She was troubled by the predicament of being alone with a virile man full-time in the close quarters of the small cabin for several days, maybe longer. They needed to forestall temptation. When he agreed to put up the curtain as a barrier, she was relieved.
While maybe not the most sensitive man, he was much more aware than Dugan, and he seemed to care about her feelings and was eager to set her mind at ease. Yet she sensed from the faint flush in his cheek, the dilation of his pupils, that she aroused him.
Again, that whimsical, perverted idea hit her—he was attractive; his physique was stimulating, even diverting. Surprised at herself, she shook her head. The freezing cold and the awful isolation had obviously turned up her oven’s heat and aggravated her libido.
She had just run away from an obsessive, almost feral husband. She would be insane to spread her thighs for another stranger’s pulsing insertion. Experience had taught her better, or so she hoped. Still, her lips were dry, and her throat was tight. She took a breath and sighed.
“Is everything OK?” he asked, raising his voice so that she could hear him through the thick curtain of material that hung between them.
“Yes, yes, thank you,” she said.
She ran her fingers through her tangle of hair. She knew this wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement for him. Not that he seemed to mind the sleeping bag. He told her that he was used to roughing it and didn’t mind the floor. But having her there, half naked at times, and sleeping on the other side of a curtain, must be quite provocative for a single man. She was sensitive and bright—notwithstanding her bad judgment in her choice of husband.
She guessed that he had things to hide, a history he didn’t want exposed that might be discovered if she was inquisitive and nosed around. Maybe he’d even mutter loudly in his sleep, and reveal his secrets. A part of her was curious; another told her to let it lie. There was no obvious way that she could figure it out from anything in the cabin, but experience had taught her that secrets were dangerous.
“By the way,” she said, parting the curtain so she could speak to him. “I’m Carol. Who are you?”
“Jeremy. But my friends call me Josh.”
“Thanks, Josh. I appreciate it.”
After she closed the curtain, she heard the quiet shuffle of him taking off his shirt and stripping to his shorts; then the banging as he began his daily exercise routine. After ten minutes, she smelled the thick and dizzying pungency of sweat that must be dripping off his muscled chest.
Carol started at his heavy breathing, the bellowing grunts and moans that echoed like passion. As if in response, her breathing grew deeper, and her nipples tightened. She heard him puffing from exertion, and couldn’t resist peeking through a small hole in the curtain.
She gasped. He was lifting a heavy metal pipe, wielding it like a barbell. She watched as his torso strained, turning tawnier as blood pumped to his chest and fed his straining biceps. His pecs were sweaty slabs, twitching and expanding with his effort. She heard him snort like a bull; then as he made a massive effort, his biceps grew even larger and bulged like living marble.
She watched as he raised and lowered the bar up and down, pumping it; saw his chest expand like molten steel and saw the damp pale hair plastered to his abdomen. His tongue flicked out, licked at his compressed lips as he slowly lowered the weight to the ground. His body shivered, hard and well-defined as muscles shifted underneath pale skin that looked like silken armor. Her vision focused on the thick, corded muscle in his legs that were veined with squiggly veins; then, it wavered with the ripple of his bulky, sweaty shoulders.
Carol was startled by his stark masculinity, and there was a prickling in her breasts and a sudden tautness in her nipples. He was definitely attractive. Abruptly, she was curious about this virile man who seemed, in some ways, to be a jaded knight in this land of frost. She drew a breath, then exhaled loudly.
“What was that? Are you OK?” His concerned shout was loud. She bit her lip.
“Carol?”
“I’m OK.” Her voice was faint, cracking.
Images of his nude body rose in her brain. She heard him picking up the beam, his grunting puffs; and then she smelled his musky scent and almost swooned. The air was still and stale in the cabin; the odor of his perspiration pervaded the room, and her nostrils, spreading wide, inhaled it. She heard the flooring creaking with the force of his exertion.
