When I was inside of Tukaba, taking my pleasure inside of her willing and warm flesh, my entire focus was on the beautiful, red-haired woman who watched me with fevered eyes. I imagined it was her body beneath mine, except I knew she wouldn't lay there quietly the way a Caraican woman would do. No, I imagined someone like her would be writhing, moaning, and scratching at the dirt with her delicate fingers. I would have had to use my strength to pin one such as her down, but I would enjoy her complete surrender.
That thought alone had my shaft thickening, so I immediately tried to think of something else to quell its rise to glory.
Moira stumbled again, and I wanted to yell at her to watch where she was going. Her face was tilted upward to a pair of howler monkeys right above us, a small smile on her face as she watched them swing in the branches. I only glanced up briefly, and then turned my attention back to the jungle floor.
My gaze was keen--well trained--and in just a mere moment, I saw danger three feet from Moira's stride as she stumbled along. A bushmaster snake was slithering its way onto the path from her right and, in two more steps, she would be right on it.
My hands shot out, grabbing Moira by the shoulders and pulling her backward into me. She screamed in fright as the bushmaster lifted its head toward us. I forcefully shoved her behind me, and she went crashing to the path on her butt. Father Gaul and Ramon looked at me as if I'd lost my mind, but they didn't see what I did.
Certain death.
The bushmaster was defensively poised, its head hovering several inches off the ground. Without a word to any of them, I swung my machete through the air and alleviated the viper of its head, where it thudded softly onto the rotting leaves.
Reaching out to a large, wet palm leaf, I wiped the serpent's blood from my blade and turned to Moira with a glare. "You need to keep your eyes on the path, foolish chama de cabelos. Next time, I let the serpent strike."
She looked up at me with those mossy, green eyes filled with fear and contrition. Our gazes locked for a moment, but then I turned away and started walking down the path. Ramon rushed past me to help Moira from the ground, and our little expedition continued.
I reacted on instinct, saving her miserable life, and in turn, trapped myself at her side. In hindsight, I should have let the snake strike, then I could have hauled her lifeless body back to the village and been done with this foolishness.
We parted ways with Father Gaul and Ramon when we reached the Jutai. Moira and I continued north via dugout canoe, while Father Gaul went west to visit the Matica tribe, who was a sworn enemy of the Caraicans. There had been much bloodshed between our two clans.
On the second night after we had ported off the Jutai, I almost left Moira... so great was my longing to return home, back to the Caraican village where my friends and family revered me and I was happy. I went off into the jungle and contemplated what I would say to Paraila when I returned. I could tell him some lie, like Moira had changed her mind. Or that she had been eaten by a jaguar or caiman. With that story, I'd have to kill her and dispose of her body to get away with that, because knowing what little I did about her, she would have just tracked me back to the village.
Nothing I could come up with seemed to be feasible, but ultimately, I knew I would never be able to look Paraila... my father and teacher... in the eye and tell him I wouldn't respect his wishes.
Paraila begged me to go, to give this opportunity a chance, and I ultimately couldn't say no to the old man.
But I didn't go down without a fight.
For two days after Moira's arrival, we fought.
He threw everything at me, and when I still denied him, he threw more. I pointed out that he was an old man, and that if I left, no one would take care of him. I promised that I would go... as soon as he died, but he was proving to be just as stubborn as I was.
He even became cruel with me, showing me a new side to the man I'd called my father for so many years. Paraila told me that I truly wasn't welcome within the tribe. That he had insisted I stay only when he knew I had no other options, but now that he knew I had a family member back in the States that was eager to reconnect, he told me that he didn't want me around anymore.
That hurt so badly that I lurched out of his longhouse, kicking over a basket of cassava flour in my sorrowful haste. I looked everywhere for Tukaba, feeling the need to pound away inside of her body to ease my frustration and anger, but she was nowhere to be found. I thought briefly about dragging the goddess-like woman named Moira into the jungle and forcing her to submit to me, but I was smart enough to know that would not be acceptable by her standards. So with no means for release, I grabbed my bow and quiver, heading deep into the jungle to find something to kill.
Paraila later apologized to me for his harsh words and, over a quiet dinner, made a last plea that finally caused me to surrender.
"Cor'dairo," he had said, calling me "my son" in the old and almost extinct Caraican language. "Why do you fight me on this? This is not the life I would wish upon you."
"But I'm happy here," I told him while holding his hand.
"Maybe, but you may be happier elsewhere," he said with a much stronger voice than I had heard from him in a while. "What kind of life is this... struggling day in and day out for survival? Father Gaul says that where you are going, you will have food overflowing and many opportunities laid before you. What do you have here? An old man and his shrew of a wife."
"I have Tukaba," I said with a wink. "She makes me plenty happy."
"Yes, you have Tukaba, but she has many friends," he said with a sly smirk.
I grinned back at him because Paraila and I always shared the same type of humor. Tukaba was, indeed, a woman that shared the pleasures of all the single men in the tribe.
"You deserve more than this meager life you lead, and I want to see you have a chance at real happiness before I die."
"But Paraila--" I started to say, but he cut me off.
