Not for the first time since becoming stranded here, I felt eyes on me. I didn't turn to check or alert him in any way, but I strongly suspected he was watching me again.
I spread the travel throw I'd packed out on the soft, lush grass near the water's edge, bent down, and removed my shoes. I may have taken a few beats longer than strictly necessary in order to give him a better view.
I felt a bit saucy doing it, but I didn't know where I was, had no mobile signal this far away from civilisation, and needed an ally out here in the wild.
So I used what I had.
That's what he was.
In the brief glimpses of him I'd caught, that's the feeling I'd had.
He was... feral.
And very much alone.
It had been nearly dusk when I detected smoke in the air: faint at first, then stronger until the dark gray plume itself was visible. I followed. It led me to a small circular clearing. At its center was the wild man at a raging fire, but no sign of even a single modern accoutrement. No shelter, no chairs, no camping equipment of any kind that I could see. I kept my distance and stayed well on the outskirts, where I could be obscured by tall grasses. As curious as I was about this primitive man, I didn't have the right to insert myself into his world. I needed him to come to me.
I watched him, tending his fire, slapping away the odd midge now and then. Every movement he made seemed to drive home just how lean and sculpted his body was. He was tanned, of course, with a smattering of chest hair. His chest was strikingly well-defined, as were his abs. Venturing lower was out of the question, since he had an old, worn plaid fastened about his hips.
[Where'd he get that?]
His thighs I could only guess at, hidden by the plaid as they were, but his calves were lean like a runner's. Beside his bare feet was a small bundle of fresh heather he'd gathered.
What for, I could only guess.
I could feel I had his attention, so I kept on undressing: pants and knickers (good excuse for a second slow and deliberate bendover), shirt (capped off with an exaggerated hair flip afterwards), bra (unhooked and cast aside with one finger). Now bared to both nature and the wild man, I walked slowly into the loch.
[He'll follow me; I know he will]
The water at the edge was deceptively warm and inviting, but as I walked in deeper, there was a crispness to it. It made me feel very alive and hyper-aware of my nakedness.
The unmistakable sound of tension being broken on the water's surface - bloop - told me he'd entered the loch as well. I felt my pulse quicken.
[Stay still... let him come to you]
I heard him making his way to me as the sounds of water sloshing with his long strides became louder.
Just as I felt a tingle creep all the way up my backbone, I felt displaced sand grains swirling about my ankles and strafing my feet on their way back down to the bottom.
[Oh shit. What have I got myself into?]
I could hear both of our breathing completing a cycle; just as I exhaled, he breathed in. The man merely breathing at my back was almost complementing me on a biological level, and it was wildly erotic. There was a low, guttural, unmistakably Scottish sound in his throat as his arms appeared on either side of me. With them, he produced a circlet made of heather: beautiful, tightly woven, and fragrant.
"Is tu mo bhanrigh a-nis."
[Fuck!me! that's ghàidhlig... he said "queen"]
With that, he placed the heather crown on my head, and I felt bold enough to turn round and face him full-on for the first time.
My breath caught in my throat and I gulped, although I hoped he didn't notice. The wild man wore a companion headdress to the one he'd made for me: it was fuller, and contained varied wild grasses and leaves, but heather was most prominent. He was back-lit by the setting sun behind him, and it made his hair glint like woven gold.
He was taller than I expected. Only when he dipped his chin down to connect with me at eye level could I take in the fine maleness of his features: very strong nose, high cheekbones, well-proportioned lips with the most perfect Cupid's bow I'd ever seen on a man. And the eyes. Oh my God, the eyes: so blue. Probably darker in this fading light than they would be during the day, but unmistakably blue nonetheless... and fully locked onto mine as I stood there and took him in and he let me.
Again my breath hitched. This man had overwhelming magnetic pull and I was powerless to look away. Those same blue eyes now took their turn perusing me at length as I stood very still and allowed it to happen.
Suddenly keenly aware of my erect nipples visible at the water's surface, I dropped my shoulders just enough so they slipped away from view.
His lips parted slightly in dejection and he moaned a bit at having less of me to see.
