges—and to the far right the light creates sparkles that hint at a sheet of falling water.
Close by, I hear rustling, and then wood snapping, and then what sounds like rock striking rock. What is he doing?
My question is answered as the unmistakable crackle of igniting twigs fills the air, along with the smell of smoke, and soon the man’s crouching shape is outlined by the glow of firelight, as he builds a fire through its delicate early stages.
I haven’t lit a campfire since I lived on the farm, and not once without matches, or some kind of lighter, but I know the overall process, and even though his body is blocking my view, I recognize what he’s doing.
As the firelight grows, my eyes adjust to it, and it’s even harder to make out the far edges of the cave, even as the spaces closer to me become clearer. He placed the tin cup on a rock near the water’s edge and I confirm that I am in fact wrapped in a blanket, red wool, I think, with a thick black stripe, and definitely heavy and warm.
His body, still crouched and silhouetted by the fire, seems more animal than human again, larger than seems possible for a man, and his head turns, highlighting his shoulder-length hair. He’s like a museum diorama of a caveman come to life.
He stands, demonstrating his full height, and the sight steals my breath.
My heart thumps loudly in my chest as he turns toward me, and the fire’s glow highlights the full shape of him, every ridge and plane of his muscular body, not to mention his sizable cock, which swings stiffly as he moves, like it’s partially erect.
“Come.” He gestures for me to move closer, and I do, my muscles tense and stiff, although I have no idea at this point whether that’s because of the cold or my fear.
When I get close, his hands drop onto my shoulders again, their weight pushing down firmly, and even though there’s a wool blanket between our skin, the feeling is charged, and I can’t help but think of his massive partial erection. Terrifying.
The heat from the fire is starting to thaw my cold body, and I push down my terror. I’m so grateful for what he’s done for me. Is sex the cost of his protection?
If so, should I pay up? Assuming I get a choice.
In spite of that thought and his intimidating form, I lean into his firm hands, letting him support me, and his earthy scent fills my head.
I register now that his jaw sports a dark beard, surprisingly well trimmed given the situation down here, not to mention the matted state of his shoulder-length hair.
My eyes closing, I suck in a ragged breath and consider my situation. I am alone. In a cave. With a very scary man who’s clearly physically aroused.
