The sound of the front door opening and closing pulls me from dwelling on the past and from brooding over memories of loneliness.
“My love?” I hear Jasper call out.
The sound of his gravelly voice gives me goosebumps, and a shudder of delight travels across my spine, straight to my throbbing core.
“I’m in the living room!”
“There you are,” he smirks as he leans casually in the doorway, taking me in.
His pants are dirty, with mud smears on the black fabric. The black T-shirt he wears accentuates his lean muscles. Jasper is not a broad guy—more athletic, a sleeper build some might call it—but when he holds onto the ridge of the doorframe, flexing his arms, his gaze fixed on mine, I feel the familiar tingle between my legs. I wet my lips as I stare at the man who’s mine.
“Are you ready for tonight?”
The tone in his voice is dangerous, and even though I’m scared of what’s going to happen, I’ve never felt more alive. All my senses are heightened, fully tuned into him.
“I am,” I breathe.
He releases the doorpost and walks toward me, our eyes locked as I tilt my head to keep our gaze. Jasper sits on the couch and pulls me into his lap. He tucks a loose strand of my auburn brown hair behind my ear and gives me a soft kiss on my forehead.
“I’ve missed you,” he says.
His warm breath brushes my skin, and I shiver.
“I’ve missed you, too. Did it all go well?”
This morning, Jasper told me he’d leave early to go out and hunt in the woods. He showed me the freezers in the small utility room, next to the kitchen. It still had some remnants of deer and boar from earlier outings, but not enough to keep us fed for the coming months. Not wanting to impose a burden on him, I had decided to stay home and unpack my things instead. Some speckles of blood coat his face, reminding me of scarlet freckles.
“It did. I got one large boar and two deer. I carried them to the shed. I’ll gut them later this afternoon. I first wanted to see your beautiful face.”
Jasper cups my face, and his impatient lips find mine. He kisses me hungrily; it is not desire but famine, and I am his only feast. I press my body closer against his, I want to sink into him, until our ribs are caged together. With his hands entangled in my long hair, he releases me briefly.
“Clara, you are the echo my emptiness keeps calling back. Even today, I returned home earlier, because I couldn’t stand being away from you for too long.”
Tears of joy well up in the corners of my eyes, and when I blink, a tiny drop falls. Without a word, I kiss him again. Every breath feels like a summons, every silence a craving for him. We make love on the couch. His musky scent drives me into a wild frenzy, our naked bodies tangling together. The speckles of deep red blood on his face become smudges, like war paint. Without thinking, I lick his face, the iron flavor surprisingly sweet, and he kisses me deeply, mingling his taste with that of animal blood. A completely feral display of intimacy.
I blink as I take in the sight of the dead beasts before me, the boar large and fat, the deer—one a stag with massive antlers, its fur coloring darker for winter—giants of the forest.
“Can we keep those?” I ask, as I point at the animal's antlers.
“Of course, darling, anything you want. We can clean them and hang them on whichever wall you like,” Jasper says endearingly.
He drags the boar onto a metal worktable and lays the beast on its back, its limbs slack in their final surrender. Jasper takes a knife and begins to trace a line on its belly, making the hide part without any resistance, which is long forgotten. Heat bleeds out in a rising fog, the smell of iron and earth mingling thick in the air. When he opens up the cavity, it is as if the night itself leans closer, organs gleaming, the body a hollow chapel of flesh. One by one, his hands deliver the entrails to the ground, steaming in the cold, like offerings to something unseen. When the body is hollowed out and the skin removed, Jasper starts cutting up the beast, portioning the flesh for the months ahead. I watch it all in awe. A thought finds its way into my mind; I should have taken pictures.
Jasper’s hands are bloodied when he hands me the meat packets and asks if I can put them in the freezer. Without hesitation, I take them, the raw flesh strangely familiar against my touch. Just when Jasper takes hold of the large antlers and pulls up the stag’s head, I ask if I can take some photos. It’s likepart of me is unable to resist death, the promise of the beyond always seducing me. Surprised, he looks up at me, then smiles.
“Anything you want, darling.”
He gently lets go of the dead animal, which sags against the other. I close the freezer, wipe my hands on my jeans, and take out my phone. I turn on the camera, adjust some of the settings, and begin moving around the two carcasses, trying to capture their final rest.
The deer are skinned first so Jasper can preserve their hides and tan them. I brush my fingers against the soft fur, avoiding the inside wet skin that used to house the animal’s flesh. Everything about this compels me, the lingering scent of death that embraces us, but especially the way Jasper handles this. The way his strong fingers grip the hilt of the knife, how he opens up the bellies, and removes the organs without flinching. It’s strangely arousing to me, and I can’t help but wonder how those blood-soaked hands would feel gliding over my breasts.
Mortified by my own thoughts, and with bright red cheeks, I begin to take more photos of the carcasses, the heap of steaming organs, and his bloodied hands. Despite the assault that takes place within their bodies, they look strangely peaceful, dreaming without end.
“You want to give it a try?”
The question startles me, and I almost drop my phone on the floor. Fumbling with it, my eyes dart to his, then to the bodies on the table. I eat meat, but not in a million years would I have thought I’d be standing in a shed, watching where store-bought goods actually come from, let alone be the one helping with their preparation. But there’s something primal about it, arousing even, and I nod slowly. He grins, and when he wipes the sweat that has invaded his forehead, he smears blood across his face. I clench my thighs at the sight, dropping my gaze to the floor as heat blooms within my body, collecting itselfbetween my legs, and my sensitive nub throbs in anticipation. I straighten my shoulders. This is not the time to get turned on, but he looks ravishing. I never would have guessed that death could not only be soothing but also inflame my longing—a different kind of longing, one that makes me feel alive.
Jasper hands me the bloodied knife, the wooden hilt warm from his grip, and positions himself behind me. The way his body flushes against mine makes it hard for me to concentrate on the task at hand. He rests his chin on my shoulder and slides his large, calloused hands down my arms. Smears of scarlet paint my pale skin as the tips of his fingers travel down until they meet mine. I fold into his embrace as he gently guides my hand holding the knife. Jasper places the blade against the tender flesh and puts my other hand over it. It feels strange, soft yet firm, with a peculiar wetness, but not like water.
