Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Right,” she says, before she takes big gulps of water. When she’s sated her thirst, she tips some into her palm and runs it along the back of her neck. It’s hot and humid today, with not a sign of rain in the sky. She hasn’t acclimated to the weather like I have.
“I’d give anything for a shower,” she says. Sitting on the bank by the stream, she lifts the hem of her dress and drizzles cool water on her bare thighs. With a sigh, she does the same to her shoulders. The wind blows, and I inhale her scent.
Wait. Her scent? I close my eyes and breathe deeply, her feminine fragrance stirring need in me. I inhale again.
Christ, I know that smell, though it takes me a minute to put it together. It’s the sweet, musky scent of her arousal.
Her arousal? I look at her curiously, but she doesn’t look my way.
Why can I smell her so intensely? Have I been a savage so long on this island that I’ve actually adopted the traits of an animal?
Without realizing what I’m doing, I take a step toward her. She looks up at me, her eyes panicky. If she runs from me, she’s in danger. I take another step toward her. I have to keep her close. I gentle my voice so I don’t scare her off.
“There’s another watering hole we use to bathe,” I say. “It’s fine to splash yourself with this water, but we like to keep it for drinking.” She hasn’t let any of the water drip back into the fresh water, and she has no soap or anything that could harm our drinking supply, but it’s a simple rule we all have kept consistently.
“Oh,” she says, flushing. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I take another step toward her, keeping my voice calm, because she’s skittish. I swallow hard being near her, because when we’re close, I’m vividly aware of everything about her.
The gentle swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her dress. The way the dress dips into a low vee in the front, showing the valley between her breasts, gently freckled. I swallow. I want to lick each one of them, leaving marks with my teeth down the length of her body.
When she stands up, her skirt clings to her, the hem too high on her thighs, revealing her beautiful legs. I turn away when my mind goes to laying her down on a bed of leaves, parting those legs, and fucking her hard, right here, right now. I shake my head. The insistent, rampant need unsettles me. I’m not an animal. Then why does my body act on instinct as if I am?
What is going on with me? I’ve heard of men growing savage when put in certain conditions. In the military, it’s not unheard of. Deprived of basic necessities, humans lose their civility, their hold on decorum.
But this… this is something else altogether.
I take another step closer to her, unabashedly letting my gaze roam over her body. When I come near her, I hear a low rumble, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m growling. I’m fucking growling. My heartbeat accelerates, and my breathing becomes ragged. My fingers curl, even my eyesight sharpens until I can see every hair on her body, her pulse beneath the thin skin at her neck, the rise and fall of her shoulders. My own lungs expand with every breath she takes. I can almost taste her, almost feel the way her soft, sweet body will yield to me.
She should run. She should gather her skirt about her and flee, because I’m the predator, she’s the prey, and she doesn’t stand a fucking chance. But she doesn’t run.
It surprises me that she grows a little shy, her gaze roaming over me in turn. Her eyes linger on the muscles at my shoulders and arms, before traveling the length of my body. When she captures her lip between her teeth, I swallow hard. She’s scoping me out from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Christ, she’s as turned on as I am.
“Come here,” I murmur. She blinks and twists a piece of hair between her fingers but doesn’t move.
“Harper,” I say, louder, this time crooking a finger in her direction. “Come here.”
Her eyes on mine, she walks toward me.
“Good girl.”
She’s so close to me now, I could let out a breath and rustle her hair. I draw my index finger along her hairline, gently moving a strand of hair off her brow, before tracing my finger down the side of her face to her lips. I outline her full bottom lip, then the top, gently parting her lips with my thumb. She doesn’t stop me, but moves in even closer. Complying. She feels this, too. Her tongue peeks through and teases my thumb. When I don’t stop her, she grows bolder, circling my thumb with her tongue.