Watching him for a moment, I was stunned at his lack of interest in what I was doing. I remember thinking that I was pretty certain any red-blooded, American man would never turn his face away from a woman intimately touching herself.
Strangely, I found his indifference to me completely unsatisfying.
Completely wrong.
Part of me wanted to remove my hand from between my legs and just go to sleep in frustrated silence. But as my clit throbbed against my finger, I decided that the sweet release I would give myself would be more greatly appreciated by my body.
So my hand started moving again, and I rubbed in slow circles, skirting the outside edges of my most-sensitive flesh. I watched Zach as I touched myself, noticing that he started to move his own hand faster, twisting at the base and then rubbing his thumb over the swollen head on his upward strokes.
Pressing in closer to my clit, I skimmed over the top, occasionally sinking a finger deep into myself. I finally decided to give myself two fingers, and when I pushed them into my slickness, I couldn't stop the deep groan that slithered its way out of my throat.
Zach's head snapped to the side in response to the noise I emitted, and his eyes were wide and curious as he stared at me. I found his attention now to be overwhelmingly sinful. Completely ignoring the consequences of what this could all mean for our working relationship going forward, I started to rub myself furiously, completely giving way to the sensations. My hips bucked against my hand and I moaned repetitively with every stroke I gave myself, never taking my eyes off Zach.
Once again, we stared at each other across the fire, our gazes filled with lust and challenge.
Zach's eyes narrowed as he watched me, his hand moving more roughly against his flesh as he tugged and pulled on himself. And I felt vindication when he finally lost a little bit of that steely control, and a loud huff of breath pushed out of his mouth. He immediately sucked back in more air to replace it, his chest heaving as he started to become lost to his own pleasure. It was the first time he made a sound in the two times I had watched him engaged in sexual activity, and I felt womanly pride that it occurred in response to my own sexual pleasure.
"Mmmm," I moaned out into the thick, night air to see how much further out of control I could make him. "Feels so good."
Zach rewarded me by groaning loudly in response, and his back arched slightly from the ground.
I was amazed. Titillated. So very turned on.
My sensuality was ramping up Zach's pleasure... making him lose himself. This was a complete change from his measured discipline as he had sex with that woman the other night. And watching Zach start to come undone solely because he was watching me and hearing me come undone, fueled me on.
My breaths came out in harsh pants, my hips gyrated against my hand, and I didn't hold back a single sound as I raced faster and faster to what I knew was going to be a shattering explosion.
More fluid leaked from the tip of Zach's cock and, after an especially hard pull on his shaft, he actually started grunting with every stroke.
It was music to my ears and obliterated the last barrier to my release. My entire body stiffened as my orgasm tore through me. I cried out hoarsely into the night, my back bowing up awkwardly in the hammock, while Zach's glittering gaze drank up every bit of my reaction. I watched as his heavy balls pulled inward and tightened, and while tiny aftershocks pulsed through my body, Zach threw his head back, lifted his butt off the ground, and shouted out his release to the stars as he came.
Semen jetted out of the tip of his cock, flowing over his hand, splashing on his stomach, while he still worked his shaft. He gave another loud groan and squeezed his eyes tight, before finally releasing the hold he had on himself.
I watched in complete astonishment as his body immediately settled down. In the firelight, I was able to see his chest was rising and falling quickly, as well as the pulse in his neck hammering his life's blood through his arteries. But otherwise, he remained absolutely still and quiet.
I gently removed my hand from between my legs, refastening my zipper and button. My gaze didn't leave Zach, but he never looked back at me again. Keeping the one hand behind his head and the other one still soaking wet with his release across his stomach, he merely closed his eyes and went to sleep.
I pull my head away from its resting perch on the cab window and blink to clear those sinful memories out of my head. Shame courses through me as I think about what I did.
What more I still want to do with Zach.
Dr. Moira Reed, respected anthropologist and associate professor at Northwestern University. Given an extremely generous grant from Randall Cannon, philanthropist, multi-billionaire and godfather to Zacharias Easton, in order to collect him from the Amazon and help him acclimate to life here.
The only thing I've taught him so far is what it's like to watch a woman masturbate. While technically, our culture's sexual differences are something that Zach would eventually learn about, I'm sure Randall envisioned that coming from a textbook and not from a bird's eye view of watching me perform.
