Love In The Jungle: 2

by Ann Walker

  Desire tugged at me, rushing forth after weeks of pent-up tension. Ever since I saw him coming out of the shower, I couldn't get the image out of my head. I remembered the way he kissed me, held me, and took me. I didn't have to fantasize—I knew.

  "I don't think I've ever given you a tour of my place," I whispered, grasping the hem of his shirt and pulling myself closer. Our hips touched, and I swore I saw his breath catch in his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed noticeably. "Maybe I can repay you for giving me such a… thorough tour of your hotel room?"

  The silence that followed was tense, laced with want and unspoken need. I wondered if he was thinking it through, weighing the pros and cons of accepting my invitation. Sex had been off the table for so long now, but I was ready to fling it back on.

  I was still working on myself. I was still here to "find" myself, to explore the world as an independent woman. I could do all that, and enjoy the gorgeous man who seemed interested in me. It didn't need to be a relationship—I had no preconceptions, no assumptions about what would happen with us if he stepped through my front door.

  All I knew was that I wanted him—now.

  "I think it's only fair," he finally whispered, his breath hot on my skin, "considering my previous hospitality…"

  I grabbed his hand and practically dragged him in, flicking on the little hanging lamp by the door as I went.

  "Well, this is the—"

  I'd barely shut the door before he was on me, grabbing my hips and turning me in place. Pressing me back against the thatched wood door, his lips slated over mine, desperate and needy. My abdomen clenched as a rush of lust shot through me, and I gripped the front of his shirt, yanking him closer.

  There wasn't much to show in my hut, but I think we both knew that. As we worked our way toward my single bed, hands roving and mouths parting against one another, we bypassed the dresser with a few items in it, my dirty laundry sitting in a basket beside it. My fan was off for the night, and Grant tripped over the cord. I laughed as he tumbled away from me, then I guided him by the shoulders to get him seated.

  He was just as exquisite as before. His kiss was masterful without being overwhelming, his touch firm without being painful. It always thrilled me when a guy took what he wanted, while still being a generous enough partner to make me sing.

  I straddled his lap, dragging his t-shirt up and off. He did the same, and it soon joined his on the floor, followed by my bra. We were both warm as we pressed together, my arms around his neck, hour mouths drawn back together in a heady kiss. I moaned softly, my skin prickling as he trailed his fingers along my side, leaving a little trail of goosebumps in their wake.

  "I didn't know…" he breathed, breaking away and running his lips down my neck. “I wasn't sure if you… I've wanted you so bad. Since the day we sat down next to each other on the plane, I knew I couldn't just ignore this, us, I…”

  "Same," I whispered somewhat inarticulately, whimpering as he reached between us and cupped me through my shorts. Each rub send a tingle of pleasure through my body, and I tilted my head back, jaw dropping open as he worked me over. It was a tease—he was barely touching me, and already there was that build to a much-needed climax.

  "You're beautiful." The words brought a smile to my face, and I tipped back over to press my lips to his. It was a soft kiss, tender, one that almost took me out of the moment. I could kiss him for an eternity.

  Luckily, we were back on track in a matter of minutes, me standing in front of him and shimmying out of my shorts. His arousal bulged in his pants as he watched me, but before I could go for the button and zipper, he dragged be to him and ran his hand up my bare thigh. My breath stuttered out, and my fingers dug into his shoulders as he finally touched me—really touched me—where I needed him to. His fingers were magic, just as masterful as his kiss, and before I knew it, I was doubled over him and keening; his palm rubbing my most sensitive spot, his fingers stroking the other inside.

  My orgasm ripped through me, leaving me weak-legged and slightly breathless. Before my knees gave out, he gently eased me back onto the bed, trailing his lips over my flushed body. I fisted my hand in his hair, half wondering how talented his tongue would be—just as good as his fingers, maybe?

