by Candi Wall
He covered her other breast with his hand and realized the cloth had slid loose. Tossing it aside, he slipped lower down her body. He nuzzled his cheek across her smooth belly, licking at her navel and lower until he met yet another barrier. With a small sigh, he glanced up. “This is much easier in my world.”
Myla laughed, though she wasn’t sure how she’d produced the sound through the tight pressure in her throat. His masterful touch had driven her desire to desperate proportions. “I don’t think I could get used to wearing so little clothing like you do.”
A devilish smile curved his lips, and he fingered the button to her cargo pants. “You must try before you decide.” He kissed the skin above his fingers and shards of heat settled in her stomach. “Remove these.”
The command in his voice excited her as much as his touch. She reached down to pop the button free, then unzipped the short zipper. His fingers followed her movements, stroking her skin as she exposed it. When she shifted to push the pants down her hips, he smiled and reached out to move her hands away. He sat back and tugged them free, sliding his hands up and over her legs. “More?”
She’d closed her eyes, and the soft question surprised her. Of course she wanted more. Did women in his tribe show their passion differently? She peeked up at him only to find him staring at her thong with disdain. His disconcerted gaze was too cute. “They’re called underwear.”
He grasped her hips and rolled her to the side to glance at her bottom. “They have no back.” His fingers traced the fabric as he settled her back again and slid his knees between her legs. “Why do you wear something that has no use?”
The fact that his fingers were tracing her thong down between her legs made it difficult to answer. “They cover what they need to cover.”
His fingers pressed against her damp center, wringing a soft cry from her throat. “This?”
She nodded. How could teaching him about the use of underwear be as erotic as it was? “Yes and the back makes it so people can’t see the lines of my underwear against my pants.”
His brows arched. “Do your people often look at each other’s bottoms?”
With a silent prayer for patience, she blew out a breath. “No, but it is—oh, never mind.” She reached up and drew her fingers over his hard chest. “Let’s discuss clothing some other time.”
He chuckled, but his fingers continued to graze over her sensitized folds. “It must take you a long time to prepare yourself in the mornings.”
“No, not real—” She gasped when his finger slid under the fabric to trace along her heated flesh. The slick reaction of her body smoothed over his finger, and his soft groan told her he felt it as well.
“You said you did not wish to talk about it.” His finger rubbed over her with gentle, expertly placed pressure. “Your body craves me.”
“Very much.” She should be dying from embarrassment, and yet she’d never felt so free, so uninhibited, wild. “Take them off.”
He smiled and drew the thong down her legs. The fabric pulled over her skin, building on her anticipation. She lifted one leg at a time as he removed them. They were tossed aside with little care to land next to her bra. His small shrug would have made her laugh, but the soft press of his lips against her inner thigh stopped it midway through her throat.
She buried her hands in his hair as he moved closer to her center, dragging hot kisses against her skin until she shivered beneath his seduction. His breath came hot and heavy, his fingers spreading her legs farther to sink into the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. The pleasure he created staggered her mind, but when his mouth closed over her, his tongue tracing across the swollen, sensitive nub of her desire, she arched off the ground. “Oh, God.”
His tongue and mouth pleasured her, creating a soft rhythm against her until she tossed her head from side to side with the ache developing in the pit of her stomach. Deep heat flooded her aroused flesh, and she trembled, closer to orgasm than she’d thought possible. She gripped his hair to urge and beg off in turn, until small flashes of light broke her vision.
Damon could not get enough. The taste of her body, the heat and her response fueled him on, and he stroked her until she cried out. She was close. He slid his finger into her depths as her body shuddered and trembled beneath him. Her response rained over him with tiny pulses, increasing in intensity like the thunder around them.
He sat back on his knees, staring down at her in the late-afternoon shadows. Her breasts rose and fell in staggered breaths, a sensual smile curving her damp lips. Then she reached up, slipping the ties free to pull his cloth loose. The fabric twisted around his waist, brushing over his aroused shaft with torturous friction until finally she dragged it away.
Her gaze moved over him slowly, sending sizzles of pleasure through his stomach. When her hands moved over his chest and lower to trace the muscles of his ribs, he fisted his hands at his sides, certain he could not take more. His reaction to her touch threatened to make him spill his seed before they mated. The feel of her fingers nearly drove him over the edge.
Then her hands moved lower. He sucked in a harsh breath when she traced the hard contours of his shaft. She closed her hand around him, her small palm barely covering half his aching flesh. He reached down to place her other hand on his engorged shaft and thrust into her grasp, ignoring the burn in his thigh. The wound would heal. His heart might not. He needed her tonight.
She increased the pressure, drawing over him until he threw his head back with the sensations ripping through him. He leaned down, bracing himself as she stroked him, mimicking the cadence he wanted to set inside her. When she sucked a finger into her mouth and drew the dampness over his heated flesh, he knew he was done.
Unable to wait any longer, he crushed his body to hers, sliding between her slickened thighs until his shaft met the hot welcome folds of her center. He braced there for a moment, rubbing along her body as he framed her face.