I pushed into the sandy bottom with the ball of my foot to propel myself backward. I lazily glided away, keeping eye contact with him, curious if man's primal urge to chase a woman would show itself.
His eyes narrowed, he sank lower in the water, and advanced. In a nanosecond it was obvious he was the stronger swimmer, so I did a quick turn to give myself a fighting chance at swimming away by facing forward.
It was no use. Merely ten feet into my feigned escape, a very strong forearm hooked around my waist and, lightning-quick, pulled me backwards and into his frame.
He was just as naked as I was.
Holding me flush against him, he used his free arm to paddle a few strokes to bring us to a shallower place where he could stand. As we moved in tandem, the propulsion through the water buoyed his cock. It bounced against me: once, on my arse; the second time, between my legs.
He was hard.
He planted his feet firmly on the loch bottom and but for our audible breaths, we came to a silent stop. With his arm still securing me, I could feel the scruff of his chest hair between my shoulder blades and his lips at my ear.
In a low, gravelly voice, he said:
"Fuirich le do rìgh."
It was clearly something authoritative.
Rìgh, I knew, meant "king".
He grazed my ear with his lips and buried his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply. I felt myself relax into it as his large hand released my waist and closed around my breast. I looked down to see him cupped around it like a precious object. I saw his fingertips reach my nipple and secure it between thumb and forefinger, alternatively twisting gently, stretching it outwardly, and even giving it a slight pinch.
It was too erotic to watch; I let my head tilt back into the crook of his shoulder, aching to feel his lips on my skin. Either he sensed it or couldn't resist the nearness of my neck, but he unleashed an outright assault on me: lips pressing into my skin, the scruff along his jawline igniting a fire everywhere it touched, dried grasses and lush heather moving with him, teeth and tongue tasting the terrain from earlobe to collarbone and all the way back up again.
I was dizzy with sensation: the undulation of the water, the breeze in my hair, the nerve endings he brought to life, the pounding of my heart.
In a whirl of water, arms, and ferocious strength, he flipped me around to face him. Without thought, I anchored my legs at his hips to steady myself, hands about his solid neck. I was acutely aware that my naked sex was splayed open against his cock, which was now pinned between us.
His eyes were little more than slits as he crashed his mouth against mine, coming at me tongue first. He unleashed a fury of long pent-up lust and raw, primal need. One broad hand firmly held me at the back of my neck, tugging my hair a bit, keeping my mouth right where he wanted it. The other hand moulded round my arse.
It was as hot, relentless, and urgent as anything I'd ever known. Our tongues slid, rolled, swept in constant contact and I couldn't resist the urge to rock myself on the hard length of him, teasing us both as we kissed.
There was music to it: my fervent breaths seemed to end on escalating notes of both pleasure and pleading. His rhythmic hums and near-growls were the counterpoint. All of our noises were completely involuntary; I doubt we could have been silent if we tried.
Suddenly, he broke our kiss to speak.
"Feumaidh mi laighe còmhla riut."
With one strong arm at my back, the other swept my legs from around his waist. I was lying, cradled in the arms of the strongest man I'd ever encountered. I didn't know what he'd just said to me, and I found I did not care.
He placed breathy kisses on my forehead, eyelids, and cheeks. His eyes narrowed. "A-nis." He reclaimed my mouth urgently as he walked us out of the water, across the short sandy bank, and to the blanket I'd left behind.
He gently maneuvered me so I was standing on the wild grass. His newly unencumbered hands roamed feverishly across the expanse of my bare skin. Shoulders. Back. Collarbones. Breasts. Belly. Arse. Sex.
From loch to grass, he hadn't broken our kiss even for a second.
As one hand cupped my arse, he watched my eyes intently as the other hand slipped in between my legs. I felt my eyelids grow heavy as I shuddered and pushed back against his fingers, needy and unashamed.
My hands wrapped around his shoulders, looking to steady myself while his hand working me made me rock, sway, and doubt the reliability of my own legs. I could feel the power surge through his arm with every stroke. I let my hand slide down from his shoulder, over his bicep and forearm, down to where his fingers had disappeared within me.