  But it wasn't fair of me to hog all the taking without offering any giving in return. As he wandered back to my lips, I went for his shorts and undid the belt and zipper, pushing them down. He helped, both of us chuckling as he awkwardly worked the somewhat tight bottoms down his muscular legs. They quickly joined our shirts on the floor.

  Just as I reached for him, his arousal hard and thick pressed against my thigh, he gathered my hands and kissed them, then set them by my head.

  "But I want to—"

  "I can't wait," he mumbled, a dark look of desire in his eyes. He leaned down and pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, extracting a condom from it. I watched, desperate to touch him, but I could see the want in his eyes, in the way his hands trembled a little as he rolled the little plastic covering on. It was… exciting. Exhilarating. I'd rarely seen a guy shake with need, but it was incredibly hot. “I'm sorry, but I can't. I have to have you.”

  No guy had ever spoken to me like that before without sounding like a total cheeseball. My lips parted, a moan slipping through them, as he eased into me. He was bigger than I remembered, and I lifted my legs and wrapped them around his waist to accommodate. But even if he was big, he was… satisfying. I'd heard women say they felt complete when a guy made love to them, and it was only now that I actually experienced the sensation for myself. Now he was overwhelming, an assault on all my senses, but in the absolute best way possible.

  We started off slow, moving our hips together in an easy rhythm, and the build started again. It wasn't long, however, before he thrust into me harder, sharper; his pace quickening to the point where I couldn't do anything by wrap my arms around him and hold on for the ride.

  And what a ride it was. My second climax was just as breathtaking as the first, but it felt like it was coming from somewhere deep inside me, starting off as a tingle and working up to an explosion. I clenched my eyes tight, whimpering his name as pleasure rocked through me, and it was in that moment that it seemed Grant lost himself. Fingertips dug into my hips, he pounded into me. His face was buried in my neck and he groaned as his whole body shivered beneath my touch.

  He rolled off me carefully, and then awkwardly positioned himself next to me in my tiny bed. I rolled onto my side, happy to let him wrap his arms around me. Maybe when the rest of the village and volunteers went to bed, we could sneak into the showers together for round two.

  His fingers wove through mine, and I turned my head back to kiss him. It was nothing more than a quick peck, but the look I saw in his eyes startled me. Adoration. Affection. Interest.

  Maybe even genuine feelings. Love? It couldn't be. I swallowed thickly and settled in his arms, my own feelings a messy mish-mash inside my head. How I felt about Grant couldn't exactly be put into words—not easily anyway—but I knew I felt something. I wanted him to stay here with me. I wanted him close. I wanted him to touch me and kiss me and crack jokes with me.

  I bit the insides of my cheeks when I realized it: I was falling for the guy.

  Falling hard.

  "Do you want me to stay?" he asked, a little hesitant. I nodded and snuggled closer to him, my grip on his hands tightening.

  "I do."

  "I haven't shared a single bed since college, but okay—"

  "Don't ruin the moment," I ordered, and he laughed, sitting up on his elbow and pulling me into another kiss.

  Chapter Six

  “This is a big improvement from your last story,” I told Gabé, a thirteen year old student who was hell-bent on studying in the US once he was able to. He gave me a slightly quizzical expression, his thick eyebrows slowly knitting together, and I rephrased my praise. "You did a good job. Your grammar was almost perfect through the whole thing."

  He smiled shyly, his sinful
ly white teeth catching my eye, and then accepted the small notebook as I handed it back. I'd asked my older students to write a short story as a way to learn metaphors, similes, and symbolism in literature. I'd kept all my examples pretty basic, drawing from the teaching aid so that I knew I was teaching it properly. Most of my students understood the concept immediately, though their work was still a little questionable. Gabé chose to write about a young lion eager to make his own pride, but his clingy lioness mother was making that difficult for him.

  Not exactly tough to see the hidden meaning behind that particular tale.

  "Thank you," he said softly. I watched him go with a smile, my hands crossed as a gentle gust of wind played with my loose hair. Today was one of the rare cloudy days in the dead of summer, and it was actually pretty tolerable to teach outside.

