Unnatural Instinct: Blood Run

25.

He's already semi-erect and you only need to breathe on it for it to harden into a full erection. You chuckle. He twists his fingers through your hair affectionately as you lower your face. You kiss the tip of him, then lick the little hole. The smell of him is intense so close to his core it ignites all the little nerves along the skin of your arms.

You lick him again—he doesn't taste like much at all—then drag your tongue along the length of him from bottom to top. He gasps and tightens his fingers in your hair. His cock gives a little throb. A bead of semen glistens at the tip. You lick it off and smack your lips, trying to taste it. You raise your eyebrows. It's not bad. A bit sweet. A bit salty.

Next, you press your lips around him. You can hear him breathing deeply. You can sense his anticipation. He jerks and gasps again, his heels thudding into the ground, as you take him fully into your mouth. The entire length of him fills your throat. Just like he does when he penetrates you below, he swells and hardens and lengthens more, and you're forced to pull back a little before you choke.

You feel pain in your scalp as he tightens his grip on your hair. Then you're moving up and down his length, up and down, up and down, flicking out your tongue as you do. His breathing turns to panting. His body stiffens. You're surprised at how much you're enjoying this. You feel in control. It almost feels like he's at your mercy for a change. It's such a different experience. Releasing him with a wet suck, you sit back on your heels and lick your lips.

His eyes are bright, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his face inflamed. You give him a mischievous grin. Should I continue?

He lets your hair go and rakes his fingers through his own hair instead. The muscles in his chest and arms balloon out.

Leaning low again, you give him a swift lick. He jerks again, banging the back of his head against the tree with a grunt. Pulling back, you smack your lips, then grin at him teasingly. He grabs onto his shaft with a groan, waiting for you to continue. You remain as you are, enjoying his agony.

His groan turns to a snarl. His eyes flash. And suddenly he's gripping your head again and shoving your face into his groin. You laugh and growl and snort, then take him in your mouth again. His hands don't leave your head, forcing you to keep going.

Your heart beats hard as you suck him. He starts thrusting his hips as he nears the end. He snarls, yanking at your hair as he throbs hard in your mouth. An explosion of taste and heat and smell explodes in your throat and saturates your senses. There's another throb, another explosion, as he jets more of his semen inside you. It doesn't taste bad at all and you love the texture—it's like a creamy, sticky sauce; the kind that drips from the bottom of a sandwich that's both delicious and really, really bad for you. It's warm. It coats your mouth. You smell him in your sinuses. He's everywhere now: inside of you, outside of you, all around you.

He releases your head with a whine. You swallow, wipe your mouth and gasp at the air. Vaguely, you hear him give another whine. Then his arms are around you as he eases your head into his lap. Your eyes half close as he brushes his fingers through your hair. He smooths it away from your ears and neck, then strokes your cheek before kneading your head with his strong fingers. You're so hot that sweat trickles down your back. With the forest so dense, it's unusually warm.

Soothed by his tender touch, you drift into sleep.

When you next wake it's morning—and dark, the trees blocking out much of the sunlight. He's lying on his back and you're lying on top of him, your face buried in his chest hair. A bird sings from the branches. Something slithers through the ground litter. Your mate's breathing is long and slow.

Carefully, you pull away, trying not to wake him. You stare at him a moment, admiring him, loving him. You still smell him everywhere. You taste him on your tongue. He's permanently imbedded inside you now. There's no going back.

You look around the forest, your senses so sharp you can hear the distant thud of a running deer; you can smell the musk of a nearby boar in heat; you can see a caterpillar worming its way along a leaf above your head. And suddenly you realise something else—you've been here before; days before when he kidnapped you on that fateful night. It was dark then, but it's bright now.

The village is close.

You sniff at the air. Yes. You can smell it: the smoke, the body odour, the cooking food.

Turning back to him, you pause. You can hear the pounding of his big, strong heart. When you brush your fingers against his wrist, you swear you can feel the rush of blood through his veins. You press your fingers to your mouth, thinking. For the first time, he doesn't look so powerful. He doesn't look so dangerous. He looks almost ... vulnerable. Innocent, even. Even with all his callous savagery, he knows nothing of real pain. He knows nothing of the real world or the home you've left behind.

If you return, they might hurt him. They have weapons: guns, longbows and cannons. If he's anywhere close ...

He can't be trusted to follow your directions. He can't be trusted to realise the danger. And no doubt he'll insist on accompanying you in spite of it all.

Pulling away, you stand. He's still asleep, his dark, thick eyelashes fanned over his cheeks. You only need to speak with someone from the village a few moments, just to pass on the message that you're all right. Your heart sinks at the thought you might not see your mother or Annie again. There won't be time to see them.

You hurry away.

It's easy to find your way. With the village's smell so thick on the air, all you have to do is follow your nose. Your feet hurt but you don't slow your pace. Your mate will wake up soon and he'll be hard on your heels.

You race through the trees. The smell thickens into a stink. It's everywhere now. And you hear things: the thud of machinery, the neighing of horses, the distant sound of shouting and laughing. Familiar sounds, yet so unfamiliar. A strange feeling coils in the pit of your stomach, a mixture of desperate longing and sickening anxiety. Sweat prickles along your upper lip. How can five days change things so utterly?

The forest brightens as you near its edge. You don't hesitate as you leave the last of the trees behind and hit the long grass of the outer limits of your village. The long grass quickly pulls back and you're soon running on shorn, hard grass that crackles beneath your feet. You can see everything—the village and its surrounding farms are spread out before you. They must be able to see you now.

The great, stone wall that encircles the village is just ahead. A huge watchtower glares down on you. The size of it all takes you by surprise. It has never seemed so big before. Your life, as you know it now, is so small compared with what it once was.

They respond rapidly. The gates open.