Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

12.

When you next wake it's full daylight and you're sweating. You quickly throw off the pelts, no longer so mindful of your nudity. Why bother?

You take a deep breath and glance to your side, but his spot is empty. Slowly, you sit up, your stomach growling at the smell of food. It appears he's already cooked, your breakfast piled high on the wooden board. The big animal he killed hangs from the ceiling at the front of the shelter in pieces: thighs, torso, chest, head. Some of it is skinned or split open. The doe's shining dead eyes condemn you and you're forced to turn away.

It takes you only a moment to find him. He's washing himself at the stream. His beard and hair are wet. The patch of hair between his legs is sopping. Water trickles around the powerful muscles in his shoulders and between his big shoulder blades. He stands, shaking himself off. Then he turns and sees you. You quickly look away, pulling your legs against your chest as he approaches.

He looks down on you a moment, then crouches in front of you. He touches your foot. 'Sore.'

Without looking at him, you nod.

In the corner of your eye, you watch as he shakes his head. Looking over his shoulder, he nods towards the forest. 'Danger. Hurt.' He looks back and touches your foot again. 'Sore.'

You don't respond.

He pinches your big toe. 'Help.'

You take a shuddering breath but don't resist when he pulls you into his arms. He carries you over to the stream. Carefully, he lowers you into the water. You gasp at the iciness. And there he bathes your feet, carefully, gently. You hadn't realised how badly you sliced them up. There's blood everywhere. Red ribbons coil through the blue. Surprisingly, the coldness of the water doesn't sting but soothes. Sitting in front of you, he puts your feet in his lap and tends to them: splashing water over them, picking out anything that might be stuck in your skin, rubbing at your heels and toes.

He's so focused on his task he doesn't realise you're watching him closely: at the way he so delicately touches you, how the muscles harden in his forearms as he tries to take as much care as possible not to hurt you. Your throat swells but you swallow the lump back down. The only other person in your life who has ever treated you so lovingly has been your mother.

He lifts his head and sees you watching him. You don't look away. He eases your feet off his lap and into the water. Nor do you move when he stands and crouches beside you. Like he did last night, he reaches out to touch your face, using the back of his hand to brush your cheek. He makes that little whining sound before leaning in close and snuffling at your ear. He then snuffles at the nape of your neck, around the back of your neck and through your hair. He touches your cheek again before he starts licking at your ear.

You can't help but giggle, lifting your shoulders as you jerk away. 'Stop! It tickles!' Your reaction surprises you; you sound like a little girl. 'And it's disgusting!'

He grins at you, really grins, showing all his teeth.

Grabbing the back of your neck, he pulls you close and rubs his face between your breasts. You should stop him. You only just tried to escape last night! But your body resists your commands. Instead of pushing him away, you push his head harder against you, gasping as he starts licking at your left nipple.

God help you, you think to yourself with a moan, as he pushes you back into the water and begins mauling you with his nose and lips and tongue.

'That's enough, that's enough,' you grunt, turning your head away, but you're saying it more to yourself than to him. It's ludicrous. If you can't even listen to yourself, how can you expect him to listen to you?

Suddenly he seizes your wrist and yanks you into a sitting position. You stare at him with a stab of dread. His eyes are so dark, so hungry. And you think this could be it. Maybe he won't wait. Maybe the time is now. You look between his legs with a swallow. He's certainly ready.

'Not now. Not now. Please.' And yet you can't tear your eyes away from it—the tool he's going to use to penetrate you. The very sight of it seems to burn its way through your body. You lick your lips. You begin to tremble.

He pulls you to your feet. Water catches in the hair of his chest and in his groin. A bead of it stands at the tip of his manhood, glinting in the bright sunlight. He barely needs to pull you after him; you follow willingly, though slowly on your sore feet. A light push is all that's needed to have you collapse into the pelts onto your back. You look up at him as he looks down at you. He kneels in the pelts in front of you. That throbbing stretch of manhood points at you and you snap your legs shut.

'No,' you gasp.

He looks upon you with a soft growl. He touches your scratched-up knee but doesn't force your legs open; instead, he shuffles to your side until he's kneeling by your waist. His groin is so close now you can see the individual beads of water caught in his pubic hair.

His hand is warm as he grabs your wrist. He pulls your arm over and for a moment you wonder what he's doing until he rests your hand onto his erection. You sit up with a start. You try to jerk your hand back but he keeps a firm hold of you. He just holds you there. After a while, he releases you. You stay as you are, touching him. You try so hard to unfasten your fingers but something you can't explain, something from somewhere deep in the pit of your stomach, forces you to hold on. Howcan something be such equal parts fascinating and dreadful? It moves at your touch,getting harder and higher. Your stomach twists into a sickly knot and yet you tightenyour grip. He shifts on his knees, licking his lips.

You pull your hand back, staring at him, staring at it.

'Yours,' he says.

'What?'

He grabs his penis. 'Yours.'

You raise your eyebrows.

'Play,' he says. 'Play. Good.'

'No. I-I don't think so.'

You try to pull back but he seizes your wrist again. 'Yours.' And he places your hand back on his penis.

Taking a breath, you move your hand along its length. Its skin is surprisingly soft. Almost like silk. You didn't expect that. Going by the other women's stories you always thought it'd be rough, something that causes pain. He grunts as you pass your thumb over the tip. It's wet—and not with water.

Gently, he takes your hand, pulling you closer as he lowers it to his testicles. And you wonder why he's doing this. It doesn't seem to be for his pleasure. It's almost as though he wants you to explore him first before he ... before he ...

To make you comfortable? To dull some of the dread that gnaws at your insides at the thought of him pushing his way inside you? If that's his intention, it's working. They're so soft. They're nothing like you thought. He lets you explore for a little while, watching you with his dark, bright eyes as you smooth your hand over his hardness and fondle the soft, wrinkled skin beneath. He's not quiet about it: grunting and smacking his lips. He shifts on his knees, stretching himself out, revealing the hard muscles of his abdomen and chest as he rakes his fingers through his hair. And all the while his penis is getting longer and thicker and harder.

Finally, he's had enough. With a growl, he snatches at your wrist.

Your eyes meet.