I watch him for a few minutes, but as the sun goes down, it’s getting colder and colder, and I’m shivering in my clothing. It’s not keeping me warm at all. In fact, I might be warmer without it. So while he tries to get the fire started, I strip off my layers. Since it’s raining, there are no bugs, and the mud has long since washed away. I peel off the jacket and my T-shirt, and then I pull off my pants and my shoes. It takes longer with one hand but I’m afraid to use my bruised wrist even though Rafe is convinced nothing is broken. It doesn’t matter if it’s not broken; it still hurts like the dickens. I’m in my panties and my bra, and while I’m chilly, the wet clothing isn’t sucking my will to live.
“Got it,” Rafe says quietly, and he picks up a bundle of tinder and begins to blow on it.
“Fire?” I say, breathless with excitement. I move in close to him to see.
His eyes go wide at the sight of me in just my bra and panties. “Ava,” he says, strangled, his gaze on me. Meanwhile, the flame starts to go out.
“The fire,” I remind him, and he immediately starts to blow on it again. “And I took my clothes off because they were making me cold. Once we get the fire going, you should take yours off, too.”
He shakes his head and doesn’t look in my direction. I glance down and yup, Godzilla has appeared once more. For some reason, this gives me a twinge of sympathy. This has to be difficult for Mendoza, because I’m getting naked around him and grabbing him and he probably has real, legit reasons for being a virgin at his age.
So I say nothing else, just squeeze my sodden clothing free of water and then lay them flat so they can dry. It’s not as effective with one hand, but it gives me something to do. Mendoza gets the fire going decently, and it’s so warm and wonderful I want to cry. He feeds more tinder to it even as the wood underneath hisses. “I don’t know how long it’ll last,” he tells me. “So we’d better cut up the snake now and cook it while we can.”
“Sounds good,” I tell him and to my surprise, it does sound good. I guess two granola bars in as many days is what it takes for me to enjoy the idea of eating snake. “Want me to cut it?”
“I’ve got the knife,” he says, getting up abruptly. “Just watch the fire and I’ll handle it.”
I feed twigs and dried leaves to the fire as he cuts up the snake, and then spits it on twigs. We cut up even more to cook and then dry for walking rations tomorrow, which sounds horrific but beats an empty belly. And while we wait on the food, Mendoza gets rid of the entrails and the skin by leaving the cave again, even though it’s dark outside and it’s not smart.
It’s clear he’s avoiding me. It’s also clear he’s not about to take his clothes off. When he returns to the cave, he rinses his hands with the runoff at the cave lip, then toys with the leaves near the entrance to the cave. “These aren’t quite dry yet.”
“Then come sit with me.” I pat the stone floor next to me. “Please.”
He does, his gaze carefully on the fire.
“We’ve got a few minutes before the food’s ready,” I tell him. “Don’t you want to get out of those wet clothes?” And because that sounds horribly porny, I add quickly, “They’ll dry faster and you’ll be warmer.”
He shakes his head. “This is fine.”
I sigh and move toward him. “Can we be practical for a moment? This isn’t about getting sexy. This is about staying dry. I’ve been covered in mud all day, and bugs, and I’m about to eat snake. I haven’t seen a hairbrush in forever. I’ve never felt less sexy in my life. But I know I’m warmer with my wet clothes off, and you will be, too. And since we don’t have blankets, you’re my biggest source of heat, okay?”
Rafe tosses another twig on the fire, ignoring me.
I can’t believe I’m having to convince a guy to get naked with me. “I know you’re a virgin. I know you have a huge dick. I promise you I won’t be weird about either one, okay? Whatever your reason for celibacy, I respect it. I’m not going to mess with you. I promise.”
That gets a response from him. Astonishment. “You think I want to be celibate?”
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Why else would you be a virgin?” But then I think back to earlier today, when he slid his fingers inside me and rubbed his cock against my panties. There wasn’t shame in his body, like he was doing something forbidden. There was hunger, dark and intense.
Hunger like there was in his eyes right now. “You don’t understand,” he says in a low growl.