Her eyes were heavy-lidded, dazed. The knowledge that she was as lost in this pleasure as he was spurred him on. He pressed slowly into her body, gritting his teeth at the incredible sensation evoked by their joining. He moved deeper, dying to fill her and savor the pressure of her body surrounding him. Wanting nothing more than to finish the sensuous torture they had created. But he would know her passion first. This could be their only night, and he refused to miss the experience of her unraveling around him.
She gasped for breath, her eyes wide. “You feel incredible.”
He nodded against her shoulder, not trusting himself to speak, and thrust deep. Scattering kisses over her jaw and shoulder, he moved, unable to remain still when her body begged him for more, her words urging him on to a faster, more demanding pace he was only too happy to meet.
She moved with him, her body slick with the heat and response of her desire. Thunder and lightning cracked overhead, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging between them. Small drops of warm rain filtered down through the trees, and he pressed on, demanding more, meeting her need as she pulled him closer, her lips closing over the skin at his neck.
Her small sobs of pleasure drove him to the brink of release, and he plunged deep, rubbing against her core until he felt the first pulse of her release clamp around him in a tight grip. He held her there, enjoying her response. Her eyes darkened. The sky opened up.
A streak of lightning arced over the trees, and Myla stared up at his form framed in the harsh light. He didn’t move other than the slightest shift of his hips. He commanded her body with seamless effort, and she could do nothing more than pray he didn’t stop. Balanced on an incredible release, she waited, crying out in desperation. “Please, Damon.”
Then he moved again, with hard, deep thrusts that burned up through her body and tightened in a knot in her belly. The rain drummed over them, wild with the intensity of the storm, while their bodies glided wet and slick in perfect rhythm.
She urged him on, begging him for more until the tight fist inside her unraveled and
spiraled down through her center to clamp around him in pulses of pleasure. The world around her disintegrated.
He stroked deeper, drawing every wave of her release out to an incredible pinnacle that made her arch from the ground and shudder against his demanding sex. His throaty yell followed her cry. His shaft, buried deep within her, pulsed with his release until he collapsed in her arms.
Damon pulled her naked body close. She shivered slightly, and he curved his arm and leg over her. The rain continued to fall in blinding sheets outside their small shelter, but he was content to hold her close. He could not sleep. The first light of morning had broken the dense black nearly an hour ago, and soon they would have to leave their shelter. He liked the thought less with every passing moment.
Their coupling had been beyond anything he could have imagined. Even now, his body remained hard, pressed against her thigh. He wanted more, wanted to remain deep inside of her until they could no longer feel. But she needed her rest, and the days that would follow could prove difficult for her.
Her damp hair clung to his arm as she lay against it, peaceful in sleep. Her eyes shifted beneath the lids, and he wondered what she dreamed. He brushed a strand of hair back from her face. There was something about her that made him want—what? To keep her with him? To make her his?
So much uncertainty surrounded him already. The last thing she needed was to stay and face that future with him. She knew better than anyone how fragile his people’s existence could be. And yet she had given him her body. Brought him peace. She might not think she was an omen. But he believed, now more than ever, that she was. An omen of peace to come.
He pushed his hand through her hair, inhaling deep. There was no way to know what would happen to them from here, but the connection they had forged tonight could never happen again. She must leave. For her own safety.
She must leave, and he never could.
He settled close and pulled her tight against him. Soon. She would have to leave soon. But first they would talk to the elders.
Until then, she could be his.
Myla’s spirits continued to sink. Oh, she managed a happy face and tried several times to bring Damon into conversation, but she was beginning to think even primitive, Tarzan-type jungle men knew about the one-night-stand morning-after brush-off. What else could it be?
He’d woken her earlier that morning with a cursory kiss as her only return of affection. She cringed at the memory. Her hungry kisses and touch had gained her nothing more than that little kiss, so she wouldn’t be trying again. Stepping over a huge root, she pushed thoughts of the morning aside and swiped at the sweat beading on her forehead.
The pace Damon set was brutal. His leg had to be killing him. Not that he showed even the slightest discomfort. He forged on, not slowing his steps through the thickest brush and highest climbs. She struggled to keep up, and her legs were bordering Jell-O-like. If he didn’t stop soon, or at the very least slow down, she’d seriously have to begin thinking about turning back the way they’d come.
“Damon?” His back stiffened, but he didn’t turn. “Do you think we could slow down a bit?”
Nothing but the sounds of the jungle replied. She waited as he picked through a huge patch of thorny but very fragrant flowers before trying again. “I can’t keep up this pace for much longer.”
Again, silence from the rock-head attached to that magnificent body before her. His broad shoulders glistened in the light that broke through the canopy in small beams. The muscles down his back tightened and rippled each time he moved, and she followed the movements down to his hips.
His cloth brushed against the hard backs of his thighs, where larger muscles bulged in his legs. As he stepped up a sharp embankment, she caught a glimpse of his butt. Warmth that had nothing to do with the heat around them burgeoned in the pit of her stomach.