  As I was cleaning up my supplies, ready to lock them away in my hut and grab a quick bite to eat, I heard a familiar voice calling for me.

  "Hey," Grant greeted as he approached, dusty and sweaty from a hard day at work. I set my books aside, tilting my head back to accept his quick peck on the cheek. It had only been about a week since we were together in my hut, four rounds of ferocious sex cementing the fact that we did, in fact, seem genuinely interested in one another. Yet in that week, the dynamics had changed for the better. We sometimes held hands when no one was looking. We took morning strolls together, alone, each of us rising before our fellow volunteers to enjoy the cool morning temperatures before starting our day.

  We hadn't drifted into any serious conversation yet. Neither of us had brought up the dreaded "talk" about what we were doing—we sort of just went with it. I found he smiled more these days, which in turn made me smile more.

  I hadn't come here looking for a man. I wasn't dead-set on landing myself in a relationship. In fact, I'd been happy with all the growth I'd done on my own. However, I wasn't about to flip-off a golden opportunity when it presented itself. Grant was both a manly man and an artistic soul, able to work the earth with his hands and deliver a sensual backrub without provocation on my part. Good with kids, albeit a little quieter than the guys I'd been with in the past, he was definitely the type of guy girls wanted to end up with when daydreaming about their Prince Charming.

  I refused to think of him like that. There were no plans to make, and there was no future to dream about. I just wanted to enjoy the here and now—that was working for us.

  Oh, and the sex was still mind-blowing. Just one week after round one, we were verging on round ten, and I was pretty surprised none of our neighboring volunteers made any comments, we weren't exactly subtle, and the walls of our huts definitely weren't thick.

  Seeing him now, with his dark hair tousled and his t-shirt sticking to the dips and ridges of his toned stomach, my appetite quickly changed from food to something else entirely. I licked my lips, gazing up at him with a smirk. Maybe we could try round eleven in the shower, just like I'd pictured a week ago in the aftermath of round one.

  "You," I started, looking him up and down dramatically, my hands pressed against his muscular midsection, "are absolutely filthy."

  "I love when you talk dirty," he teased, grasping my hand and tugging me away from my makeshift classroom. "I have a surprise for you."

  My eyebrows shot up as I followed, soon falling in step beside him.

  "A surprise?" I repeated.

  "It's a gift… sort of," he carried on, his grip tightening on my hand. "I think you'll like it."

  I grinned up at him, nudging my body against his as we walked a familiar dusty path. "I'm sure I will."

  All around us, yellowy-green long grasses swayed in the breeze, a constant soundtrack for my volunteer experience. I realized a few minutes in that the route felt so familiar because I'd walked it once before. It had to have been a month ago at least, but I'd ventured out to the well site before with Grant and his crew of builders. Past the field of crops growing in front of our temporary homes, beyond the volunteer huts, and out into the dry savannah, there was the building site. Since I'd been there, a number of structures had gone from holes in the ground, to rooms with four walls and barely-there rooftops.

  Progress. Grant had made a lot of it since he arrived, and I'd once overheard Gloria talking with one of the local elders. The pair were discussing Grant at the time, and while I hadn't meant to eavesdrop, what I heard warmed my heart. He was the best engineer they'd ever had out there. Most volunteers made half of one building, maybe pushed it to completion, during their stay with the village. Under Grant's watchful eye, a well system was almost ready to go, and there were several new buildings in the works.

  We stopped at one of the mud buildings that was somewhat separated from the rest. Similar in color to our volunteer huts, it was square instead of the traditional round. I noticed Grant studying me out of the corner of my eye, and I glanced his way.

  "Is this… it?"

  "It's for you," he told me, tugging me toward the doorway—one that was still lacking a door—and stepping inside. It was a large, airy space, with big holes in the walls for windows. I even noticed some electrical hook-ups ready to go, the tools set out as if someone had just been working on it. I frowned: although impressed that he'd managed to do something like this in such a short time, I couldn't see why it'd be for me.