Behind the curtain, Carol could not contain her curiosity, her need to learn more about him. Watching him like a peeping tom, she felt a guilty vibration, the beginnings of arousal. She could not take her eyes off him. But, she couldn’t allow her urges to overwhelm her intellect. Her impulsivity had led her to couple with Dugan; that was a mistake. She would not quickly rush into another.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Carol finally fell into a restless sleep, her dreams had a nightmarish quality. She was running hard in the snow, chased by Dugan, whose strides were gargantuan. Suddenly he grabbed her, then manacled her wrists painfully with iron handcuffs. He had a metal device in his hands, and his toothy expression was vile and malevolent. The metal glinted, and the object’s shape was vaguely familiar. It was a silver chastity belt.
In the dream, Dugan threw his massive weight on top of her, holding her down, burying her under his leaden heaviness; then, restraining her with one mighty hand, the other began wrapping the stiff, cold metal around her. It was hard and painful, and she was trapped. Suddenly hysterical, she woke up screaming.
She faintly heard Josh calling out to her.
“Carol, Carol! Are you OK?”
She was still groggy and abruptly began weeping as Josh pushed his way through the curtain. She looked up at him as he leaned over her and saw him through an out-of-focus haze, but she flung her arms around his sweaty body, and buried her face against the hardness of his chest.
The mattress jounced as Josh settled in beside her. He wrapped his arms gently around her, and his penis rose as he pressed his nakedness against her flesh. She heard whispered cooing as he nibbled her ear, then mumbled barely audible endearments. Without permission, his tongue slipped delicately inside, and she felt its tickling tenderness; then her tense muscles gradually relaxed and her breathing slowed.
She felt the warmth of manly flesh, her body nestling contentedly against him, her rhythmic breathing. Comforted by his closeness, she fell asleep like an infant in his arms.
CHAPTER NINE
For a moment, Carol wondered if she had been dreaming. Then it all came rushing back—the nightmare with Dugan chasing her, and the metal chastity belt he had attached to her body, grating against her vulva. The abrupt transition into murky awareness, and the piercing scream that summoned Josh, concerned and tender, crawling into her bed.
Then she remembered her fearful arms encircling his strong, virile body. She recalled the spicy flavor of his torso as her mouth and face pressed against his nudity, the slight tickle of his chest hair rubbing against her lips, and the ripple of abdominals pushed hard against her yielding belly.
Oh my God…what had she done? Her hand moved quickly to her crotch, but her panties were still on, and she realized that she was dry. He had not penetrated her. Her relief was palpable.
The contact of his flesh with her bare body was arousing, yes, but also strangely endearing. She was warmed by his attentiveness, by his gentlemanly restraint. He could have had his way with her, but he hadn’t. Her attraction to him grew, began to take the shape of something more than jagged lust, its edges softened by romance.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and imagined what it might be like to have him buried deep inside her; to let him fondle and kiss her body. Then she bit her lip. No, no…this was insane. She was but two days apart from her abusive husband, and already she had let another man into her bed.
And now she wanted even more.
What was Josh doing here anyway, alone in this frigid wilderness? She shook her head. Did it matter? A pulse that at first was slow and
steady picked up its pace as if a waltz had turned into a tango.
She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace, felt a kinship with its heat as her flesh began to burn and her heart rate soared. She inhaled air and felt her breasts begin to swell as if a perfume in the room was laced with pheromones. This gorgeous man, with all his wondrous sexuality, was here alone with her.
She heard hoarse, loud snoring. Taking a chance, she parted the curtain, peeked out; and, she saw him lying limp in the sleeping bag. His arms were flung out, the muscles now flaccid but still big; the veins green and taut as rubber tubes. His thick chest rose and fell like an ocean of masculinity. She swallowed hard, licked dry lips. An impulse that was almost overpowering, a desire to caress his chest, to kiss his sleeping face, possessed her. And then, through his parted lips, she’d insert her tongue until he stirred to wakefulness and kissed her back.