"No, Zacharias... son not of my loins but of my heart. I am begging you to go. For me... I am begging you. Give it a year and, if you wish, you may return. But for me... give it a chance and go with this new fortune."
I stared at him, noting the sheen of tears in his eyes and the surety of his voice. It crashed all around me that I could not deny this man anything... not the man who had raised, protected, and even given me love when my parents died. I owed him my life. I would do anything he asked.
So I agreed to go.
Chapter 2
Moira
I'm exhausted. Letting out a tired breath, I lean my temple against the backseat window of the cab. Zach sits quietly beside me, taking in the Chicago skyline as we make our way past the Windy City, en route to Evanston, about fifteen miles away.
To my home... where Zach will be staying with me for a while before making a trip to Atlanta to meet Randall. I'm on a summer break from my teaching post in the Anthropology Department at Northwestern University. I also took an extended leave of absence, at least for the upcoming fall semester, as Randall and I felt that Zach could possibly need my help for several months. But in truth... I'm flying by the seat of my pants at this point because Zach is not making anything easy on me.
Our plane flight from Brasilia into Chicago was relatively calm, considering how difficult it was for me to make it out of the rainforest with a reluctant travel mate. I had fought the heat, humidity, dehydration, the never-ending supply of gnats and mosquitos, a near-death experience with a bushmaster snake, and yet none of that was as hard as dealing with Zach's antipathy during the trip.
The man clearly did not want to leave his home with the Caraicans. After having spent eighteen years immersed in their culture... after having been adopted into their tribe and revered as a member, he had absolutely no desire to return to the States with me.
This was something I had expected was a possibility since he had lost his parents so very long ago. I had a feeling that Zach might not remember much of his prior life, and here I was... taking him
away from the comfort and security of what he knew best. I had even told Randall, Zach's godfather who had arranged this entire rescue mission, that Zach may not want to return to his American roots. Randall was far more positive on that than I was, just telling me to do the best that I could.
Ultimately, I had nothing to do with Zach's capitulation to come. I stayed in his village for two days after my arrival, while his adoptive father argued with him mercilessly. He was very eager for Zach to take this opportunity to learn more about his own heritage. I'm not sure what Paraila finally said to his adopted son, but on my second evening there, Zach approached me and said, "We're leaving tomorrow."
Those were his first words to me. Despite the fact that we had shared a highly intimate experience that first night over the blaze of the campfire, when he fucked another woman while holding my gaze, he had not spoken a word to me until he informed me of our departure. His next words were no friendlier.
After saving me from a bushmaster that was perilously close to my leg, he had sneered at me, "You need to keep your eyes on the path, foolish chama de cabelos. Next time, I let the serpent strike."
Then he turned his back on me and started walking away, taking the lead and hacking his way through the jungle once more.
I imagined what chama de cabelos might mean in Portuguese. I was thinking something along the lines of idiot, dumbass, moron, or even bonehead. Father Gaul told me later when I asked him that it mean flame-haired.
I ended up taking that as a compliment, despite the fact that Zach looked like he wanted to strangle me whenever we made eye contact.
Zach didn't speak another word to me until later in the day when he was forced to, because once we reached the Jutai, we split up from Father Gaul and Ramon. His words were short and simple. He told me to get into the dugout canoe that Father Gaul had arranged for us at the small trading village on the river and to paddle hard.
Which I did... and within just an hour, my arms were shot and useless. He muttered something in Portuguese, and I suffered his glare the rest of the day as we traveled up the Jutai toward the Amazon River.
He gave me nothing further but silence on our second day on the water, despite my efforts to talk to him. I knew his English was still in fine form, as Father Gaul continued to speak it to him over the years, but he would only respond to me in Portuguese when I would try to ask him something, and I think half the time he was cursing at me.
Finally, something changed as we ported the canoe at the end of the second day. Something that started out with a few words, but then ended with soft moans and exquisite release.
I shudder now even thinking about the moment we had together.
After pulling the canoe up onto the bank, Zach silently took his machete and hacked away at some lowlying vegetation between two young Kapok trees that bordered the riverbank. When he was done, he merely pointed at the trees and said, "For your hammock," then turned around and disappeared into the jungle.
He was gone for less than an hour, returning with a small spider monkey he prepared over the fire that he efficiently built, but he didn't offer any to me. That was fine... I nibbled on my dehydrated rations and tried to talk to him about Randall, because Zach had not bothered to show one single bit of curiosity as to where I was leading him and what would happen when we returned to the States.
"Zach... do you have any questions about Randall Cannon, your godfather?"
I was met with silence as he poked at the dying fire.
"He's a nice man," I told him simply. "I think you'll like him a lot."
Zach ignored me at first, then stood up and went down to the river where he splashed water on his face. When he returned, he said, "I won't like him but tell me how he knows me... why he has the right to ask me to come to him."
I took the opportunity and poured out everything in a rush. "He was very good friends with your parents. He was your father's best friend. In fact, your father saved Randall's life once, and it created a very deep bond between them. I've seen a lot of pictures of you and Randall together. Your parents came on a few mission trips when you were very young, and you stayed with Randall each time. He cared for you then, and he cares for you a great deal now."
