Because he's right about this too: clever prey is still prey.
And prey that's been marked always returns to the hunter who marked it.
The thought makes my pussy flood with fresh need. Makes my nipples harden to points. Makes my skin remember the drag of bark, the grip of hands, the stretch of cock that's designed to claim completely.
Tomorrow I'll be stronger. Tomorrow I'll resist better. Tomorrow I'll find a way to maintain independence despite the biological chains.
But tonight, I'll dream of purple moss and three streams. Of amber eyes and four arms. Of being filled so completely that the emptiness finally, finally ends.
The hunter has shown me what I need.
And we both knew the inevitable was approaching.
The jungle watches, waits, knows. Everything here understands the rules of predator and prey. Understands that some hunts end not in death but in claiming. In submission that's also completion.
I understand it too now.
And that understanding makes my pussy clench harder than ever before.
Because knowing I'll eventually surrender makes the need worse. Makes the ache sharper. Makes every moment of resistance feel like lying to myself.
But I'm a soldier. I can lie to myself a little longer.
At least until the need becomes greater than the pride.
Based on what happened this morning, that won't be long.
My body already misses him. Already wants to turn around, find that grove, present myself for proper claiming. The muscles in my pussy actually hurt from clenching on nothing, trying to grip phantom sensations of ridges that aren't there.
Each step away from his territory is agony.
Each breath that doesn't carry his scent is wrong.
Each second without his cock inside me is waste.
But I keep walking anyway. Keep pretending I have choice. Keep playing the game we both know has only one ending.
The sun reaches zenith, hot and humid through the canopy. My skin prickles with dried seed, with sweat, with need that's already rebuilding despite the morning's relief.
Six hours. That's all the reprieve his claiming bought me. Six hours of being able to think, to plan, to pretend I'm still the soldier who entered this jungle.
But I'm not her anymore. I'm something else. Something changed by chemistry and need and the specific recognition of genetic compatibility. I'm prey who's been marked, claimed, owned in everything but final surrender.
And the truly terrifying part?
I don't hate it.
My body sings at the memory of his touch. Celebrates the bruises his grip left. Cherishes the ache that means I've been properly used. Every mark is a promise of more. Every lingering sensation is a reminder of what waits in a grove where purple moss grows.
The need builds with each breath. Not the desperate agony of the last six days, but something deeper. More focused. My body doesn't just need release now. It needs him. Specifically. Exclusively.
The game has changed.
And we both know I've already lost.
It's just a matter of time before I admit it.
Until I go to him.