If Randall ever found out about that little interlude, he would be furious I'm sure. It would not only mean the loss of the grant he is giving me so I can publish my work with Zach, but it would probably mean the loss of my career if he wanted to really punish me for corrupting his godson.
God, I'm such an idiot. I vow to myself that I have to maintain an absolute professional distance with Zach going forward. My career is too important to risk on something that is so far outside the bounds of decency.
Chapter 3
Zach
"Zach... dinner is ready," I hear Moira's voice call out through the closed door to my bedroom.
I don't answer right away, instead continuing to stare at the ceiling above me. Part of me doesn't want to join her because that will mean more painful attempts at conversation with this woman that I'm attracted to, yet despise.
"Zach? Did you hear me?" she asks.
"I'll be there in a minute," I tell her curtly, and then I hear her footsteps moving away from my door.
We had arrived at her home here in Evanston. It's a small, white house with black shutters and cheerful flowers dotted in pots all over the front porch. It sort of reminds me of my parents' little house back in Georgia, and distinct memories of my mom working in her garden in the backyard assaulted me when the taxicab pulled up.
After Moira paid the driver, I followed her in carrying my backpack, a purchase she had made for me to carry my meager belongings out of the Amazon. In addition to my parents' stuff, I had nothing but the new clothes Moira had purchased for me and a small, beaded necklace that Oehla, one of the small Caraican girls, had given me before I left. My bow and quiver, as well as my machete, were all left behind, Moira telling me that they were not allowed on the plane back to the States. I was so angry at that I cursed at her in Portuguese for what felt like forever, and she just placidly watched me until I ran out of steam. She apologized softly and said that she would make sure they were kept safe until I could return.
Sly woman... talking about my return, when I know she has no desire to see me do that. But I'll play along with her little game... for now.
I roll off the bed, the damp towel I wrapped around my waist after a shower still hanging on me loosely. It was the first thing I did after Moira had showed me around, telling me to make myself at home and treat this house as my own.
I just grunted at her and decided to take a shower, using the opportunity to release my tension by stroking myself to a satisfying conclusion, all while imagining what I'd like to do to Moira's body if I had a chance. I found it disconcerting that I didn't think of Tukaba once, instead imagining that flame hair pouring down Moira's back while I took her from behind. My release was hard, but I was silent as my seed erupted against the tile wall of the shower.
Looking back at the clothing I pulled out of the backpack, an idea suddenly strikes me. Moira said to treat this house as if it were my own. While she has made it very clear that while in public, I have to be fully dressed at all times, I know without a doubt that if I were back home in the Caraican village, I would be completely naked.
With a smile, I untuck the towel from around my waist and let it drop to the floor before I walk out of my bedroom.
Moira is in the kitchen, her back turned to me while she cooks something on the stove. I can remember my mother standing at the stove in our house, pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven, and I can almost smell the scent of chocolate and vanilla, items that I had long forgotten about. My mouth actually waters and, for a brief, insane moment, I consider asking Moira if she can make cookies for me.
But then I tamp that urge down, because I don't want to ask her for anything.
I walk over to the kitchen table and when I slide one of the chairs out, Moira startles slightly and then turns her head over her shoulder with a smile on her face.
"I hope you're hungry. I made--"
Moira's words seem to dry within her mouth, and her eyes flare wide with surprise as she sees me standing there naked. Her mouth hangs slightly open, and her eyes drag slowly down my body. When her gaze reaches my shaft, it gives a little jump under her perusal and starts to thicken, which surprises me since I had tamed that beast not but half an hour ago.
"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice hoarse as her gaze returns to mine.
"I'm ready to eat dinner, just as you asked," I tell her without giving anything away on my face.
"But... you can't... you need to go put some clothes on, Zach," she says, her eyes darting quickly down one more time to look at me.
"I refuse," is all I say as I take a seat on the kitchen chair. I stretch my legs out in front of me and rest my hands across my stomach.
Moira swallows hard. "But... it's not proper to be naked."
Shrugging my shoulders, I give her a mocking stare. "You told me to treat this home as my own. In my own home, I would be naked. Thus I am naked here in this place you tell me to call my home."