After he finished eating, he licked the salt from his fingers. One by one. Watching me now. Eyes low. Hungry again, but not for food.
Then, without shame, he leaned back on his elbows, spread his legs, and wrapped his giant hand around his cock.
I went still.
The air shifted. Turned hot, dangerous. Something ancient stirred in my gut.
Brute didn’t make a sound. His hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm. Not just stroking, claiming. His blue eyes stayed fixed on me like he wanted me to see. Wanted me to understand. This was what he’d do to me, when he decided to take it further. This was a preview. A warning. Or a promise.
He was massive. Thicker than any man I’d ever been with. Veins tracked his shaft like roots, disappearing under the hand working him with terrifying purpose. Every time his fist met the swollen tip, he exhaled through his nose, deep and heavy.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
I wanted to look away.
I didn’t.
Was this supposed to scare me? Intimidate me? It worked.
But a traitorous heat bloomed low in my belly all the same.
Brute never touched himself fast, never seemed desperate. He stroked himself like a man with all the time in the world, like he was imagining something—someone—specific. Me. My mind whispered it even as I told myselfno.
When he came, he didn’t warn me.
A low grunt escaped him as thick ropes of come spilled across his stomach. He leaned his head back and groaned softly, the sound like distant thunder.
Then his eyes snapped open, sharp, unblinking. Still on me.
He didn’t clean himself.
He didn’t speak.
He just let his cock go soft and lay there, basking in the afterglow with the same ease he'd devoured his food.
I wasn’t afraid he’d come over now.
I was afraid of what would happen if I fell asleep before him.
He didn’t say a word.
Just rolled onto his side by the fire, closed his eyes like nothing had happened, and started snoring softly within minutes, completely unbothered, completely at peace.
I, on the other hand, was a fucking mess.
Every sound outside the cave, every rustle of leaves, every distant animal cry, felt sharper. Closer. More threatening.
But it wasn’t the jungle keeping me awake.
It was him.
Lying just feet away, that mountain of a man, glowing with sweat and semen in the dying light of the fire, radiated heat and something more dangerous than body warmth—power.Raw, unchecked, absolute power. He could’ve done anything to me. Still could.
And he knew it.
I stared at him for hours, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest, flinching every time he stirred or grunted in his sleep. My wrists burned from the rope. My mind spun in circles, fear and arousal tangling so tight I couldn’t tell one from the other anymore.
What would he do if I slept?