“Try me.”
“I killed a woman during sex.”
I blink. “How?”
His lip curls at my stupid question. “How do you think?”
“Asphyxiation? I mean, some people get off on that, but . . .” Maybe he asphyxiated her with his cock? If ever there was one to choke a girl to death, it’s that one.
He gives a sharp shake of his head and stares into the fire. “No. You misunderstand. I tried to put my cock inside her and she died. End of story.”
I’m a little aghast at this. I mean, his cock is big, but I didn’t realize it was killer big. I can’t help but glance down at his pants again. He’s not erect, I don’t think, but he’s still bigger than most guys, which is pretty staggering.
“And that was your only time?” I ask softly.
He rubs his unshaven jaw and stares into the fire.
“Have you ever had any sex that didn’t end with . . . anything like that?”
Rafe looks at me, and then his gaze flicks to my near-naked body. He’s probably thinking about this morning, when I rode his hand and screamed his name.
Was that the only time anyone’s touched him sexually and didn’t freak out on him? I don’t know what to make of this information. The more I see Mendoza’s monster dick outlined in his pants, the more I get used to seeing it. It’s huge. Scary huge, and not in a sexy way. I think most size queens would even get a bit alarmed at the sight.
But I also feel sympathy for the big guy. He’s sexy and muscular, and most girls would give their right hand to be able to touch him. The fact that he’s never had a great sexual encounter other than this morning?
It makes me want to give him more. I’m attracted to him despite our predicament, and I want to show him that sex can be good, even if it doesn’t have a dick inside a vagina.
So I sidle closer to him. Put a hand on the buttons at the top of his shirt and begin to slowly undo them with my good hand.
He freezes. His breath is rasping hard in his throat. “Ava, don’t—”
“Shh,” I tell him. “We should get these cold, wet things off of you.” I wish my hand was better so I could make this sexier. For now, he has to settle with me fumbling with his hem. I manage to free a patch of skin and then give up. “Do me a favor and take your shirt off, will you?” I ask, holding up my bad hand. “This is working against me.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“Get you naked so you can dry off,” I say. “Then I’m going to rub up against you for a bit and touch you, if you’re okay with that.” I lean in. “I’d volunteer to kiss you but my breath probably isn’t minty fresh.”
“I don’t fucking care,” he says, and his gaze goes to my mouth. There’s the hungry, intense look again. Like he’s going to die if he doesn’t eat me alive.
I shiver, and I feel my nipples responding, getting hard. My pulse throbs between my legs, too. “I’ll kiss you if you take off your shirt, then,” I tell him. I wonder for a moment if he’s going to take it off, but he doesn’t hesitate. Off it goes, and onto the floor in a wet, sodden heap.
And now I get to gaze at Mendoza’s male beauty. He’s got a few scars here and there, carved among his muscles. He’s got a sprinkling of chest hair, and his skin is a dark, rich, warm brown that speaks of long days in the sun and his Hispanic heritage. He’s also mouthwateringly gorgeous, a few tattoos on his arms interrupting the otherwise perfect sculpture of him. There’s a happy trail near his belly button that disappears into his pants, and I run a finger
over it, fascinated. “Man, I should not like looking at you so much,” I sigh.
He stiffens.
I quickly feel the need to qualify my words. “It’s distracting,” I say, running my finger up his chest. He relaxes. Lord, there’s a six pack, complete with ridges. This man must not have an ounce of fat on his body. God, I bet his ass is incredible, too. And his thighs. “Pants off?”
“I’m fine,” he says in a voice that is stern, gruff.
I ignore it. I don’t like taking no for an answer. So I lean against him and put my good hand on his cock, keeping the throaty purr in my voice as I raise my mouth to his. “Pants off?”
Rafe groans and captures my mouth with his. His kiss is rough, wild, hungry, and intense, and it affects me more than I thought it would. All the while, my good hand grips his cock and I try to not think about how what I’m holding feels like gripping the wrong end of a baseball bat and that it’s not going anywhere near my girl parts without a metric ton of lube. Probably not even then, considering he’s killed someone with it. Can that even happen? I wish he had been more explicit, but I could tell that he’d rather die than speak another word about that incident. I don’t think he snuffed out anyone with his dick, but he does and it’s clearly scarred him, so much so that this big, strong male is afraid of me.