It was one of the most wanton things I'd ever done, feeling this from both sides. I heard ragged breaths coming out of me as soon as it occurred to me that both of us were getting me off in tandem: his hand was moving right where I needed it, but my hand was keeping it there.
His eyes stayed on my face. I might let mine lazily close now and then, or gasp with such force that I shocked myself and found it impossible not to tip my head back and gaze up at the pink and orange sky above. Just the same, my eyes always, always came back to his only to find they'd never left.
"A dhia." He licked his upper lip before breathing what was likely ghàidhlig filth tantalizingly close to my lips:
"O mo bhanrigh. Feumaidh tu seo cuideachd, nach eil?"
I could only lean in and capture his mouth with mine, letting the rhythmic cries caught in my throat serve as my answer. When focus left me altogether, I broke from his lips and let my forehead fall to his chest.
I was panting, squeaking, squirming, bucking against our hands and leaning on him for strength.
"Tha, tha... tha sin ceart... taing do rìgh..."
[oh God -- "king" again -- oh!GOD!]
My shoulders met my ears as I contorted with a fierce orgasm against his large frame. I knew a warm, slick rush met his hand, because I felt it on mine as well.
"Mmm. Tha mi air mo bhanrigh a thoileachadh," he said gently as he brought my chin up from his chest to kiss me. His lips ghosted mine, breathless as I was, until he saw I was no longer passive. I hugged his mouth with my own, and eagerly fed him my tongue.
He twisted my hair with both hands and kept our mouths fused in a flurry of motion: deep and hard and fast we kissed. I hummed between breaths, but he growled. Forcibly breaking us apart, his eyes burned into mine as his voice dropped an octave:
"Thig an rìgh agad an ath rud."
With a movement of his eyes, he indicated the blanket on the grass.
[not... just... yet]
Keeping my eyes fixed on his, I ran my hands down his broad chest, around to his sculpted arse, and onto his hips.
I licked my lips and slowly, steadily, descended until my knees met grass. His mouth was agape, which pleased me, and I smiled as my hands flanked his cock on either side. His stomach tensed, his cock twitched, and I moved him toward my outstretched tongue.
Looking up from this angle, he could have been a mythical god of the sea: built like this, crowned by nature itself, still wet... and leaking salty brine onto my tongue.
"A dhia, tha," he gasped as I brought his silky hardness into me and closed my lips around him. I suckled him, working his base with one hand and teasing his heavy sack with the other. When I established a steady rhythm and increased suction, two large hands cupped my head on either side. I looked up to see him in ecstasy, his head thrown back, focusing on the feeling of fucking my face.
He was panting, groaning, hissing through his teeth. My attentions were relentless: I sucked, I stroked, I squeezed, I swirled my tongue. I felt his thighs tense and just then, one knee started to buckle:
"Ifrinn! Stad. Stad!" He pulled my mouth off his cock and left me licking my lips from the sudden sensation of emptiness. He leaned down, both hands extended, indicating that I should clasp them, and I did.
Pulling me up into the space of his large frame, he enveloped my nakedness with his own. His arms crossed around my back, then fanned out to encircle my shoulders.
One hand slid to my lower back. The other explored the column of my neck and came to rest splayed at my throat. He could not touch me enough; there was hunger in his hands. A thumb ran along my puffy lower lip and gently rolled it downward.
"Glè mhath, am beul seo."
I met his thumb with the tip of my tongue while I watched his fixation with the mouth that had pleasured him. I licked, then kissed it. In response, he moaned: low and deep.
"Agus am fear eile?"
[Oh fuck, he asked me something]
I searched his eyes for context clues but instead found lust so strong I noticed nothing else. It was coming off him in waves as he looked at me, and it made me feel small. It wasn't fear; I liked it. I wanted nothing more than for him to act on it and let me feel his full, unrestrained power.
I had thought he might kiss me again, but he was clearly past that now. Commanding hands at my shoulders spun me so that he was at my back. His left arm hooked at my waist kept me pressed me to him, while his right leg found the space between mine too narrow for his liking. He nudged my thighs apart, took his cock in hand, and smoothly slid it forward and back through the slickened furrow of my sex.
