Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

5.

Screaming, you twist and thrash in his grip but he's astonishingly strong. With a final heave, he deposits you back in the pelts. Dropping to his knees, he straddles your hips. And for the first time that morning you see his long, hard manhood in all its sickening glory. It looks so huge the muscles in your hips clench painfully.

Screaming and pleading, you throw your head from side to side as you flail your fists against his chest. Inevitably your feeble defence does nothing to deter him from his task. He's just too damn big.

First he pins your right wrist to the ground, then your left, before leaning over you to snuffle at your face. His long dirty hair tickles your forehead. You shiver in revulsion as he breathes against the nape of your neck with his rabbit-murdering breath.

Closing your eyes, you turn your head away. You feel him pull back. He releases your left wrist. Swiftly, you rear up and throw a hard punch to his face. Pain burns through your fingers as your fist slams into his jaw. He jerks his head back with a roar. You yank away your right arm from his grasp and almost manage to scramble away, until he grabs you around your waist and throws you onto your belly. How you hate this position! Now what can you do?

'Don't!' he grunts.

You freeze. There it is again. That word. He did say it. He does know! 'Let me go!'

'No.'

You try to kick him, but it's almost impossible in your position, and he pins your ankle down easily. He crawls over you until he straddles you again, knees on either side of your backside as he presses down on your shoulders so you can hardly move. You wince, feeling the hard heat of his erection sitting along the length of your crack. It feels worse than it looks.

'No,' he repeats. 'Calm.'

'Calm!' you exclaim. You turn your head, straining your neck as you try to look at him. 'You want me to be calm? Are you nuts!'

'Calm,' he says more quietly, dragging a warm, broad hand down your back that makes you shiver. He growls softly as he reaches your backside. There, he releases your shoulders and presses his hands against your round, fleshy cheeks, emitting a second growl.

'What are you doing?' you say helplessly, your voice muffled against the pelts as your heart thuds in your chest.

He smooths his hands around your hips.

'What are you doing!'

In one quick motion, he hoists your arse up into the air. With a gasp, you straighten into a kneeling position but he shoves you back onto all fours again. Like an animal. Like a dog. Gripping your hips painfully tight, he shoves your thighs open wider. You're confused and terrified and all you can think about is that giant, wagging log between his legs. This is it. He's going to put it into you. He's going to put it into you!

But this isn't right, you think to yourself, as you begin to shake violently. You still have three more days! Everyone says they don't try to mate with you until you're ready to be impregnated. Then again, who's to say one male thinks like the next? This is the wild. There are no rules.

The muscles in your back and hips clench tightly as you brace yourself for the agony. Your breath hisses between your teeth as he repositions himself behind you, only to feel the last thing you expect. You jerk against him with a cry: his tongue again—soft and wet and smooth—right along your slit, just like the last time.

Startled, you shout, 'Stop it!' as you straighten into a kneeling position and twist around to face him. With an impatient snarl, he rears up and shoves you back down again.

Back between your legs, he licks you again and you lurch forward with a shriek. Gripping your hips more tightly, he presses his face in deeper and continues, and all you can do is let him. Your arms tremble and your heart thunders madly as you burn; burn between your legs and up along your spine until the heat of it fills your cheeks. Even your nipples feel like they're on fire.

You gasp and lurch, gasp and lurch, and each time you do he tightens his grip and licks you harder. He keeps startling you as he explores you all over: along the thighs, down your slit, deep inside. And you suddenly realise that he's not licking you—he's lapping at you. Your blood. He's lapping up your blood. Just as the thought turns your stomach, you feel a thrill of sensation; your body tingles, then electrifies. And soon you no longer resist him—nor the pleasure of it: spreading your thighs wider, resting low on your arms so he can access you more easily. You continue to tremble but for different reasons. You no longer shriek or protest. Except for the sound of your gasping breaths, you become very quiet.

He, on the other hand, is noisy, as though he's enjoying it: grunting, growling and smacking his lips. Finally, until you think there can't be any more of your blood left, he pulls away. You stay as you are, unable to look at him: embarrassed, terrified, disgusted—at yourself. Both at once you pray he's finished and hope he hasn't.

With a light push, he makes you roll over. Sprawling on your back, your knees up, your thighs wide, you stare at him in a daze. His beard is wet, his breathing ragged. Your eyes lock with his glinting hazel gaze as he licks his lips. Then he dives between your legs again.

You should fight. You should fight him! He's released you now. He's in a vulnerable position. You can do something! But all you do is moan and open your thighs wider until they rest flat against the pelts. Staring up at the thatch ceiling, heart slamming against your ribs, body burning like it's on fire, you let him lick you clean.

When he's finally done, he lurches to his feet and, half bent over, makes his way to the little stream. Crouching before it, he begins washing his face, dragging his fingers through the matted knots of his beard and hair. As you watch him, you're not sure what to feel or think. Somehow he doesn't look so mean anymore, nor so frightening. Even that thing between his legs doesn't fill you with such dread as it once did, though it's never looked so big.

The other kidnapped women have never spoken about this. All they've ever spoken about is the horror and pain and humiliation. Are you experiencing something different? Something unique? Is this man-beast different from the others? You begin to wonder as you watch him bathe, as you watch his muscles tighten and relax at each little movement. His hazel eyes are bright.

Were they lying? Are they truly frightened of these male predators, or more frightened of themselves?

You can understand that. You're frightened too.

You wonder ...