Colette Gale - [The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle Part II] (7 page)

She might have reached for him. She almost did, pulling him to her…but then he moved away, like a skittish cat. How could such a strong, powerful man be so uncertain?

But when he looked at her, the expression in his eyes wasn’t uncertain. It was enough to make her melt into a puddle of hot lantern oil.

And why was she thinking about him that way? She had a fiancé. Jonathan. Whom she loved. She truly, truly loved.

Zaren had turned away, and now he offered her a small cup and two small bowls carved from wood. Water? No. She sniffed the contents of the cup. Tea? She frowned and sniffed again. The liquid was warm, and it had a scent to it. Some sort of jungle tea. Had he heated the water with his small fire, or had he found natural water from the hot springs? She wished she knew how to ask; she was becoming more curious about this man every moment.

She sipped the tea and tasted cinnamon and other fresh, astringent flavors. It made her mouth feel clean and alive. The other two bowls contained berries and nuts. Jane realized she was hungry. She glanced at him.

Shy
and
thoughtful.

To her relief, he didn’t watch her eat. She feared he would sit and gaze at her like she was an animal in a zoo. Instead, he drank from another cup, tossed a handful of berries into his own mouth, then turned and walked across the small room.

Jane watched him, realizing she’d never seen him actually walk. And he didn’t precisely walk. He…strode. No, he…stalked. Prowled. Like a cat. With smooth and precise movements, covering the small space in four masterful strides.
 

He had long hair that reached past his shoulder blades, and it was in a style she’d never seen before encountering him. Long, soft coils. Springy to the touch, about the width of a finger. His body, though very muscular, was nevertheless lean. And although he was covered from the waist down, she had a view of his broad shoulders and the sleek muscles of his back.

When he turned, she realized he’d been digging in one of the trunks she’d noticed last night. And now he held a…
book
. He looked at her, and the expression in his face nearly broke her heart.

It was a combination of apprehension and hope. Fear and determination. Question and trust. His eyes were so blue.

Jane sat up, holding the blanket modestly over her breasts. “What is it?” she asked, uncertain what caused such a range of emotion. “Is that yours?”

He brought the book and sat next to her on the bed. His warm skin brushed against her arm and Jane had to draw in a steadying breath when his touch seemed to sear into her, leaving a residual mark.

The book was old, filled with large images and simple words. A child’s pictorial dictionary. Jane noticed his knuckles were white as he held the book open in his lap, and felt intensity quivering from his very being. Apprehension? Hope? What was it?

He pointed to the drawing of a woman. “Woman,” he said, his voice low and rumbly. Then he pointed to a man. “Man,” he said with more confidence.

Jane nodded next to him; they had already established his mastery of those words. Man. Woman.
 

Zaren. Jane.

Man fuck woman.
The phrase popped into her head suddenly and she almost gasped at her mind’s inappropriate waywardness.
Zaren fuck Jane.
Oh,
yesss
….She closed her eyes for a moment to control her heightened breathing.

She didn’t think the word
fuck
would appear in the child’s book. But she was certain it wouldn’t be difficult to communicate that, at least.

He pointed to another picture, then looked at her. “Woof.” There was question in his blue eyes now.

The word under the picture said
dog
. Jane pointed to the drawing and said, “Dog.” Then she made a barking sound, like a
woof
. Zaren looked at her, quizzically, then, humor in his eyes, he barked back at her.

His sounded much more authentic. So much so that she looked around to make certain there wasn’t a real dog in the vicinity.

Then, his sensual lips still quirked with humor, he looked back down at the book. “Dawg. Dog. Woof?” Then he turned quickly through the pages of the book, which had clearly been thumbed through many times. She caught flashes of birds, beetles and butterflies, apples, bananas, beds, elephants, tigers, and…a wolf.

Zaren pointed at the picture of a wolf. “Woof. Dog.”

Now she understood. The pictures were similar and yet different. She pointed to the trees growing around the wolf, the impression of a rugged environment. Then she traced a finger around the animal itself. “Wolf.” She turned the pages of the book back to the picture of the dog, which stood next to a family. “Dog.” She gestured to the father, mother and child next to their pet.

