Running Wild - 3 tales of erotic exploration

by Saskia Walker

  Resist him, she told herself. But even as she thought it, she knew it would be damn hard to do so. Panicked, she glanced around. "The neighbors will complain to the caretaker about you, they'll call for the police if they see you holding me here like this."

  The neighbors, a German family totaling eight, had introduced themselves the day before, apologizing for the barbecue fumes, and inviting her over. She'd declined, but the Jurgens family had made her feel safe. She glanced over her shoulder towards their cabin, warning Piers. As she did she recalled that they were off on a long hike and had left at dawn. Piers didn't know that though.

  "I don't care," he stated. "I've come here to claim what I'm owed." His eyebrows lifted suggestively, and he ran his hands down over her breasts, squeezing them firmly, before he clasped her around her waist.

  The deliberate touch of his hands on her breasts through her sweater and bra took her breath away. Meg stared up at him, amazed at his forthright behavior. Her legs had turned to jelly. How had this happened? Moments earlier she'd almost been free of their relationship. Now he'd barged in, demanding things, and he was downright arrogant about it, too. "You agreed. The cabin is mine for the week."

  The scent of his cologne, so familiar and seductive, reached her, swamping her senses.

  "Something changed," he stated. With that he smiled, as if to himself, and then he stepped away, leaving her standing there against the post, limp and ready to buckle at the knees.

  Glaring at his broad back as he walked towards his car, Meg wondered why she had let him do that to her, why she had even given him long enough for her to notice his stubble and inhale his familiar cologne.

  "I hate you!" She said it loud enough for him to catch.

  Piers paused at the door of his Mercedes and grinned over at her. Then he reached into the car and pulled out a leather weekend bag, which he threw on the ground between them. It was a statement of intent.

  Meg fumed. She turned on her heel and began to walk away.

  "I'll make myself at home," he called after her.

  She opened her mouth to issue a smart reply then realized she still had the keys clamped tightly in the palm of her hand. I never locked the cabin.

  "Please yourself. I'm gone for the day," she shot back over her shoulder, angrily.

  "I'll track you down," he added. There was a threat in that comment, a threat and a promise.

  She paused and half-turned back. He was on the porch where she had been a minute earlier and he had already got the cabin door open. "No, you bloody well won't," she blurted, and her booted feet slid against the loose gravel as she stumbled on.

  He laughed. "I know this area well, Meg."

  Again with the promise, or threat, or whatever it was, and that grin of his was totally wicked.

  He did know this place though. That was why they had planned the trip, months ago, so he could show her the familiar landscape where he had grown up. But she'd been here and hiking around the area for two days already, which had to account for something.

  He called out to her again, just as she made her way into the trees. "And I know you…better than you think."

  What the hell does that mean? she silently raged, as she headed towards the rocky landscape beyond the cabins. It wasn't the sort of thing he ever said. Why, now? For some reason the comment made her breath catch in her throat, and as she upped her pace along the path her blood raced wildly through her veins.

  Something changed. That's what he'd said. As Meg tried to figure it out, she glanced back over her shoulder, uneasy, but hellishly curious.

  * * * *

  Piers carried his overnight bag into the cabin and glanced around. It was an open plan design with a kitchen area and a living space. A futon-style sofa in front of an open fireplace bore signs of Meg's presence—two books, carefully bookmarked, and the cushions stacked at one end.

  Beyond the living area a double bed was partially concealed by a screen. A door in the bedroom area led off to a small but efficient bathroom. He was impressed. He'd been concerned about this modern tourist build when it had been announced, but it was sympathetically done in a Scandinavian woodland style, the materials blending in with the environment.

  Meg had put her touch on the place. He smiled. That was her way. Even in the most functional of hotel rooms she managed to recreate a sense of home. He saw it here in the perfumed candle set on the hearth. An unopened bottle of wine stood nearby. The bottle opener and one glass were next to it.

  He walked into the bedroom area. One side of the double bed was dented.

  "That's not the way it should be." He stared down at the pillow and felt that familiar longing for her, the same feeling that had haunted him for the past two months. He thought it was simple. He loved her and wanted to cherish her, but she was a prickly, independent sort. They'd argued, a lot. There was something about her that he'd never been able to understand, an aspect of her personality he never broke through.

  When she said they should split, he hadn't been happy but he gave her space and time, hoping she would come back to him. As the date for the Highlands hiking holiday grew nearer, however, he craved to share that experience with her. So he'd gone to her place, the apartment that they had previously shared, in an attempt to discuss things. He was going to ask her to share this time, to use it as a neutral space, to see if they could patch things up. But she had already gone.

  Fate was on his side, however, and that time alone in their familiar shared home had shown him the way. At first he hadn't understood why their relationship wasn't enough for Meg, but now he did—and now he was going to make it right.

  He smiled as he reflected on it, and reached for the pillow. Inhaling her scent from it, he put it back down and thought through his plan once more. A moment later he turned to the kitchen and hunted through the cupboards until he found the wine glasses. Extracting one, he carried it through to the fireplace and set it next to her lone glass.

  Then he grabbed what he needed from his bag and went after her.

