Unnatural Instinct: Free

12.

I didn't realise how much I love you until now. I mean, I know I've always loved you—why else would I ask for your hand in marriage?—but not so deeply it hurts. It's only been a short time, not even a whole day, and yet the thought that I might not ever see you again, that you might be terrorised or injured or even dead, yanks at my heart.

It's a strange feeling, something I'm not used to. It's hard to describe. It's a pressure in my chest, a swirl in my guts, a nag at the back of mind. There's an emptiness that almost hurts. The only other time I've ever truly loved someone was my mother before she died.

I still love her.

Unusually, I sit away from my comrades as we stop to eat, the canopy of the dark forest enfolding us in its cool shade. Birds are calling through the branches. Small, nameless animals rustle through the ground cover. I've never liked the forest, nobody does. How could we with its dangers and mysteries and untamed wildness? I like it even less now. In fact, I hate it. It slows us down too much. And worse—we've lost your tracks. Now all we can do is search for you blind.

Damn forest. Once I find you and get you home safe, I'm going to burn it to the ground, every last stinking tree, flower and root.

With my back to the others, I hunch over my lap, eating my salted pork. I have no choice but to be apart. I can't look weak in front of them. I can't have them see how I'm affected. I'm one of the village's most senior fighters. Its greatest fighter.

I wince as I chew. All I can seem to think about is what the monster might be doing to you. Whatever it's doing it can't be good. That's why it's a monster. I think about its great black wings, how the claws must be tearing through your smooth, soft skin. The same skin I've run my hands over so many times. I think about its big hands wrapped around your slender throat as it chokes you. The same throat I've kissed and nuzzled. But most of all I think about it on top of you with its big thick cock deep inside you. I imagine the look on your face, you screaming and crying out my name. I imagine your agony as it splits you open.

Gritting my teeth, I clench my fists.

I can't help but remember the warm, slippery softness of your womanhood as I rubbed myself against you. To think that it could be bloodied and ruined and abused ... and taken. I turn my head, unable to think about it.

It's supposed to be mine.

I spit out a hunk of gristle. Then spit again. I love pork but today it tastes like sawdust. Wrapping it back up, I put it into my backpack for later. I glance over my shoulder at the sound of my comrades laughing. I frown. How can they be so light-hearted when your life is in the balance?

Standing, I walk into the trees for some privacy.

Leaning my forehead against the cool bark of a tree, I unbutton my pants. Even despite my anxiety and fears, thoughts of our last moments together rise quickly in my mind and my body can't help but respond.

I am only a man, after all.

I lean my weight against the tree, my left forearm braced above my head as I groan out your name, over and over again. I remember the way your mouth felt around me, the warmth and wetness. I've always enjoyed the way you bob your head, my hands clawed in your lovely hair as you suck me.

Quickly, my memories turn to fantasies. It's always been the greatest dream of mine, seeing you naked for the first time, the perfect swell of your breasts, the luscious curve of your hips; your supple thighs; your mouth pulled back in rapture as I pleasure you. I so desperately want to see that thatch of hair between your legs. I yearn for it. I ache for it. And never more so now, now that I might never have you.

No. I will have you.

I bite back shouting your name as I imagine you lying beneath me, your breasts pressed up against my chest, your warm breath puttering in my face as you arch your neck back in ecstasy. I would kiss your throat then, leaving a little trail of love behind. I would nuzzle the nape of your neck. I would drag my fingers through your hair. And I would kiss your mouth, your lips so soft and wanting as I thrust into you.

I imagine how that feels. I imagine how different it must feel to your mouth. Will it be as wet? Will it be as slippery and warm and wonderful? I've heard married men talk about it. It is different—and so much better. To be inside you. To be so deep inside you we're one person. That first time the men say you'll be as tight as a fist. Cosy, they call it. Warm and cosy. I can't wait.

By balls are burning. My penis gives a little spasm in my hand, but I keep going, rubbing it up and down until it's red and throbbing and sticky with my precum. I remember how you tasted me. Then I remember how you spat. I quickly shove the memory away. That wasn't you. You love me and you're waiting for me to save you, though you might not know it.

I'll be your knight in shining armour, my sweet and perfect damsel in distress. I can't wait to see your face when I slaughter the demon in front of you. And then, soon after that, will be our wedding night—sooner if I can get the village leaders to agree.

Warm and cosy. Warm and cosy. Warm and cosy.

I orgasm with a gasp. Panting, I slump against the tree, gazing down at my ejaculate glimmering on the bushes. As I stare, I can't help but think of the children we'll have. The grandchildren. There, in that little glimmer of fluid lies our future, our love and hope.

An amazing thing.

I can't wait to make use of it.

Once I've recovered, I quickly yank up my pants and re-button before returning to my comrades to continue on our search.

I will not lose hope.