Zaren frowned at the pictures for a long while, flipping back and forth, murmuring the two different words. Then at last he looked at her, comprehension shining in his blue eyes. He made a gruntlike sound that sounded like an affirmative.

She smiled at him, and for a moment, she thought she might simply tumble into his gaze and stay there forever. Her pulse pounded in her throat, surely audible to him. Then, as if by some instinct, they both turned back to the book. She began to point out more words for him, drawing imaginary lines between the figures to indicate their relationship.
 

“Man. Father. Woman. Mother. Boy. Son.”

He repeated all of the words, clearly becoming more confident as they went on. It became easier for him to speak the word correctly the first time, and on the very last picture, he actually said it with her.

“Fam-ly.”
 

Jane looked at him in surprise as shock registered on his own face. Then he smiled with delight, a great, wide beaming grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made a gentle crease along one side of his lips. His eyes danced with triumph and Jane’s mouth went dry.
This man….

She had the overwhelming urge to reach for him, to curl her fingers around that solid warm arm brushing against hers and pull him to her. Pleasure and lust shot in a hot rush down between her legs, and she suddenly felt hot and prickly and
aware.

Zaren stilled for a moment, his slender nostrils lifting, then flaring slightly as if catching a scent on the air. His fingers tightened over the book, shifting it almost imperceptibly, and she felt the muscles in his arm tighten next to hers.

She was close enough to see the hard pulse pounding in his golden throat, and the faint sheen over his skin. Something warm and male filled the air, the scent of him. Her nipples tightened and heat flushed over her chest, spreading down to where she was already swelling and dampening.

He held the book in his lap, and Jane reached for it, clumsily. He jolted when she brushed against the rigid cock that rose beneath the book and his loincloth. His mouth tightened, outlined with white tension, and he stared down at the book that now rested more on her lap than his. He even pointed to the drawing of a cat.
 

“Cat,” she said. Puss.
Pussy.
She swallowed hard.
Someone’s pussy is getting wet.
Her face was hot. Her breathing unsteady. Her nipples tight and ready.

“Cat,” he repeated, somehow ignoring the upright pitch in the center of his loincloth.
 

Jane wasn’t looking at the pictures any longer. She pulled the book from his hands and set it on the floor. And then, giving herself no chance to reconsider, she knelt in front of him, between his legs.

Zaren’s eyes went round with shock, and then dark as his irises sprang wide and black. His body stilled; she’d never felt anyone become so instantly still. He didn’t breathe. She swore even his pulse stopped as she pulled the soft hide away from him. Not a hair quivered, not an eyelash flickered as he looked down at her hands as they settled at the juncture of his thighs, bracketing his turgid cock and tight, hot sac.

Jane’s mouth watered, and her quim was full and wet to match. She pressed her knees together and felt tiny throbbing pulses of the little pearl in her damp heat. They shuddered up through her body.

He was magnificent. Everything a man like him should be: thick and hard, a beautiful, ready purple-red, smooth and bulging with veins. Fairly quivering with attention. A shiny drop hung from the tip and Jane leaned forward to swipe it away with a quick, light flick.

When her tongue touched the salty drop, Zaren gave a low, tortured gasp, and all at once he was alive again. Moving, breathing, his pulse raging through his veins, his skin shivering and his muscles quivering…all of this beneath her hands, against her arms propped on his bent thighs. She heard his expulsion of breath in relief and pleasure and felt a sharp ripple go through him.

She looked up at him now. His eyes were shining, dark orbs fiercely focused on her…no, on his cock. Still framed by her hands, still proud and turgid and trembling. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted.
 

And then she noticed his fingers. Curled into the edge of the bed, taut and white and rigid, so tight they trembled. The tendons in his hands and arms stood out in sharp relief.