  "I don't understand."

  "Well, it's for you and anyone else who comes here to teach," Grant continued, his voice gentle as realization set in. I looked to him sharply, my eyes wide, and then let out a little laugh.

  "Is this… a school?"

  "I would have liked it to be bigger," he said with a nod, his hands dropping to his sides as I moved around the space. "I'm going to add a solar-powered fan for when it's too hot to just keep the windows open. It should be ready before you leave in a few months… Maybe sooner. Hopefully sooner."

  "It's amazing," I breathed, running my hands over the smooth walls. It was obvious someone had put a lot of time and effort into making it look like a professional school house. I could already imagine where all the desks and chairs would go.

  "I saw how tough it is to teach outside," I heard him say as I walked the length of the room, my hand still running over the smooth surface. "Kids struggle to pay attention, and I bet there's a lot of distractions out there… I wanted you, and every other teacher, to have a safe space for actual learning."

  I threw my arms around him once I'd made my way back to him, not caring about the dirt or the sweat or the smell.

  "No one's ever built me anything before," I murmured in his ear as his arms encircled me. I felt his head rest against mine, the added weight welcome.

  "No one's ever made me feel like you do before," he whispered back, and I could have died happy right there. My knees, to their credit, somehow managed to hold me up, and I pulled back, cupped his face, and practically smothered him with a grateful kiss. Our lips parted in tandem, moving together, finding an easy rhythm as my skin erupted with excited little bumps.

  Apparently round eleven wouldn't take place in the shower or our huts, but rather an empty school building full of endless potential and just a dash of love.

  Chapter Seven

  “You'll never buy bread from the store again,” Gloria told me, positively beaming as we rolled out dough on pristine stone slabs. All around us, local women skillfully prepared their breads for baking, adding herbs and vegetables for flavor. Seeing as this was my second loaf—the first one burned—I wanted to play it safe with no extra additives. Gloria was a pro at baking, and it was obvious to me that she excelled in the craft long before the elderly women of the village taught us how to do it.

  Even if I wasn't great at it, I definitely enjoyed the cooking process here. There were no unnecessary extras—everything had such a strong flavor from all the natural ingredients, and it wasn't unusual for the children to sit outside the cooking huts just to smell the meats and breads as they cooked over a fire or in an old-fashioned stove. I couldn't imagine the crowds waiting
outside the bakery Grant was in the midst of building—people would come from far and wide to sample the village's goods.

  "I'll probably still buy the fancier breads," I noted, nodding toward the woman beside me. Somehow she'd managed to get a swirl of darkness in the middle of each loaf, which she told me was a garlic-like paste. It all smelled mouthwatering. "Can't say I'm quite that skilled yet."

  "It'll just take practice," Gloria insisted with a kind smile, her worn hands kneading her roll of dough with just as much skill as the woman on the other side of me. Beside her, a bowl of spices and seeds sat waiting to be added to the top to form a savory crust. I looked back to my own loaf-in-progress, hoping people enjoyed plain nothingness.

  While the village grew most of their own food, it wasn't unheard of that they ordered in shipments of fruits and vegetables that they couldn't produce locally. My friends and family thought I'd be disconnected from the rest of the world out here, and in many ways I was. However, if I or any of the other volunteers wanted to, we could easily chat up the delivery man who came once every two weeks—he had a radio and a mini TV in his van for long journeys, and his phone had a stable Wi-Fi connection.

  "Clara!" My ears twitched when my name sounded across the village square, and a quick glance over my shoulder showed me the source of the cry. Eli, one of Grant's construction workers, waved at me, beckoning me to him with a look of panic on his face. Frowning, I wiped my hands on my shorts and stood, pushing my sunglasses up onto my head as I approached.

  "What's wrong?" I couldn't ask anything else—he looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown.

  "Grant hurt his leg," he told me, his English heavily accented with French undertones. For a moment, my heart seemed to stop, and I clutched at my chest. Grant was hurt?