Bessa

Weakness

The females linger around his kill, commenting on how big the claws and teeth are. Actually measuring them with their fingers.

A fragile stutter to my heart makes me go to him, inspect the damage the beast did to his skin. A finger traces the outer edges of the gash that digs deep into his thigh.

The Savage exhales, his skin shifting, flexing before relaxing.

His eyes are closed.

The females all get up to leave with promises of going berry picking in the afternoon.

"I saved you some of the bird if you want to eat?" My fingers fall from his body.

Thunder rumbles outward, stretching the sound of violence towards us.

"I'm hungry, thank you." His heart beats, and I want to put my ear on his chest just to listen to it talk to me.

Handing him what I cooked, everything is eaten, slowly. It's as if he is relishing every bite until nothing is left but grease against skin. He licks it off.

My own hunger starts to lick...

"You should wash before the storm comes." The huskiness of his scent makes swallowing easier, the saliva rising in the back of my throat. I can't be in the same small tent with him if he smells this way.

Hunger rising. 

The storm is getting closer.

"Wash with me Bessa," Looking down, my pants are filthy from the day.

Getting my sleeping Silk, I hurry with him in the sound of just our footsteps.

He goes first, baring his naked body to me. There is no shyness to him. He doesn't turn away because my eyes can't stop watching him. They can't shuffle their vision from this male.

Hunger rises, weakness of resolve seems to slip. A small flash of lightning razors across the sky.

I could touch myself right now.

Thighs squeeze together. Friction presses. 

The Savage excitement can be seen when he is washing infront of me with an up and down motion. 

When he looks at me, his hand stops. I don't want him to end his display.

Hunger gnaws.

 Ripples pulses within my core. 

When he walks towards me, my feet shift themselves from side to side. His heartbeat is closing in on my space.

A hand touches mine, to give the soap he just used to me.

His back turns but he doesn't get out of the water, he washes his loincloth against a rock. He starts to do the same when I throw my shirt and pants to the shore once stripped the fabric.

I see him bring my pants to his nose, a growl comes from his tremoring body.

Washing quickly in fear his resolve of not looking at me weakens.

It doesn't.

"Was it a hard kill?" Asking a question while trying desperately not to touch myself improperly as I wash my sex.

"It was the most difficult one I've encountered so far." The Wild within is proud of that fact. She lets her sound out from the center of my chest. The Savage stiffens in his spot, his head remains straight, not turning. I can see his neck muscles working hard to keep his body alignment.