A Night by My Fire

Under him, being his experiment, River found herself more than happy to let him play... relieved he didn’t just hump away like most virgins overexcited by the opportunity to nut-off for the first time in actual lady parts. Her stranger was the pirate, she the captive damsel... he didn’t even need to outline the fantasy in words—it was in the grip of his hands that already seemed to know her, that had memorized from those few strokes he?

?d offered before ripping off her clothes.

He controlled to the point of obsession, tilting her hips, thumbing her clit until she squealed, spreading her wider when the mood hit so he might watch. All obedience was rewarded and the first time she came, twitching and shuddering at his manipulation of nerve endings, he took in her every reaction and sought to outdo them.

It was unnatural the control he had over his own body. His sack was already high and tight, it had to ache from need of release, but he was mesmerized in the act. She took advantage, dug her nails into an ass most women would die to feel clenched pleasuring them and reared up. Using the foul mouth he claimed to hate, River trilled out a list of dirty talk that would make an old perv blush. The second she told him to, “fuck that needy pussy,” he came, jerking, trying to get as deep as possible while moaning like a ten-dollar whore.

Never had she had it so good or been in so much trouble with the man who wasn’t quite done spilling. He looked like he could strangle her, like he wanted to fuck her again, like she might have been the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

Her hand skimmed over his growing stubble of brown hair, wiping the sweat away as she grinned, owning up to her naughtiness in one wicked leer.

Punishment was coming for unsettling his plan. Panting, he threatened, “Again. We will go again. Every way.”

***

She wasn’t off the hook and Stephen still had much he wanted to experience. After he prepared the rabbit, after he’d fed her to shore up her strength, he kneeled over her chest and hung his uncut cock near her mouth, quieting her complaints at being shoved down... or so he thought... by thrusting between pretty lips. River hummed around him, made obnoxious sucking noises, gagged when she let him go too deep... and he found the sounds better than the silence he thought he wanted. He supported her skull, pleasure unmasked in his eyes, fisting a handful of braid each time her vulgar tongue traced the veins in his cock or flittered across the slit where he leaked.

He came in that warm, velvet mouth. With hollowed cheeks, she drank him up like a good girl, batting her eyelashes in a way that felt far dirtier than her previous vulgar speech.

Chapter Eight

“You must angle the blade away from your body, foolish woman, or it will slip and you will cut yourself.”

Wrapped in only a blanket, sitting beside her guest, River snapped, “Shut your mouth and pay attention. This is called a pare cut, so long as you go with the grain and your knife is sharp, chances of it skipping are slim. Just go slow.”

Stephen watched her shave another curl off the wood, the woman repeating the process until the lump in her hand turned smooth. Copying her technique, he found creating curves in his block difficult. Where hers grew soft, useful, he’d carved a shiv. Seeing her eyes dart to his work, the minute cock in her brow, and the silent shake of her shoulders, made it clear she was laughing at him.

He didn’t like it.

River saw the look in his eye and scoffed. “Don’t be so touchy.” A fresh piece of basswood was shoved at him, the woman snagging the ruined stick from his fingers to set aside. “It takes practice.”

In the time it took her to carve a spoon, he’d made another shiv... “This seems a waste of your resources.”

River shrugged. “Just keep carving your little pointy sticks. I can use them in my traps.”

“How do you make these traps?”

She seemed to ponder leaving the carving lesson for a new one he might enjoy. “How are you at tying knots?”

“Show me these knots.”

Black eyes stared dead into his, the woman not teasing, “Do you know how to make a noose?”

“Yes.” Out of just about anything; human intestines were especially effective.

She moved from her seat beside him on the couch to dig through a cupboard near the kitchen, coming back with a bundle of twine and some wire. Her fingers flew over the string to create the basic knots to display. “The noose changes depending on the size of prey you’re trying to catch. Squirrels are easy. An overhand knot, a simple noose, a sapling, and some bait. Unfortunately, if their necks don’t break, their deaths are unpleasant... they just hang until they croak. That’s why I go for rabbits.” She gestured toward his pointed sticks. “The trap is more complex, but a sharp point ends it pretty quick.”

The woman’s words were absolutely ridiculous, causing Stephen to enlighten her, “How they die doesn’t matter, so long as you can eat them and assure your survival.”

“Wrong.” Her lips thinned, her eyes too.

Stephen understood her lack of experience. “You have never starved.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you starving now? No. You’re not... so you have the luxury of not being a total asshole to nature. Now stop interrupting and watch my fingers.” She made three types of easy knots, unmade them, and made them again.

When the man seemed to have a skill in recreating what he saw, she tried more complicated creations, looping, tucking, and challenging the string.

“You skipped a step.”