There wasn’t a moment of last night she could regret. The sex was—well—indescribable. Beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she shouldn’t have slept with him, but hell, she’d never really done anything crazy or impulsive. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but college didn’t count in the grand scheme of things. Even her plan to join John in Peru had been carefully planned and executed.
“It doesn’t matter anyway.” She talked out loud, hoping something she said would draw him out of the miserable silence. “It’s not like it’s ever going to happen again. After all, there has to be two people interested in sex before it can happen. Well, most times. There’s always the forced sex, but last night was anything but forced.”
An odd sound came from Damon’s direction. It might have been a cough, but she couldn’t be certain. It wasn’t speech, so she continued her monologue. “Maybe in the jungle there’s a rule against speaking with the woman you did the horizontal mambo with the night before. Maybe having sex closes off the vocal cords of the natives. Wow, what an amazing discovery. Sex creates a mute partner. Oh, the men in America who would pay top dollar for that.”
Another strangled sound drifted back, and it almost sounded like a laugh. “Of course the women would pay more. I know my mother would have given her left arm to shut my father up on occasion. Perhaps it’s a ritual, some strange godly observance for succumbing to the sins of the flesh. Or instead of abstaining, you must—”
Damon stopped in his tracks and turned back, his eyes crinkled at the edges from laughter. The throaty sound rumbled through the jungle. “Enough, Myla. I understand that you want to talk. You can stop now.”
Finally. She closed the distance between them and put her hand on his chest. “All I’m asking for is something besides silence.” He stared at her hand and all traces of humor disappeared. She pulled her hand back. Was he now repulsed by her touch? “If you regret last night, I understand, but we can still be friends. I won’t ask for you to make love to me again.”
“Regret last—” He ran a hand through his hair and dropped down to sit on a large boulder before shaking his head. “I do not regret our mating, Myla. But it should not have happened. I was lost. Last night, I thought you could be mine while you had to be here. Today, I see the error of that thought.”
Okay, maybe talking wasn’t such a good idea, but she’d asked for it. “I’m not going to argue about whether or not we should—mate, but just so I understand, why do you think we shouldn’t?”
“I thought about this long into the night.” He looked up at the trees, then around at their surroundings. “I belong here. You do not.”
“You don’t think I know that?” She knew it to her toes. With a frustrated sigh, she knelt before him.
“You may know it, but the longer you remain, the more you will think you do. The more I will think you do.” His eyes were sad as he traced a finger across her lips. The warmth of his touch inviting even in the path of his denial. “And then, in the end you will be unhappy. You will regret that you chose to stay.”
She didn’t quite know what to make of his statement. “Damon, I loved what happened between us, it was wonderful. But I have no intention of staying here with you.”
His eyes darkened and the stiffness returned to his shoulders. Mating meant much more to men in the jungle, or so it would seem. “You still plan to leave?”
“Yes, of course. You said it yourself. I don’t belong here.” Her chest tightened. Why did saying it hurt? There was something about the jungle, about him, that tugged at her heart.
“Then you mated with me with the intention of leaving?”
He was angry? But that made no sense. “As you did, knowing you would ask me to leave. What is the difference?”
“There is none.”
“Then why are you angry?”
He stood abruptly and looked away. “We should keep moving.”
Myla shook her head. What the hell had happened? Had she convinced him to talk so he could tell her to leave, and when she agreed that she would, for him to get angry because she was leaving?
Grabbing her head, she rubbed at the ache for
ming behind her eyes. Whoever said women were difficult to understand had never met her Tarzan-man. They’d have to tackle this subject again—later. For now, she wanted peace. “Lead on, boss. Lead on.”
“I enjoyed last night as well.”
It wasn’t an apology, but at least it was a form of civility. She could live with that.
“And what is this ‘horizontal mambo’?”
“It’s sex, Damon. Mating.” She couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Because we were in a horizontal position… Never mind.”
Chapter Ten
Damon pressed on. He knew Myla tired. She looked ready to collapse as she dragged one foot in front of the other. They had traveled farther throughout the day than he expected, but they still had a long way to go. A long, dangerous way.
Hountas concerned him less than the white men. InterCorp men had learned his jungle well. They moved among them nearly as silently as his own people. The ever-increasing number of invaders made it impossible to feel safe anywhere. But being outside the boundaries of his own land made it that much worse. The white men moved freely here, without care, and any reason to kill seemed to be a good one to them.
Tinjtol and his band of warriors had not helped the situation.
Being so near the InterCorp men weighed on his mind. He wanted distance. The closer he and Myla came to his tribe’s land, the safer he would feel. If that meant pushing on far longer and harder than planned, then they would do so. The time to rest would come when they were safe.
Thoughts of Myla drove him on. He could have stopped. His head ached. His thigh ached. The want to lie down and sleep for hours was almost too much to resist. But when he considered stopping, his thoughts turned to her touch. The images of her soft body beneath him kept taking over, and he decided to keep going. If only to keep her safe—from himself.
