Page 23 of Feral
And then my ass.
He fucked all of me like a man possessed.
Like a feral animal in heat, needing to breed.
And I took him. Because no other man ever made me feel the way he did. So wanted. So dirty. So his. The scars on his sinuous body? He kept his shirt on, hanging open but shielding me from looking at what I could only imagine was the full extent of the burns he had suffered. The scars that I could see on his lower body went all the way down to his right thigh, his left side almost untouched. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and throw open the flimsy fabric and caress the heated skin beneath. The skin I knew was burning for me. But I wanted him to grant me permission first. I wasn’t there to judge or assess this man and this wasn’t the time for questions and answers. It was a time for giving and taking.
My colleagues had all warned me he was as stubborn as an ox. That he had turned down every doctor's advice on getting a prosthetic leg. They said he always told them the same thing; that he didn’t deserve the easier path. Those words stayed with me.
I wasn’t ready for him.
For the tender, unexpected way he ran his strong hand across my cheek.
For the way his soft lips caressed my body as if I were made of fine porcelain. I remember the way his features relaxed and that smile of his, the one that turned to a lascivious grin when he finally realized I was going to let him fuck me.
Scars and all.
“I'll make more coffee.” His deep voice brings me back to the present and a shiver goes through me despite the sweltering heat.
“Great idea.”
Silence reigns for the next few minutes until he offers me a steaming porcelain cup with a cute dog face on it. “Here,” he says, and I look up to meet his gaze. He offers me a smile and I take a small sip.
“I wouldn't have pegged you for the caramel type.”
“I like variety.”
“And the dog? Souvenir shop?”
“That’s Froddo, a German Shepherd. He passed away a little after my conviction.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
He pulls out the chair next to me and slowly lowers himself on it, his four-legged cane always by his side. “It's alright. I wish I’d spent more time with him when I had the chance. You get to evaluate many things when you’re behind bars.”
“Do you regret it?”
“What, exactly?”
“The affair. Your best friend learning about it that way. The accident.”
“The only thing I regret is letting my emotions get the best of me that day. I should have stayed calm or not raced at all. I oughta know better than that.” The pain in his voice is almost palpable as he lowers his head to look at his missing limb. “Marc didn’t deserve to die like that. It should have been me instead.”
Another chill goes through me at his confession and I wonder how much that turn of events cost this man. “You loved Jenni, didn’t you?”
“Oui.She was a magnificent woman. Marc was, too.”
“Does she know you’re out? I mean, she must know you’re out. Right?”
He remains calm, unfazed by my questions. He’s just as rough inside as he is outside and I find that incredibly appealing.
“I haven't seen or talked to her since the trial. She never visited me when I was in the slammer and I didn't want to upset her anymore. She lost her husband because of me.”
“I’m sorry, Jacob. You deserved better.”
“No, I didn’t, sweetie. I was a homewrecker. Tracy always knew I was fooling around, that’s why she gave me the boot.”
“She was your ex-wife, right?”
