A Night by My Fire

“Why?” She shook her head, disappointed but unsure why. River stood, went to the well-worn maps and guides, pulling them from the shelf to throw at the titan’s feet. “Leave. Get out. The storm is breaking.” She pulled blankets from the sofa, tribal blankets her grandmother had woven. “Wrap in these and go.”

“Have you no compass?”

Stalking toward another shelf, River dug through some accumulated junk. An instant later, she pitched black plastic toward her guest. He caught it so fast, so flawlessly, she faltered. The way he stared, how he didn’t get angry, only inspired more rage. Reaching into a carved wooden box, she pulled

out a wad of small bills and threw those at his feet, tossing it in a way the bastard could not catch it with all his skills for quickness, could not do anything but watch currency scatter and flutter down.

River went nearer the door, pulling on her jacket, grabbing her pack and rifle, and reaching for snow shoes.

“It is painfully obvious you flee this dwelling every time you grow uneasy. ‘Seek things that make you uncomfortable, that challenge you, and you’ll see I’m right’.”

“Throwing my words in my face? That’s the best you got? Come on, stranger, I prefer your ignorant ravings and silly assumptions.” She didn’t even look to see what his response might be. The door shut, River turning to explain herself through the wooden barrier for reasons she couldn’t quite grasp, “I’m out of fresh meat and we’re not the only animals on this mountain that have been trapped in their dens, eager for a break in the weather.”

***

When she returned, having used up all the short daylight gathering more rabbits than one woman could eat, she was hardly through the door before Stephen was on her. The rifle was ripped away, slid out of reach, her snow laden jacket pulled off flailing limbs so quickly she hardly knew what hit her. Hand to her throat, he pressed her back against the shutting door, his arm long enough River could do little more than hiss and thrash, unable to reach the man with clawing fingers.

He growled, “Do you understand now?” He wasn’t hurting her, not really, but there was no way she could move from his control. He seemed so level, so unaffected by the fact he had her life in his hands. “Men are dangerous. Do not pull them from lakes.”

Swallowing under the constriction, River tried not to let her eyes water. “I get it. You wanted to die. Because you’re terrified, and you’re in pain.”

His voice almost broke. Not in tears, or in pain, but in utter puzzlement. “Why do you refuse to learn?”

River countered, “Why are you still here? You think I don’t know that you’ve studied the trail guides, my maps? I spent hours in a bathroom colder than a witch’s tit so you could find your way. LEAVE!”

Stephen dragged her to the fire, ignoring the dead rabbits she dropped, ignoring that she was practically chewing on his wrist. Atop the rug, he forced her down, pinning her hips and watching until she grasped what was coming.

Patting his chest, trying to signal he was too close, River stammered, “Just cook the rabbit.”

Stephen shifted his knee to settle it between the woman’s legs, so he might continue to look down at her. When her expression betrayed physical discomfort, large hands adjusted her positioning. One sharp yank on her thigh, a tug that brought her prostrated fully underneath him.

In the first few days, the man had hardly touched her, had always kept an almost laughable distance, and now he was hauling her around. River was not happy about it. “You’re making me very nervous...”

He’d read the entirety of the terrible romance while she’d slept. He’d studied. “Why? Is this not the way the woman was handled in that book?”

Oh dear god, he was actually teasing her... “It’s just a book.”

The man smirked. “You claimed that was the desire of lonely women.”

Her brows drew down, offense obvious in her voice. “I said no such thing, and I am not a lonely woman!”

Agitated, Stephen growled, “If the book was incorrect, then tell me the custom for initiating.”

“Initiating?” River repeated the word slowly, seeing the man was staring at her mouth again. “You’re holding me down.”

Blue eyes snapped up, met hers, and were far too intimidating. “I would not force you.”

Then why had he dragged her to the fire? “You forced me here.”

Not knowing the proper words when propositioning a female, he said, “I see no more point in playing games when you know I want to touch you and you want to be touched.”

He was so blunt, even River was not sure what to say.

“And I want to see your body,” Stephen added, carefully noting the minutia of her reactions so he might continue in the correct direction. “I want to feel your mouth again. When you are naked, and I am hard, I want to fuck you.”

He began lifting the hem of her sweater, his hand sliding quickly until her breasts popped free. She gaped at the way the stranger looked at them—as if he wanted to eat her. Considering their positions, she was pretty certain he did.

Stephen did as he claimed, and just looked, tentative fingers tracing over something soft and unknown—tawny skin and dusky areolas, nipples that puffed under his view. Lower lip caught in his teeth, he leaned in to smell, and River made a noise.