Feral (3 page)

Julianne wrapped her hands around one of his, letting her skin warm his long slender fingers. After a minute, she entwined her fingers with his, again waiting until he looked comfortable. When his chest was rising and falling evenly and his shoulders had relaxed, she unwound their fingers and flattened her palms against his hard chest. His heart pounded beneath her hands.

She looked him in the eyes and held his gaze. Slowly she slid her hands over his nipples. At his sharp intake of breath, she paused and let him gather himself. Then she gently rolled one of his nipples between her thumb and finger. He moaned and looked at her beseechingly. Julianne wasn't sure if his expression was pleading with her to stop—or continue.

His hands were splayed across his thighs, his fingers digging into his muscles. She peeled off one of his hands and lifted it to her chest. She hesitated for a moment, looking him in the eye, before fitting his palm around her breast. Her nipple stiffened immediately and his eyes darted to her chest, then back up to Julianne's face. She smiled encouragingly and as calmly as she could, given the thoughts that were racing through her mind right then. Thoughts of his hands on her, everywhere. His mouth devouring her skin. She'd been with men before but none had ever had this effect on her, had set her entire nervous system aflame with desire.

He gave her breast a soft squeeze, as if testing its solidity, then his thumb traced a line down to her nipple. Julianne's back arched as he twirled her nipple with his thumb. He stopped, a look of uncertainty on his face. Julianne pleaded with her eyes and pushed her breasts toward him.

He lifted his other hand to her other breast and rolled both nipples at the same time. Julianne's moan of pleasure emboldened him. He pinched one nipple, then used his finger to draw slow, indulgent circles around it. He was entranced with her breasts and the look of hungry attention on his face made her melt between her legs.

She reached a finger out and touched his lips lightly. She tugged on his lip, then glanced down at her breasts, where his hands had halted their patient exploration. Understanding shone in his eyes. She wanted his mouth on her and wanted it badly. But even desperate wanting hadn't prepared her for the storm of pleasure that erupted in her body as his lips settled over her nipple.

She gasped at the sight of his mouth kissing, then sucking on her breast. When she saw the pink flesh of his tongue emerge and lick her skin, her knees buckled. Instinctively, he reached around her and pulled her body toward him, both steadying her and crushing her breast against his mouth. He licked her skin tentatively at first, testing, then lapping at her nipple, panting and growling as if her very taste was sustenance to a starving beast.

Julianne cried out and thrust her hands into his hair, pulling his head hard against her chest. He gave her nipple one last draw with his mouth, then rose from the boulder and scooped Julianne into his arms in one, swift movement.

VII

No one was interested in Julianne, interested in the role she had played in bringing this unusual creature out of the wild. She didn't mind that. She had no interest in fame or unearned attention. But so many people wanted to see him, wanted him at this event or other, they could go days without spending more than a dozen minutes together. She began to feel like a third wheel, like a prehensile tail grasping at whatever shared minutes were tossed her way, like an appendix. Yes, some days she felt like some organ whose purpose had been forgotten over time.

VIII

He carried her through the brush to the lean-to, holding branches and vines away from her body so they wouldn't scratch her. He set her gently down on the wooden floor, where she sat while he took his pile of animal skins and spread them out to cover the bare wood and pine needles. He sat back on the skins, his legs opened wide, and beckoned for her to come to him.

She knelt between his legs, trying not to look at the hard penis just inches from her hips, and they stared into each other's eyes. Julianne wished she knew what he was thinking, wished there was a way she could communicate to him what she was thinking. Feeling. All she had was her body, and she was terrified of doing something that would frighten him.

She touched her own lips, then touched his, trying to communicate what she wanted. He nodded once and she leaned in to kiss him. She opened her mouth to cover his and was surprised to feel his tongue push its way into her mouth, his hands grasping the back of her head. He was kissing her with a desperation that matched her own, and it scared Julianne. She didn't think he would hurt her intentionally, but his sudden intensity had awakened the part of her brain that normally made her a cautious, responsible adult.
             
Her body stiffened with fear and in an instant his tongue was gone from her mouth, his lips gone from hers. He frowned at her as his hands slid around from the back of her head to her cheeks. His thumbs caressed her cheekbones gently. His touch felt patient, willing to wait, and Julianne began to relax.

Then he did something completely unexpected. He laid back, lowered his shoulders to the floor, stretched his legs out on either side of hers. He bent his arms and put his hands beneath his head. He was splayed out on the floor before her. Julianne was confused.

"I wish I knew what you wanted," she whispered.

He barked softly in response. She wanted him, she knew that. She also knew she was afraid. She had no idea how strong he might be, how ... animal. She might get hurt. That was a definite possibility.

Still, he laid there with no movement beyond the rise and fall of his chest, the roving of his eyes over her face and breasts, the occasional uncontrolled twitch of his penis. Looking at him, watching his body relaxed and waiting for her, Julianne felt washed with longing for the feel of his skin against hers, as though someone had painted every inch of her skin with liquid desire.

Still, he waited.

Slowly, she knelt over him, placed her hands on either side of his torso, crawled up his body. As he watched her, she carefully—hopefully—lowered her hips to his, her breasts to his hard, muscled chest. His penis pressed stiffly into her belly and the hair on her mound. He rocked his hips beneath her and Julianne feared she would come that instant. A new gush of heat flooded her sex.

She kissed him and he let her lips travel over his, allowed her teeth to tug them open, gave her tongue access to the depths of his mouth. But he didn't kiss her back. He simply laid there and let her do what she wanted.

His stillness, his control, his trust was almost unbearably arousing to her. Pressed chest to chest and legs to legs with him, she was rapidly losing the ability to even distinguish where her skin ended and his began. For the first time, she understood the idea of melting into another person. She was melting into this wild, beautiful cypher of a man.