But I can stroke him and pet him and show him that it’s pleasurable to be him.
I break the kiss and nibble lightly at his open mouth, even as my hand rubs over his cock again, and then I go for the buttons on his cargo pants. “Undo this for me.”
He rips at the fabric, his breathing harsh, and then he’s free and that enormous cock is pressing against my hand once more. I can feel heat radiating from his skin, and he’s rising tall and proud. He’s enormous. Has to be nearly a foot long, and thick as my wrist.
Jesus.
But his pants are open and he’s looking at me with wild, ravenous eyes, and I feel . . . oddly special. Like this is a big moment and it means something. My heart gives another painful squeeze that this gorgeous man is so starved for touch. I’ve been careless with my body over the years, having one-night stands and pointless relationships. I’ve probably slept with more guys than I should admit. But I doubt this matters to a guy like Rafe, because he’s looking at me like I’m the most beautiful, perfect girl on Earth because I dare to put my hand on Godzilla. I’m not the plain friend with the weird eyes and the kooky job. I’m Ava, and I’m gorgeous to him.
So I slide my hand forward and grip him, palm to flesh.
The breath shudders from his lungs. He groans low, and I stroke carefully. Hand jobs are tricky, because hands can be really damn dry. Mine are soft from the rain and because I’m fervent about lotioning them, but he still needs more lubrication. I think about letting him lick my hand to wet it, but there’s a better, slicker lube I can use. I rest my swollen wrist against his hard shaft, and I shove my good hand into my panties. His eyes widen and his breath hisses out as I glide my fingers through my folds. I’m wet at touching him, monster cock or not, and I’m loving his reactions. “Hang tight,” I tell him, and lean in to kiss his parted mouth again, my tongue flicking against his. He groans again, and that makes me even wetter. When my hand is good and slick, I pull it back out of my panties and place it on his cock, and then gently stroke.
Rafe’s head falls back, and his hand clenches over mine. “Ava, no—”
“Going to come?” I ask, my voice gentle. I give him another tiny stroke, more of a jiggle, really, and kiss his mouth. He’s got a hair trigger, but that can be worked on. “Do it,” I say in my naughtiest voice. “Come all over my hand.” And I stroke him carefully again, tightening my fingers around that beast of a cock.
Rafe growls, the sound feral and wild, and his hand clenches over mine. A hot spurt of liquid slaps against my arm, and then he’s coming even more. His fist works over mine, helping me milk his orgasm, until both his hand and mine are covered in his come, and he’s breathing hard, exhausted, and beautiful to look at.
The look in his eyes is dazed. “Why did you do that?” he asks.
I lick my lips and then taste a drop of his come, beaded on the tip of my thumb. “Because I wanted to, and because you’re sexy.” I shrug. “Do we need more of a reason?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RAFAEL
I wish she was less beautiful—that she wasn’t so round and luscious like a ripe jungle fruit dangling in front of a starving man. I stare at her mouth, the one that has curved round her thumb and licked off a dewdrop’s worth of come. The rest of it—the shit not in her mouth—covers her hand. It’s like a silky rope, weaving in and around her fingers.
Godzilla, as she calls it, lies against my leg, the upper half curled to the left. I’m still half aroused. I force myself to think of snakes slithering in a mass orgiastic pile at the bottom of the cave like in the Indiana Jones movie. And nuns. No, nuns can be sexy. Ava in a nun costume would make me come in a nanosecond.
And then I’m hard. Again.
When she sucks in her breath, I jerk the corner of my pants over to cover up the new erection, but the fabric does little to disguise it. I move into a crouching position and ignore the pain that shoots from my cock up my spine. Hopefully the pain will make my arousal die off. I grab sand from the bottom of the cave and rub it over my dick until the come is off along with some of my skin. I’ll have to be more gentle with Ava.