Clearly, he was exhausted. He must have stayed awake with her in bed all night, watchful and vigilant, clutching her to him, protective as a mighty hound devoted to its mistress. A lump caught in her throat. She felt the urge grow even stronger: to go to him, to kiss his hair, the stubble on his cheeks, his nose, his mouth.
Again, that sudden spasm in her loins, that prickle in her chest; she dared not yield to it or encourage it. Still, her nipples thrust out, and her breasts swelled, rose and fell; and even from this distance, she felt a connection. She took a breath, inhaled deeply and wildness fluttered within her breast. Another lungful of air, tangy and sweet, but this time to calm her brain, to quench the fires that waited to consume her.
Her mind thrilled with a montage of erotic, forbidden images. She dared not…
And all the while, his husky snoring filled the air like rumbling thunder, making her eager for the lightning.
CHAPTER TEN
The sky was clearing. Gusts of dry frigid air were breaking up the storm clouds that had showered down both ice and snow, plastering the earth with whiteness. Patches that before were muddied and black as pitch had lightened to a sketchy charcoal, and areas of murky gray were fading to a muted silver. Soon the storm would pass, as all storms did, even the emotional ones that bombarded hearts with hurts as sharp as stalactites. And very soon, Dugan would go out and track her down, using the GPS in the smart phone.
He checked the cell to assure himself it was still working. He nodded, satisfied. When he found Carol, there would be a reckoning, a corrective punishment to be meted out for crimes against her loving husband.
Memories came back to him—the lover, long before Carol, who he had thought his forever mate. Jasmine was of Hispanic descent with waist-length hair that hung loose and free as her sexuality and waved like a thundercloud when she was angry.
“Escucheme, demonio,” she would say, peppering her speech with Spanish words that Dugan barely understood. “If you make the eyes at another woman, I leave you, pronto.”
Her flesh was chocolate, dark and ripe, just as Dugan liked it. Yes, she had been quite a ride. Then she, too, had turned on him, just like Carol. She would not bear his child, and she insisted that he wear protection. He couldn’t understand.
You are no father for my son. She had spit out those words that hurt him, and he tracked her down after she ran. But when she still refused him, an earthquake cracked inside his heart, letting poison into his system. And in a rage, he punished her with two hands like clamps locked around her throat; squeezing, squeezing, while her pretty head jerked back and forth, until she was obedient and quiet.
He knew it would not be that way with Carol. No, he would rescue her from whatever hole she’d hidden in to escape the snow. And then she would welcome him, love him, and throw her golden thighs wide open to let him in. Together, they would make a baby. Then their love would be complete. And she would grind and grind against him, churning his need, satisfying his urges. Forevermore.
He nodded, and once again checked the weather. The widening of blue sky overhead, like a growing wedge of blueberry, was a signal.
He began preparing his equipment and supplies. She was not nearly as far away as he had expected, so the storm must have hit her hard, even laid her out. Now, according to the GPS tracker, she was not even moving.
But not dead; no, not dead. She couldn’t be; she was his woman.
He grinned. Maybe she was sitting on her haunches in a pile of icy white, a lost bitch waiting for its master, hoping he would come, and hard. He laughed out loud at his own wit. Yes, he would come, all right, and not just once.
His hand began to grope his crotch. He quivered with anticipated pleasure.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She wasn’t quite sure when she had made the decision. Suddenly, Carol just knew.
It was morning, and through the window she could see the sky turn azure blue as the gray receded. Slipping out from under the covers, she took off the shirt she had thrown on as a skimpy nightgown and pulled down the undershorts he’d given her to wear as panties.
She heard his heavy breathing on the other side of the curtain as he did his morning exercises, pumped the heavy metal pipe. The air was pungent with the male sweat that poured off his body, rich with pheromones. Her breasts tingled with exposure to the chilly cabin air, and goose bumps rose on her flesh. Her inner thighs were chafed from cold and dampness, but the irritation inflamed rather than curbed her passion.