Emboldened and filled with lust, Jane smoothed her hands closer together, cupping his quivering cock. He was hot and hard, and she grasped him, able to fit her fingers around his girth with only a little overlap. Heat surged through her as she imagined the sensation of this massive rod filling her. Her tiny pearl gave an urgent little pulse, remembering his busy, sleek tongue teasing it. She slid her other hand under the tight, warm sac and lightly brushed her fingers through the hair springing from it.
 

All of her attention was on the magnificent tool in her hands, and she stroked him once, then a second time, her hand moving long and slow along the velvety length, enjoying the heat and vibration, the length and the texture. She felt him surge beneath her fingers, the veins swelling and filling, semen hurtling up toward the head, filling his cock, ready to shoot free. His thighs vibrated against her torso. Then, fairly drooling with anticipation, she swallowed back her desire and curved both hands around his cock and closed tightly. Fisted hard around him, she made him gasp and still once more. Then, with one more tight, sharp stroke from base to head, she brought him up and over. He cried out as his rod exploded, spurting over her arms and onto her bare chest.

He pulsed and surged in her hand, his body relaxing back onto his elbows, his desperate grip loosening from the bed. His eyes were closed, his head sagged back, exposing his long, strong throat. His pulse pounded there, his warm skin glistened, his chest heaved, thick coils of hair clung to his skin. Beautiful. Edible. Jane moaned.

And then all at once, he moved. One moment, he was collapsed, sated, on the bed…the next, he was
there.
Jane hardly had a moment to catch her breath, to recognize the change in him before she was flung onto the bed, whipped up and onto her back with a sudden whoosh. He was
there
, hard and strong and powerful, over her. His hands covered her body, cupping her jaw, sliding down over her shoulders to fill themselves with her breasts. His mouth tasted, licked, nibbled, hot and rough and ravenous. His weight was heavy, solid, pinning her to the bed, his legs twined with hers.
 

He was everywhere, powerful and dangerous, the animal unleashed. Even the sounds he made…low, primal growls and rumbles he made from deep in his chest…were wild. Primitive. And they touched her, titillated her. The simple, feral timbre vibrated in her ear, shivering in delicious, deep licks down her spine as she realized how untamed this man was.
 

And that she had set him free.

For a moment, fear mingled with wild, hot pleasure as she imagined him impaling her with his massive self, slamming into her, filling her, riding her. She groaned in desperation and desire.
Yes. Please.
Her quim pulsed with need, swollen and dripping.
Zaren…fuck…Jane.

Hot and strong, he bent over her, forcing her in place as his mouth sucked on a nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth while she writhed beneath him, arching up, twisting, for
more
. The sharp sensation jolted through her, pleasure hot and sharp jagged down to her belly, tightening her quim painfully. She cried out in desperation, shifting her hips, curling her legs around his waist, trying to bring him back down to her. Down there.
There
, where the fire raged.

He was hot against her, burning into her skin, rough with hair and firm with sleek, damp muscle. His hands grasped and stroked, shifted her roughly, as if she were his prey, as if he owned her. He ate at her, sucking her nipple so hard she suddenly exploded into a shocking orgasm that wrung through her limbs, leaving her weak and spent.
 

And then, with a barely audible growl, so deep and low it made every hair on her body rise, he turned to her other breast. Still, there was no adoration here, no tenderness or uncertainty. He devoured, his tongue surging around the sensitive point, flickering and licking, swirling, and then he sucked and sucked, and she cried out, arching against him, knowing if he drew her deeper, too deep, she would explode. He teased—how did he know how to
tease
?—flickering over the very most sensitive tip of her tight, rosy, swollen nipple.
 

Jane felt warm skin shifting, powerful and taut, beneath her hands. She clawed and begged, but he was relentless, determined, wild. He held her firmly, pinned her down, torturing her with his rough lips, his punishing mouth leaving her taut, wet nipple bare and throbbing. She hurt, she ached, she burned and then something touched her between her legs…the barest pressure, the lightest touch, sliding through her wetness. Jane gave a desperate little scream and the pressure moved away before she could snatch in another breath and beg more.