  Chapter Two

  Meg made her way quickly along the rough hiking trail. It meandered between high crags and through thick clusters of trees. The path was purpose-built at first, to lead the tourists, then grew wilder, worn by foot and marked here and there by rocks. It was a popular trail, and she hadn't felt alone the first two days when she had come this way. She had been alone though. Only four other groups of hikers had passed her during the day, including two couples, but she'd forbidden herself to think about Piers and the fact that they were supposed to be doing this together.

  Now that he was in the vicinity she became keenly aware of her single status as she hurried along the path, trying to put a gap between them. He was no doubt raiding her supply of food, carefully selected individual portions, before he tried to find her. Good luck to him, she thought. If he insisted on sleeping in the bed, just to make a point, she would sleep on the futon.

  There was, however, a part of her that had felt guilty when she asked to take over the booking. They'd both needed this holiday, and they'd both looked forward to it. He could come here another time, though. The original plan had been that he was going to take her to meet his family, at the end of the week. But you can't put your life on hold for a holiday, she'd told herself at the time of the split, and they'd had too many arguments recently. He could go to Scotland any time, he had family there. She didn't.

  Mourning what could have been, her annoyance grew. So many times she'd told him what she wanted, what she needed—defined life plans. Piers agreed, but then asked her what she wanted, as if deferring to her, asking her what her ideal plans for the future were. Some women would love that acquiescence to their desires, but it infuriated Meg. Deep down, she wanted Piers to lead.

  The autumn trees were so beautiful that for the third day they took her breath away. Occasionally leaves drifted to the forest floor, carpeting the place in color. Sunlight sparkled through the barer branches, the evergreens darkening the landscape here an
d there. The area was just as Piers had described it, and now that he was here she wondered why on earth she hadn't cancelled the booking or moved it somewhere else. Of course she'd longed to see his world, that place that made him the steadfast, rugged Scotsman that she cared for, but perhaps it hadn't been the right thing to do at this point in her life, so soon after the split. She thought she was tough enough to deal with it, but maybe not.

  A flock of squawking birds taking off from the trees somewhere behind her startled her and she paused. The sudden alarm call was disturbing, but when the noise faded off there was an eerie stillness that made her feel even more edgy. What had sent up the birds? Was there someone else out there, and was it Piers? He had a weird sense of humor at times and loved to tease people. Perhaps he'd let her have this holiday because he intended to turn up. Stupidly, she hadn't considered that.

  If Piers had wanted to come along on this trip, then maybe he wanted to talk. He'd said so in an email, but she'd promised him they would meet on her return. This week was about clearing her head and making that final decision, the final make or break. If he was here, she couldn't do that.

  The sound of a twig snapping behind her made her heart trip.

  Quickly, she stepped off the path, circling a large oak, her hand running against the rough bark as she looked back along the path. There was nobody to be seen. Glancing through the trees ahead, she saw that she could stay off the path and work her way through the trees instead, keeping the path in her sights. Stealthily, she crept on, listening out for any further sounds. It had to be Piers. Her blood pumped fast, determined as she was to stay ahead of him.

  The carpet of golden leaves beneath her feet silenced her footfalls, the trees that were half bare enabling her to see farther than she might have been able to earlier in the year. Brambles crowded between the trees beyond her, where the woods were wilder, and she had to follow alongside the path. She craned her neck as she looked back over her shoulder, straining to hear, but the blood rushing in her ears made it difficult. Her heart thudded wildly, and yet she felt sure she heard the sound of distant footfalls. Another sound reached her, was it a bird call or a man whistling?

  Each time she looked back, she missed her footing and silently cursed herself. Heading deeper into the trees and away from the path she kept the crags on her left-hand side as a guide, knowing that she could find her way back with that in mind. The terrain got more difficult, more overgrown and the leaves under her feet were slippery with dew. Eventually she hauled up to capture breath.

  Why am I doing this?

  Because he's coming after me.

  She tried to address her reasoning and her behavior, confused by her own response, when she heard a sound close by. Turning, she peeped out from behind the tree, looking back along the path she had made through the trees. There was nobody in sight. Then she felt a presence directly behind her. The skin on the back of her neck prickled with anxiety, her breath catching in her throat.

  When she turned around, he was right there against her.

  "Piers!"

  He hauled her in against him with a solid arm around her waist. "Yes, sweetheart, I'm here."

  "What are you—"

  One hand clamped over her mouth, silencing her.

  She stared up at him, horror-struck.

  He gripped her tighter.

  She struggled.

  He backed her against the tree trunk, wedging her there with the weight of his body, then reached in to his pocket with his free hand and pulled something out.

  Meg struggled to see what it was.

  Apparently he wanted her to know, because he lifted his hand and showed her. A set of handcuffs dangled from one finger.

  Her stomach knotted. She shook her head at him, horribly confused by his behavior. What the hell was happening here?

  "Hush now, Meg. I only want to talk, and this seems like a good way to get you to hear me out, don't you think?" He flashed his eyes at her, and there was humor there.

  How dare he? Did he really think this was a joke?

  He removed his hand from her mouth.