Quietly she opened the curtain and stepped out. He was prone on the floor doing pushups. His concentration was so intense that he didn’t hear her. She saw the shifting of the muscles in his back, saw the hard tightness of his arrogant butt. His bicep and triceps muscles swelled and constricted as he counted out loud: fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four… His motion was smooth, effortless.
She stood there, just behind his feet, listening and watching as he counted. She was so close now that the tartness of his sweat was overpowering. Her throat was tight, and her body was shivering. Unbidden, her pelvis began to twitch slightly to the rhythm of his pushups. Then he stood up. Sweat dripped, trickling down his back.
Her nipples thrust forward as she crept up behind him. She stood on tiptoe and clasped her hands around the huge globe of his bicep and squeezed it hard. While kissing his lower neck, she felt the goose bumps rising on his skin, and then she moved to his upper back, his shoulder blades. His skin was succulent, hot and slick, and salty-rich. His body jerked and shuddered with his need, and, as he turned around abruptly to face her, she lost her grip and stumbled.
She knew he saw her naked skin, and she could see that he was instantly aroused and beginning to swell. Quickly, stepping out of his pants and tossing them aside, he let his penis hang, and slowly it engorged. His organ began to rise as if alive and angry; it slowly grew in size and width, and lurching forward, soon was stiffly upright and pressed almost against his abdomen. She saw the grimace cross his face and knew it must be painful; and exultation filled her.
She saw the play of firelight across his face, across his neck; it gave his creamy skin a golden hue. She sniffed and felt the richness of the air; the room was thick and musky as a honeyed soup. Heat poured over her. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the music that was the murmur of his voice.
She felt the throbbing of her cunt as he picked her up. Pressing her against him, he slid his penis into her. His gentleness was titillating, maddening; Dugan had never been that way with her and didn’t have the subtlety and tenderness.
She wriggled with need as, teasingly, he entered her slowly, so slowly in and out that she began to shriek, to demand his penetration. His hands were cupped behind her ass and pulling her closer, he stuck his tongue inside her mouth, filling two openings at once. Her mouth was ravenous and eager for contact with his tongue. She nibbled at it as she felt his swelling graze her clit, and her arousal became a tremor that slammed her pelvis hard against him. She felt the fierceness of his ejaculation, the outpouring that was a raging flood inside her.
Ecstasy that verged on pain made her clench her teeth against his lips. H
e yelped, and his fingers clamped onto her ass and the titillation made her body thunder with a coming storm. The frantic sensation was matched only by the swelling of his dick that seemed gigantic. Her mouth was alternately dry and wet, and inside herself, she felt the geyser that was his lust. The force of it propelled her to the ground with him on top of her. His balls were leaden weights pressing down upon her groin, his dick as hard as iron as it impaled her until she shrieked with joy.
The orgasm hit them both; they flailed their limbs and twisted and contorted, then rolled their bodies to the floor, and stayed there, tremulous and panting. Carol stared at him, taking in his glistening skin, the thick, bunched muscles.
But once was not enough. She felt the frenzy in her loins; she’d never had a man like him. Josh rose slowly, holding her clutched against him. And as she felt him stirring, she couldn’t hold back her cry.
“More!”
Now her arms grabbed onto his broad bare shoulders, and she leaped up at him, clutching his hardness with desperate strength, wrapping her legs and thighs around his torso, supported by his legs. She felt him grip her back, squashing her breasts against the muscle of his chest. His penis was a bolt that slammed into her with a lover’s passion, as if he wished to nail her to a wall and keep her there forever.
And then he reached around her, and she felt his fingers sliding down the velvet of her back, down to her tender ass, where they tickled at the down and made her squeal; then shifting her in the cradle of his arms, he dug his fingers deep into the soft, resilient flesh of her buttocks. She heard his breathing, as ragged as her own, and at every breath, she felt the fire of his insistent strength and desire prodding within her.
His ice blue eyes were bright and intent upon claiming her. Her brain was flame; his member pulsed inside her, and detonated again. Her nipples quivered, straining to pin him against her, and her nails raked hard and insistent at his back.
White Heat Page 3