Page 23 of Unravel Me

And yet here I am still trespassing and don't want to get up.

I just lie there, with the grass and moss soft beneath me. It hasn't rained in days, so the earth is fairly dry. Sunlight filters through the trees, warming me just a little. For December, the temperature is quite bearable, a bit over sixty °F.

I keep resting there, and my disobedient body starts making itself known again. The rising need to fuck. Every time I suppress it, every time I shove it back into the depths of my mind, it stubbornly comes right back.

Maybe it's the racing heartbeat, the blood pumping faster after my run, but the contractions keep building inside me. My entrance throbs. I slip a hand beneath my stomach, feeling my dick pulse in sync with my hole.

My first two heats weren't all that bad. They were actually pretty manageable. During both of them, Mark had important meetings and business trips, so I ended up spending half my heat alone with my dildos anyway.

Now, that strange feeling keeps building inside me. Unbearable, almost incapacitating. Eventually, an empty, almost hysterical laugh tears out of me because this is honestly ridiculous. I just saw some bizarre entity in the forest, and all I can think about is getting railed.

The problem is that beings like this are often part of my sexual fantasies: male versions of forest dryads, mermen, dark fae, satyrs, drow and other supernatural beings. My bizarre imagination is dragging this whole situation into my heat-fueled desires.

I squeeze my thighs together, feeling that ring of muscles pulse, slowly but strongly, hotly.

Could this be some kind of defense mechanism too? Fear of dying, trying to bury the terror beneath something that'll make me forget for a little while, something that'll push that dread away…

I clamp my thighs together harder. The pulsing comes back even stronger, more insistent, quite hard to ignore. I catch myself thinking about only one thing: finding a quick release for this need; putting something inside my hole.

Ironically, I'm still wearing my backpack. I lost my gun, but the backpack stayed strapped to my shoulders.

Awkwardly, I shrug it off, then pull out the dildo. A stupid little giggle slips out of me.

It's official. I've completely lost my mind. I'm seeing strange creatures in the forest while running around like a lunatic.

Wait, maybe I imagined the whole thing, or was simply hallucinating.

Was that candy Davos gave me laced with something? Or perhaps heat does this to me… and I'm having some distorted visions.

I start questioning everything I saw. It simply can't have been real. The mind can create the craziest things when it's afraid.

Shadows and leaves turn into shapes. There's even a scientific name for it, an evolutionary explanation. The people who imagined a tiger hiding in the rustling bushes were the ones who survived, because when there actually was a tiger, they'd already gotten the hell out of there. So of course I'm more likely to mistake random shapes for something real.

That's all it was. It has to be.

And if it wasn't… then it was definitely that candy, right?

Davos drugged me. That has to be it. Just for laughs!

I tighten my fingers around the dildo. It's cool, its rubber surface almost icy against my skin. Not good; I would prefer something much warmer.

But another wave of contractions hits, this one much more painful, and a quiet moan escapes me. For a second I scold myself for making noise, but does it really matter?

Either the monster's gone, or he's hiding somewhere in the bushes, waiting for his chance. And if that's the case, what difference does it make whether he kills me now or five minutes later… right?

I start yanking my pants off with nervous, jerky movements. Cool air washes over me. I hope it'll calm me down a little, but it isn't nearly cold enough to put out a heat, that much is obvious.

I roll onto my back and bend my knees slightly. My bare pink cock stands stiffly between my thighs like one filthy exclamation point.

If anyone's watching me right now, they're either getting the laugh of their life or thinking I escaped from some psychiatric hospital where they were treating me for sex addiction.

What a completely fucked-up situation.

Still…

There's something perversely exciting about it.

If I'm going crazy, I might as well go all the way. Carefully, I slide my fingers down my stomach, brush against my hard, hot, twitching rod, draw my thighs up and spread them apart, then finally touch the entrance to my hole.