How can I stop wanting her? This must be hell—to have the very thing that you desire but cannot have dangled in front of you unceasingly. The need to protect her and keep her safe is warring against the need to possess her. Under my skin, those two violent desires are battling and I’m afraid of the victor. Afraid for both of us.
“Don’t do it again,” I growl and ignore the dark desires that course through me as she warily eyes my advance. Her eyes flick to the side, signaling her desire to escape, but before she can run to another part of the cave I grab her hand and rub dirt over it, scraping off the evidence of my weakness until all that is left is her soft flesh.
“It’s just a hand job,” she says, slightly defensive, slightly confused. I don’t clear up the issue for her.
I’m a razor-thin thread away from taking the club between my legs and shoving it in one of her hot wet holes. How many times does she think she can touch me, or how many times does she think can shove her fat tits into my face before I throw her down on the nearest surface and break her in two?
“Get some sleep,” I order.
“I thought orgasms were supposed to mellow people out. Not make them into bigger assholes.” She jerks out of my grip and stomps to the other side of the fire. I try not to watch her but my traitorous eyes follow every movement. The firelight makes everything more erotic. When she bends over, the light highlights the swells of her breasts and creates shadows in the deep valley between them.
I brace myself for the onslaught of tears but I get nothing except her quiet breath and small movements as she tries to find some comfort on the stone and dirt. Somehow her quiet acceptance of my shitty behavior is worse. If she cries then I would have an excuse to go to her and sweep her up in my arms under the guise of comforting her.
But her silence is far more effective punishment. She shuts me out and I have no reason to go to her. The fire will keep her warm. The cavern will keep her dry. She has water and food. Tonight I am merely a nuisance, and an ungrateful one at that.
As penance I force myself to stay awake all night to feed the fire.
In the flickering firelight, she looks angelic. Her hair pillows around her face. The flames cast a golden glow over her normally pale skin. Her lips are red, her cheeks rosy. The heat of the fire gives her a healthy glow.
I can almost convince myself I’m not in the jungle and that Ava and I are camping out in the desert. Outside the monkeys scream at each other, the pumas howl, and the snakes slither around on the ground. In here, it’s warm and dry.
I watch the fire so long I imagine myself
in another place, with Ava. This time we’re on the beach. She’s got some tiny white bikini stretched across her ass and when she walks, the drums start playing. I’m lying on a lounger, one of those wooden things with a cushion so my ass doesn’t get sore from sitting on it so long.
She stops at the edge of the water and the ocean waves lap at her feet, giving her tiny caresses. For some reason, because this is my fantasy and her ass is like a minor miracle, she begins to do toe touches and every time she bends over, the white spandex rides a little higher until it’s bunched between her cheeks.
She casts a coy look over her shoulder and then runs her fingers along the elastic edge of those bikini bottoms and pulls the excess fabric from her crack. She tugs the white bottom down so far I can see the crease between her cheeks. She purses her lips together and winks. Then the bottoms go down so far she’s mooning me.
I shoot up from the lounger and am on her in a half second. Maybe less. Rockets move slower than me.
I shove the white bottoms down around her thighs and then push her into the sand. I spread her cheeks and see her outer lips are swollen and wet and her dark eye winks at me. I lean forward and bury my face in her ass, licking everywhere, sucking everything. I’m the parched guy in the desert and her cunt is the only font of water available. That’s how hard I am on her, how far my tongue is up her pussy.
When she’s panting and crying and begging every known deity for mercy, I take my dick in hand and press it against her opening. She’s sopping wet and my dick slides in like there’s two gallons of lube spilled between us. Her cunt walls grip me tight but I don’t shoot my load immediately.
Nope. I savor it. I draw out to my tip and then push back in so slow that ants crawling at a picnic have time to eat the entire pie. She continues to drench my cock with her come and I hear the slap and suck of our bodies as she arches into my every thrust. I slap her ass and watch the bubble of flesh jiggle erotically. I slap her again and she mewls for more. I tap those mounds a few more times until she goes wild on my cock.
Last Hope Page 11