I heard a faint snort come out of Zach as he resumed sitting by the fire. "What is this word you have been using... 'godfather'?"
"It's a symbolic title. He was chosen by your parents to have a hand in guiding and directing you in life. It can have spiritual meaning, which I'm sure it did since your parents were very religious. Randall wasn't, so I think there was also an element where your parents chose Randall to be a secondary guardian to you. Someone that would look out for your well-being."
"He's not my father," Zach said defensively.
"Of course not," I assured him. "It's just a title. You make whatever relationship you want with Randall."
"I don't want any relationship with him," Zach sneered. "I just want to go back to my home."
Then he stood up again and walked into the jungle. He didn't come back for almost two hours. I laid in my hammock, wondering where he was and if I would be eaten by a jaguar that night.
But he did return, saying not a word to me. He merely laid down on the ground beside the fire and closed his eyes. I swayed in my hammock, looking up at the stars in the swatch of jungle that had been carved out by the river. The sounds of the night forest lulled me... birds and monkeys calling to each other, frogs croaking out love songs, and crickets merrily chirping. Some people thought it was too loud, but I loved it. It was like a soothing, white noise to me, and I was starting to get drowsy.
Before my eyes drifted closed for the night, I turned my head slightly and looked over at Zach. I glanced at his face first and saw that he was still awake and staring up at the same stars I had been looking at. My gaze traveled down his chest, and I was stunned to find he had his hand between his legs. His cock was fully erect, and he silently stroked it with his right hand, his other hand casually tucked under his head while he peered at the night sky.
He didn't make a sound and had it not been from the impressive erection sliding along his palm, I would have wondered if he were even enjoying himself.
I knew I should have averted my eyes and given him privacy while he masturbated, but damn... there he was under the broad, starry sky, wearing nothing but his hand around what I estimated was an amazing eight-to-nine inches of steel and velvet.
Zach's chest was moving up and down in tiny spurts, increasing in tempo with the beat of his hand, but no sounds of pleasure came out of his full lips. His cock was moist and, in the firelight, I could see pre-cum leaking from the tip. Everything else about him though was utterly still and silent, and I came to understand the fact that Zach had amazing control over his body and his feelings.
As I watched Zach pleasure himself, I couldn't help but imagine it was my own hand on him... then I imagined it was my mouth... then I imagined he was lodged deep inside of me. I'd never been with someone that large before, and I thought to myself... the stretch and burn would hurt in just the right way.
I felt moisture soak my underwear, and my body felt twitchy and frustrated. My breasts ached, and my stomach tightened. Rolling my body to the side, I winced slightly when the hammock strings groaned, but Zach didn't notice. He just kept stroking his cock and staring at the stars.
Pressure built quickly between my legs, and I swear I could feel my blood pumping through my clit, making an uncomfortable throbbing sensation. I couldn't stand it... I needed the same type of relief that Zach was rushing toward.
I craved it more than I had craved water in the heat of the jungle.
Common sense seemed to be dispossessed of my brain, and I moved without thought. Slowly lowering my hand to my stomach, I worked my fingers at the button on my pants and undid it. I tugged my zipper down, thankful for the noisy jungle to hide the sound. Humid air hit my lower belly, and I wasted no time slipping my fingers under the top edge of my cotton panties while I stared at Zach str
oking himself.
His hand worked faster and his breathing became shallower, but he was still eerily quiet. I needed to catch up because he was leaving me far behind, so I pushed my index finger straight into my slickness, swallowing my groan as I realized how drenched with need I had become. Pulling my hand back, I dragged my finger over my clit and my hips jerked slightly, causing more creaking from the hammock. I held absolutely still for a moment, panicked that I would interrupt Zach's moment, but he was completely ignoring me.
With a soft sigh, I rubbed over my clit again. It felt so good I had to suck in a lungful of oxygen. God, it had never been that sensitive. Never felt that gratifying. But then again, I had never secretly masturbated with a gorgeous stranger laying just a few feet away from me, while I watched him pleasure himself with complete indifference to his surroundings.
Confident that either Zach had no clue what I was doing, or he just didn't care, I started to move my finger over my clit again, but I immediately went still when Zach lazily turned his head my way, letting me know at that moment... he had been aware the entire time what I was doing to myself. His own hand stilled, and he stared at me with the fire flickering in his eyes.
"Does it feel good? What you're doing to yourself?" His voice was avidly curious, and it occurred to me... maybe he'd never seen a woman do this before.
I blinked at him in surprise and started to remove my hand from my panties.
"Don't," he commanded me harshly. "Don't stop what you're doing. I can tell you're aroused. I can smell it, and I can practically hear your blood humming."
My hand stayed put, but I didn't move. I was frozen in shame that I had been busted.
"I ask again, Moira... does what you are doing to your body feel good? Good like what I'm doing to mine?" he asked as he languidly pumped his cock a few times.
"Yes," I whispered as I pressed my finger down hard against myself. "It feels really good."
"Then you may continue," he said simply, turning his face away from me again to look at the sky. His hand resumed stroking himself, slowly, as if starting his pleasure all over again.