Page 13 of Feral
Making my way over to the perfectly made bed, I sit on the edge and take a moment to collect my thoughts. My mind runs back to the conversation I had with Tammy the other night at the bar and how I reassured her that I could take care of myself no matter what. What did I really expect to find coming here? The perfect gentleman who’d politely answer all my questions? A man who’d thank me for going to the trouble of coming to find him just to get his interview? Was I really that naive? He’s a convicted felon for God’s sake. For all I know, he may have forced his best friend into the barriers himself. What better way to get rid of him and cover his tracks as well? But then again, if he was half as smart as he seems he would have planned this more carefully. He wouldn’t have been caught with alcohol in his blood. Right?
Sighing, I think back to his indecent proposal and I have to admit I am beginning to find the offer rather enticing.
I stare up at the ceiling and wonder what he’s doing.
Is he getting undressed?
Does he sleep naked at night?
Is he thinking of me?
Has he been with a woman after he was released from prison?
How badly injured is he?
Those questions run around in my head and before I realize it, I remove my towel and drop it on the edge of the bed.
My heart is racing.
I haven’t felt this excited in a very long time.
Being here all alone in this strange man’s house, waiting to see if he’s actually going to make good on his promise to bed me, is having a wickedly captivating effect on me. The air vents connecting the rooms of the house cause sound to travel and I stretch my ears, trying to listen for any sounds he’s making.
A low guttural groan sounds and I can’t tell if it’s from him lying down and taking the pressure off his leg or if he’s doing something more pleasurable. I can’t help but hope he's stroking that large dick I glimpsed an outline of when he so crudely drew my attention to his crotch earlier today. I can already tell he’s larger than my good-for-nothing ex-boyfriend, Jack.
Damn! Feeling horny inside an ex-con’s remote house is something I never expected to happen. And yet, here we are.
I lie on the bed, the soft, crisp sheets soothing my heated skin as my fingers start circling my nipple, teasing it until it rises to a hard peak. I switch to my left breast, squeezing it until a soft moan leaves my lips.
I don’t try to stifle the sound.
Hoping he can hear me too.
I trail a hand down to my core, imagining it is his touch instead. Dipping my finger into my wetness, I gather some and use it to rub my clit, then I slip it back inside me, stroking myself more vigorously.
I finger myself harder, thoughts of him rubbing his length all over my wet pussy and then entering my sopping cunt flooding my mind. I imagine the way his beard would feel against my pink lips as he ate me out with long, lavish strokes of his tongue. How I would grab onto his head as he feasted on my soaked pussy before he made good on his promise and fucked me.
Sighing, I push another finger inside me, imagining it’s his hard cock claiming me and I move it nice and slow, taking my sweet time the same way I imagine he would with me, and my breath comes out faster by the minute. Keeping my eyes closed, I slip my fingers out of my dripping pussy and rub my clit, coaxing the pleasure that I know will arise from this self-indulgent moment and I let my thoughts run wild. I imagine him whispering the dirtiest words right in my ear as he pounds into me mercilessly, and a few minutes later I drive myself to an unsatisfying climax and promptly fall asleep exhausted.
Chapter 8
Jacob
I’m up at the crack of dawn for my meds and am surprised when I hear the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen. Walking in to greet her, I see my kitchen counter in complete disarray.
Flour coats almost every corner of the old wooden table, eggshells in one bowl, sugar and milk in another, and the scent of cinnamon takes me back to my childhood days. My late mother’s favorite radio is turned on and ‘Hungry Heart’ is playing on low. She’s humming along with the tune and I can’t keep my eyes off her. Nothing like a little Bruce Springsteen and a gorgeous woman to wake you up in the morning, right?
She seems startled when she catches me staring at her. “Hey! Didn’t expect to see you so early,” she says, going back to stirring.
“What are you doing?”
“Thanking you. I didn’t get a chance last night.”
I pull back a chair, set my cane on the edge of the table, and slowly lower myself.
She stops, seemingly to help me.
“I’m good,” I say with a shake of my head.