I was so ready. Twice he made contact with my clit and I nearly screamed. I felt everything: the iron muscles in the arm on my stomach. The sturdy, intransigent thighs behind me. The soft yet wiry belly hair sliding down my arse as he positioned himself.
Touching the silky head of his cock to the entrance to my body, he briefly stopped moving.
[please please oh God just do it]
He pushed up and into me, steadily, until he could go no deeper. All the air went out of my lungs as my body accommodated both his considerable size and the feeling of being completely filled by it.
A squeaky, strangled sound escaped me.
He stilled himself, his lower abs as tight as a bowstring with restraint.
"Sìos. An seo, theirig sìos."
Staying firmly inside me, he guided us down to my blanket by lifting me with both arms around my torso and steadily bending his knees. Attached as we were, my body simply followed his lead until we were both on all fours. Curled around me, he breathed me in. I responded with a shiver and instinctively tilted my face in the direction of his.
Raising his torso, his hands traveled down my back. He brought them to rest at the base of my spine, large fingers splayed, as he withdrew slowly in silence. He smoothly pushed back in.
[He's... oh God... he's watching this]
It was exquisite torture, being fucked in slow motion. I couldn't take it. I needed to speak his language:
It was a word whose meaning I'd managed to glean, and it had the desired effect. He gasped loudly and slammed into me so hard I was nearly knocked to my elbows. Grabbing my hips, he became wild again in an instant. He fucked me hard. He fucked me fast. He fucked me loud.
As confidently as a lion in his own jungle, he filled the air with sound. Taking my cue from him, I didn't hold back either. I heard shouting, near-shrieks, warbly moaning, grunting, groaning, half syllables, and raspy breathing. Awash in the cacophony of our fucking, I couldn't be sure what sound came from whom. The only clear source of sound came from our bodies making contact. And that was sounding wetter and wetter.
It was that sound that started to undo me, and my thoughts unraveled quickly. I could hear my own arousal. Elicited by the man whose cock is stretching me. The man whose hands are on my hips. Whose name I do not know. Whose heavy bollocks are hitting the back of my thighs. Who crowned me his queen. Whose ...broad hand just reached around and went right to my clit...
[Oh OH fuck yes]
A brilliant white flashed behind my eyelids. I heard my voice in a high, keening cry as my inner walls contracted around him. I came hard. He felt it and his rhythm faltered and became erratic, leaving him shouting:
"O mo creach! Tha! O!"
He folded around me as my sex continued to milk him through the aftershocks. With each one, he contorted against my back and pulled me to him, even as they began to fade and became fewer and far between.
When he stilled for the last time, my limbs started to succumb to the gravity of afterglow. As I steadily sank down flat onto my stomach, he found his place beside me and rolled over onto his back, casting aside the headdress.
With my cheek resting on my forearm, I smiled at him, although he wasn't looking. He was breathing heavily, exhaling on a broken laugh, vigorously rubbing his hands over his face.
I placed my hand over his heart, which got his attention. He looked over at me, wide-eyed and smiling broadly. He sucked in a huge breath and shouted up into the sky:
All I could do was giggle.
He rolled toward me, kissing my forearm, my cheek, my shoulder, then plopped back down. "What the FUCK, Balfie?"
I was still giggling. "What?"
"I thought you wanted... I dunno... a warm-up of sorts out of this. I didn't realise you wanted to actually fuck out here in the open!"
I lazily shrugged. "I told you, when you sent me that first selfie from the Beltane thing, that you shirtless in that headdress did things to me."
"My God, woman. You were not kidding."
"Besides, it was you laying on the ghàidhlig when you know that's my Kryptonite."
He wiggled his eyebrows. "You didn't really think he should have English, did you?
"Well, no, but... wait." I side-eyed him. "Where'd you get all of that? And is it as dirty as I think?"
"Some from Google. Some from Àdhamh." He scrunched his nose naughtily and added: "And ... yes."
"Pfft. So Àdhamh had to help you seduce your wife."
"When you say it like that, Balfie, it just sounds sad." He squeezed my arm and kissed my cheek. "Oh shit! We need to get back up to the house before it's too dark to see," he said as he sat up and reached for his plaid.
"All right, but bring the headdress."
He looked incredulous: "Why?"