In all this time, his hands hadn't moved. They remained tucked neatly beneath his head. Julianne lifted her hips up and rocked back onto her knees until she was face to face with his penis. She glanced up at him as she planted a tentative kiss on it. He sucked in his breath sharply, and Julianne saw the contoured muscles of his abdomen tense. But otherwise, he was still, seemingly willing to let her do whatever she wanted.

She kissed the swollen tip once more, then ducked her head and slowly drew her tongue up its hard length. She circled the tip with her tongue, licking off a glistening drop of moisture. A low moan escaped his chest.

Julianne grew bolder. She closed her lips over just the head, savoring the velvety softness of his skin against the plush softness of her lips. Another moan, this one longer,
hungrier. Her fear from moments earlier was receding, replaced by a desire she was struggling to hold back.

She felt a hand touch her hair lightly, and it was all the encouragement she needed. She opened her lips wider and took him fully into her mouth.

His howl echoed in the forest.

She took him in and out, in and out of her mouth, sucking and licking, cupping his balls, urging him on until his hips were bucking back and forth beneath her. His breathing sped up and there was a low rumbling noise coming from his chest. Julianne knew he was close. She took him in deeper, until the head of his penis was touching the back of her throat and he was thrusting himself into her mouth. And then he came, with a startled gasp, and her mouth filled with warm, thick liquid. He wasn't as salty as she was used to, his taste not the bitter edge of conquest and coercion.

Slowly, gently, she slid her lips off him and looked up at him guardedly. His eyes were closed. His chest lifted and fell as his breathing returned to normal. She carefully moved herself until she was straddling his hips. When his eyes opened to look at her, they were dark and wavering between troubled and wondering.

Julianne lifted her eyebrows in mute question. In response, he brought his hands out from beneath his head and presented them to her, palms up. She frowned, not understanding what he wanted, then took them in her own hands. He shook his head and pulled his hands back, then presented them to her again in the same manner. Still, Julianne was confused.

He rubbed his hands over his nipples, stroked a finger down one arm, then reached toward the trail of hair that meandered down his lower abdomen.

Ah.
Julianne realized what he was asking. She took one of his hands and pulled it toward her stomach. He nodded. He was asking her to show him where to touch her. She slid his hand into the wet heat between her legs. His eyes widened in surprise. Julianne began to rock her hips back and forth, rubbing herself on his hand until she was panting and on the verge of coming.
             

With his free hand, he reached up and pulled her chest down onto his. Julianne moaned as her taut nipples brushed against his chest hair. He used his thighs to push her legs open wider, and the feeling of being outside, completely exposed, nearly sent Julianne over the edge. She had never imagined herself having sex outside but now that she was, she felt free and uninhibited. The dichotomy between warm and cool—the heat of his body against her chest and the fluttering air on her back and between her legs—was as arousing a sensation as she'd ever experienced.

The hand between her legs was now exploring her gently, searchingly, and Julianne pushed into it with an aching whimper. His fingers caressed her swollen skin, parting each soft layer of flesh to discover what tender wonders were hidden inside. It was his thumb that found her clitoris first. Julianne cried out, her eyes now wide open and trapped by his own, darker gaze.

Please,
she begged, knowing he couldn't understand the word but hoping the tone of her voice would convey her intense need. He stroked her faster and she closed her eyes, giving herself up to the inevitable. When she felt his hand clench her ass and pull her down, his fingers slipping inside her, she came apart like she was a pile of leaves tossed into the air and now falling, drifting, one by one back to the ground.

IX

Her husband, while never really a good man, had been better in the early days, back when he and Julianne had been much poorer. He had tried to raise her daughter, as best he could, though her troublesome wildness was a constant reminder that she wasn't really his. Then he came into money, a lot of it, money that gave him options, in his eyes, and she wasn't one of them. Not anymore.

X

She tried to put him out of her mind, tried to convince herself it had just been a dream. A man living wild in the forest? Who would believe that?

But it couldn't have been a dream. She never had dreams that vivid, that real. She threw herself into her work during the day. At night, she searched the web for any mention of a man or a boy spotted in the park. Bigfoot was seen all the time, apparently, but not this beautiful wild man who had played her body like the whistle of wind through the trees.

She went into Seattle with her coworkers on her day off, tried to have fun eating pizza and drinking enough cheap beer to keep her up half the night pissing. Her mind wanted distraction from what her body craved, harder and harder each day.

In the end, it didn't matter. She went back.

It was Sunday morning and a light mist filled the sky. Not so much rain as just water-infused air. In the moisture, her hair looked almost as wild as his, wavy and kinked up. She pulled on jeans and a light sweater, tied her jacket around her waist, and set out.

The hike felt longer that day, and she began to really doubt whether she had imagined it all. Maybe she was spending too much time alone, her mind starting to fray around the edges. But she kept on. She had to know whether he had been real. If she found nothing, no sign of him at the lean-to, she would walk home and look up a psychiatrist.

Deep in the park, the mist turned to thick fog that sunk almost to the ground. She patted the GPS in her pocket, just in case. She was beginning to fear she was lost, had somehow ended up on a different trail, when the path widened into the small clearing and the lean-to.

He was sitting on the edge of the lean-to, his shoulders hunched, his hair wet and matted. His foot traced circles in the damp pine needles on the ground.

He looked for all the world as though he had been waiting.

She broke into a run and he looked up, his face breaking into a hesitant smile, as if he couldn't let himself believe what he was seeing. In the fog, his skin glistened with moisture. She was running, hurling herself toward him. He stood and opened his arms, caught her when she collided with his immovable chest. He growled into her hair, a noise she couldn't decode. Was he angry that she had stayed away or glad that she was back?