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It was kept in the bedroom as a backup, and when the tail end was ripped off, it was one of the things we were never able to recover. Now I know why. Someone else found it first. A look around the room shows other random items that look like they’ve been collected and just dumped inside. Broken things that need repairing. Nobody is as good at repairing shit as Zig.
And with that thought in mind, I make my way back to the waterfall, cataloging the trail so I don’t forget it. Seems like someone must be looking down on us today because plan B is looking like it might just work out after all.
It’s hard to believe that after all this time, we might finally be able to go home.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
Salem
After finding myself pinned to the ground yet again, I’m ready to admit defeat. “I give up. You’re like a damn ninja or something. I’m never going to be able to take you.”
“You’re small. Chances are your attackers will be bigger than you, so you need to find ways to compensate for that.” He stands up and yanks me to my feet. “Again,” he tells me as I pant and take a step back.
He circles me, making me feel like prey. “Stop thinking like a fighter and think like a survivor. If this is a life-and-death situation, then all the rules go out the window. You claw, bite, punch, kick. You do whatever you have to do to get out of your attacker’s hold, and then you run.”
“What if I want to fuck them up instead? I’m getting really tired of being the victim all the time.”
He jabs forward and taps me on the shoulder before pulling back, his movements so quick and graceful that I almost don’t see him move. A man his freaking size shouldn’t be able to move like that. It’s freaking annoying.
“You’re not a victim. You’re a survivor,” he reiterates, jabbing me on the other shoulder this time.
“What’s the damn difference?”
“Perception. It’s all about your state of mind. Do you want to give up, or do you want to fight dirty?”
I narrow my eyes at him. I’ll show him fighting dirty. I yank my T-shirt over my head and toss it near the rock I usually sit on.
He pauses, his eyes snapping to my hands, which are now sliding down to the zipper of the shorts I’m wearing, taking my panties with them. I kick them aside and take a fighting stance again.
“What are you doing?” Zig asks, amused.
“Fighting dirty,” I tell him as he moves closer.
Using both hands, I cup my breasts and roll my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. Zig drops his hands and walks forward as if mesmerized by my headlights. Once he’s in touching distance, I place one hand on his chest and look up at him while biting my lip.
“I’ll kiss it better,” I promise.
“Kiss what better?”
“This,” I warn him as I grab his balls in my fist and squeeze lightly.
I don’t want to hurt him, but I want him to tap out. He freezes in place, a light sheen over his face as I squeeze a little harder.
“Do you give?”
When he doesn’t answer, I squeeze harder.
He grunts and nods. “I give.”
I let go and do a victory dance. A dance that proves to be my undoing. One second, I’m shaking my tatas, and the next, I’m on my hands and knees with a very large cock inside me.
“You lose focus too easily,” he snarls, thrusting into me hard, pulling back slightly, and slapping my ass, making it sting.
“Pot, kettle—” I groan as he grips my hips and pulls me into him as he presses forward.
“And I paid for it. Now it’s your turn to pay.”
He fucks me with a savagery he hasn’t before, a possessiveness that has my pussy weeping in appreciation. I fist the grass beneath my fingers and grit my teeth as he bottoms out inside me again and again.