  "What the hell do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

  Before she had a chance to say anything else, he covered her mouth with his own, silencing her with a passionate kiss. Meg stiffened then melted when his familiar heat and urgency claimed her, his tongue moving against hers in a seductive rhythm. A moment later she jerked free when she realized he had used the opportunity to lock her wrists together with the cuffs.

  His hand was back over her mouth in a flash, and he actually chuckled.

  Damn you! Glaring at him, she lifted her clamped fists and attempted to thump him with them. Meanwhile, he pulled a length of fabric from his pocket. He proceeded to gag her with it. Meg put up a struggle, making it as difficult as possible for him. When he'd got the gag on, he ducked down, lifted her from the ground and doubled her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Surely he couldn't mean to carry her back like this? She struggled against him.

  "Take it easy, Madam. This is the express service. We'll have you home in no time."

  The cheek of him!

  He planted a hand on her arse to keep her in place then began to move with haste, apparently taking her back towards the cabin.

  The position he had her in meant her head and arms hung down over his back. Her hair was slipping free of its band, swinging across her field of vision. That suited her fine, because she didn't want to see her own public humiliation. However, her small backpack of supplies—an energy drink, a cheese and pickle sandwich, mobile phone, MP3 player, antiseptic wash and a sticking plaster—had slumped down against the back of her neck, which only seemed to aid his effort to keep her hampered and muffled. Her legs were tightly locked against his chest by one of his arms. The other hand stayed on her bottom.

  What if someone saw them? She'd die of embarrassment. Most if not all of the cabin folk had headed off for the day, but the caretaker made his rounds when it was quiet, making sure the grounds were tidy.

  That hand on her bottom infuriated her even more, because he'd planted it so deliberately, near her pussy, making contact with her most sensitive places through the fabric of her close fitted hiking pants. While her helpless body jolted in his grasp, that intrusive hand of his made her burn between her thighs, the rub, rub, rub against her hot spots was far too stimulating.

  Humiliation flooded her, and she closed her eyes, willing herself not to be aroused by this. But she couldn't help it, because being bound and captured by him made her hot, she couldn't deny it. One thing was for sure—she couldn't let him know that his Neanderthal behavior was affecting her that way. That would no doubt amuse him even more.

  Her thoughts jolted into a higher level, briefly, the things she planned to say to him flashing through her mind. Reconciliation? This had put the last nail in the coffin. There was no chance of a reunion, not now. It was unbelievable, the way he was behaving. The long drive had obviously played tricks with his mind. He'd lost all sense of reason.

  She gritted her teeth, resting uneasily over his shoulder.

  Thankfully he covered the ground quickly, carrying her with ease. He'd always been able to lift her and carry her to their bed, which she'd loved, but this was different. Even though discomfort coursed through her shoulders and back, it was offset by that hand of his—that intimate contact on her bottom that set loose an entirely different sensation, arousal. The fact that she was so utterly helpless and vulnerable made the erotic thrill multiply inside her. It shouldn't, she knew it shouldn't. But it did.

  The crunch of gravel beneath his feet signaled that they had reached the cabin area. His pace slowed, as if he was attempting caution now. If she could have laughed aloud, she would have done. She struggled to see, but when she shifted in his grasp, he lifted that rude, instructive hand of his, and slapped her with it—soundly.

  Meg grunted through her gag, stunned. He'd spanked her in an attempt to keep her quiet. The level of outrage she felt
rose rapidly, then plateaued and melted away. An intense wave of stimulation traversed her core instead, and her sex clamped, her pussy tingling. The gag in her mouth was wet. Saliva had pooled in her mouth, mirroring the hot, slick fluid that gathered in the niche between her thighs. Damn him, he's turning me on.

  When he got her inside the cabin, the sense of relief she felt was immense. Mercifully, no one had seen them. He pushed the door closed and carried her to the centre of the living space where one of the dining chairs from the tiny table in the kitchen had been set out.

  He eased her down onto it.

  Dizziness almost got the better of her. Piers supported her while she regained her equilibrium. He squatted in front of her, put his hands on her shoulders and studied her closely. He nodded, apparently happy with the state she was in, then unlocked the handcuffs. She watched cautiously. Was he going to let her loose?

  He unlatched the buckles on her backpack, pulling it free.

  She was about to attempt to stand up, when he moved behind her and drew her arms back, re-cuffing her wrists together behind the chair. As he did so, she realized he had linked the chain through one of the uprights on the wooden back so she couldn't pull away. Unbelievable! He meant to keep her like this.

  When he appeared in front of her again, she grunted at him, staring down at the chair. She hadn't put it there. Obviously he had. He'd planned this, she realized. In detail. The cuffs, the gag, and the chair—all of it. So much for the drive making him this way. That wasn't the case at all. This was the result of careful planning. Had he let her come out here on her own so that he could do this, to humiliate her, to teach her a lesson? Livid at the idea of it, she flashed her eyes at him, kicking out as he passed.

  He easily dodged her swipe then hauled his T-shirt over his head, casting it aside. The action made her breath hitch. She saw it then, how the exertion had affected him. His skin glistened, and his chest was rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath.