Colette Gale - [The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle Part II] (6 page)

He held onto her until her feet were stable and then released her gently and gestured toward the structure. “Go,” he said in his deep voice. Jane did as he bid, taking a mere two steps along the branch to the entrance.
 

She didn’t have to duck in order to get through opening, and inside she was struck by the neatness of the place, its compact size, and the fact that its walls and roof weren’t in the best of condition. Either this treehouse had been built many years before the one she and her companions inhabited, or it hadn’t been as well-maintained. Regardless, it was obviously a home built in European style (as much as one could take into account in the jungle)—not at all like something the natives might have built, if one believed Con Bellingworth’s
Pictorial of the Madagascan Jungle.
 

Of course, Bellingworth also claimed there were no leopards or dangerous wild cats anywhere in Madagascar…but he was obviously wrong.

Jane stepped in and then hesitated. What if another snake—or something worse—was inside? It was too dark to see much, and she’d had her fill of slithering reptiles in the last two days.

The wild man seemed to understand her hesitation, for he eased past her into the small space. After a brief moment of listening to him rustle about, she heard a soft, sharp scraping noise. He was crouched in the corner of the small treehouse, his arms moving back and forth rapidly over something on the floor. She inched closer and saw that he was rubbing a slender stick quickly and forcefully back and forth along the narrow groove in a small, stripped log. After only a few moments, she smelled smoke and then light flared in the tinder that had been shaved from the log.

He bent over the young flame and blew long and gently. The tiny fire shifted and expanded, billowing into a small blaze. When he looked up at her, his face limned by the golden glow, Jane’s heart stopped.

He was breathtaking.

Their eyes met and once again she became conscious of her nakedness. But it wasn’t shame that brought a warmth to her cheeks.

He held out a hand to her and Jane, her heart thudding like a drum, stepped toward him.

Now that there was illumination, she could see more of the treehouse’s interior. There was a bed, large enough for two people. It appeared to be well-kept, and even the coverings on it seemed clean and inviting. No pillow. Three large steamer trunks sat to one side. A crude desk was built into the wall, with a massive stump for a chair. And she noticed in the corner a small box on tall legs, filled with soft cloth. And a small stuffed bear. Her heart swelled. A baby’s crib.

At once a myriad of thoughts rushed through her; perhaps a good distraction from the fact that she was naked and alone with the wild man once again. She looked at him, wondering. His blue eyes and relatively light skin clearly indicated he was European, or perhaps even American. Did this dwelling belong to him or his family? Had he been shipwrecked, like Robinson Crusoe, but with a wife and child? Could he have been the child who slept in that crib and somehow been separated from his parents? Raised by the wolves like the storybook character Mowgli?

Or was it possible he had simply found this place accidentally? Did he even live here?

His hand solid and firm around her fingers, the wild man brought her to the bed and, heart still racing, Jane perched on the edge of it. She took no notice of her nudity any longer. She saw that he’d contained the fire in a small metal tinderbox, obviously left by the previous occupants of this place.

She looked up at him, their eyes meeting in the dancing light. The desire she saw there made her breath catch. Despite her earlier activity, a sharp dart of lust stabbed her, and she moistened her lips with her tongue. The wild man’s eyes fell to her mouth and seemed to catch there for the longest moment.

Jane still couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t imagine wanting anything more at that moment than for him to bend to her and cover her mouth with his.
 

How can I think this way? I just left my fiancé, only moments ago.

The fiancé who’d promised her to, and shared her with, another man.

Jane firmed her lips and thrust the thoughts of Jonathan away, reaching to touch the wild man’s chest. It was just in front of her, slightly above eye-level. She hardly had to stretch out her arm. Her fingers settled against the firm planes of his torso, in the shallow indentation between two flat slabs of breast. The pounding of his heart thudded frantically beneath her fingers. His skin was warm, the color of shelled almonds in the daylight, but tonight it was a rich caramel hue in the glow of fire. A light smattering of hair grew there, turning darker and thicker in a line that traveled below his navel. He wore a cloth around his waist made of animal skin.

She felt his breathing stop, his body still and become so taut it seemed to quiver.
 

Then, before she could reach for him, he stepped back. Her hand fell to her lap and she looked up at him, confused and questioning.
 

He gestured to the bed, and, drawing one of the coverings up and away, indicated that she was to lie down.
 

Bewildered and yet touched, Jane did so. The platform was covered with a large silky fur and despite her expectation, it wasn’t hot or heavy. Instead, the skin was soft and inviting.

No sooner had she reclined than he settled the blanket over her in a waft of sweet, light cloth. She had a brief moment to wonder where he’d obtained such a thing. Whatever filled the mattress was both soft and firm, and Jane suddenly realized how exhausted she was. Exhausted, sore…and overwhelmed.

She looked up at the wild man and smiled. How had he known?

But…. She lifted herself up on one elbow, holding the blanket modestly to her chest. “Woman,” she said, touching herself between the breasts. Then she gestured toward him, brushing his torso once again with her fingers as he crouched next to her. “Man.”

He nodded.
 
His heart thudded hard beneath her touch. “Man.” He covered her hand with his strong, callused fingers, then moved it back to her chest. Heavy and warm. “Woman.”

She nodded, then, when he would have taken his hand away, she shifted and held it firmly in her fingers, still at her breast. “Jane,” she told him, flattening his hand against her. “Jane.”

His eyes lit with comprehension. “Szzzzhaaaayn. Szhane,” he repeated. His voice was reverent. “Jane. Woman.”
 

“Jane,” she said once more. Then she moved their clasped hands to touch him again and waited, still propped on her elbow.
 

He understood immediately. “Zaren. Man.” He thumped himself on the chest, losing his grip on her fingers in the process.

Jane smiled at him and eased back down on the bed. At last. The wild man had a name. “Zaren,” she whispered. “It suits you.”

And she closed her eyes.

— V —

Zaren watched the woman for a long time.
 

Jane. She was called Jane. He smiled, something inside him expanding into a great warmth.
Jane.

He settled the small fire, safely contained in a metal box, on the stump and admired how the light and shadow danced over her lovely face. Beauty that made his insides hurt.
 

He wanted to touch her fire-hair, now glowing even brighter in the light of the dancing flames. The coils of it spilled in luminous tangles over her ivory shoulder and onto the sleeping place. But he didn’t wish to disturb her. He could watch over her, and she would sleep in peace.
 

If she slept, she trusted him.

The scent of her—the musky, sweet, special essence—filled his nostrils and would permeate the place she slept. He would have that memory of her after she was gone from here. Her fingers relaxed, curled under her cheek. Her breathing changed, slowing and deepening. Her lips, crushed against her hand, eased into the shape of a soft, tempting flower bud.

He wanted to press his mouth to hers. He had tasted her before, there, in that sweet, warm, slick place between her legs…but now he knew he wanted to touch her lips. And all the other parts of her.

Beneath the antelope skin he wore around his waist, Zaren’s rod shifted and swelled at the idea. He frowned down at it and turned his thoughts elsewhere. He had no patience, no time for that now.

He had much to think about. He wasn’t certain he understood what happened this day.

It seemed that the light-skinned man, the one who was new to the area, belonged to Jane.

Zaren saw, watching from his usual high perch among the thick leaves. He understood the language of bodies in all types of animals, and when Jane and the new man came together in an embrace, he recognized that they knew each other. They belonged together. She was overjoyed to see him, clinging to his arm as if she would never let him leave.

The other man, the one who had tried to mate with Jane when she didn’t want to, watched from a distance. His expression was empty, but the way he stood was not. Zaren thought he knew how he felt.

Zaren went away after that, swinging too fast and too hard through the trees. He misjudged once and fell the distance of a python before grabbing a solid enough vine to stop his tumble. He hadn’t made a mistake like that since he was a young cub, showing off for his wolf siblings. But something inside his chest hurt, burned, and he was angry enough at himself, at the woman and her mate, to hurtle off a high branch into the cold, deep river instead of wading in.

He emerged from the icy water with nothing but a scraped knee and bruised shoulder, then narrowly missed being attacked by a crocodile. Its jaws snapped closed behind his heel just as Zaren yanked himself up and out of the water using a low branch. Foolish. Foolish and blind as a snake, he’d been.

It was then he knew he mustn’t blame the woman. He wasn’t angry with her. She belonged with the new man. He was her mate, and mates stayed together until one of them died. Just as the wolves who raised him had done.

Still, Zaren had been curious, and later that night, unable to sleep in his cool, dark cave, he emerged. He meant to look on her one more time. And to see if the mate slept with her. He wondered how he would feel, seeing the mate’s body curved around the soft, curvy, sweet-scented skin he’d come to crave.

 
The image rose in his mind and it made Zaren both hot and chilled.

But when he reached her nest—the same place he battled a rock snake last night—it was empty. Perched in the window, he sniffed the air, but the new man’s scent was not mingled with Jane’s. He had not been in the nest.
 

It was simple for Zaren to find her after that. But when he looked down at the clearing with the hot, bubbling pool of water, she was sleeping on the ground. Her mate was with the other light-skinned man, the non-mate. And they were talking, looking at a paper.

The scents on the air told him what had happened: mating. But he was confused by the three strong scents, and that of the lystra plant mingled with it all. How could three mate together? It wasn’t possible. That wasn’t how it was done. Only one male and one female.

He watched for a time, trying to understand, watching the men and watching…Jane. She rose and joined them at the fire, sitting near her mate. But there was something wrong about the men and the scene below.
 

He sniffed, listened, watched…but he couldn’t understand what bothered him.

And then moments later, the leopard made her appearance, and Zaren took the opportunity to help the woman…Jane…escape. He realized he felt no compulsion to return and ensure the mate and non-mate were safe. They had fire, and one of them had the loud stick. They could evade the leopard if they were careful and smart.

He cared only for Jane’s safety.

Now, he settled on the floor next to the…bed…yes, that was the word. He listened, sniffed, and looked around the small place. With the light flickering soft yellow and orange, sending gentle shadows dancing, it was warm and cozy and safe. He remembered…something…something like this….

But his head hurt. The sharp pain chased the hovering memory away and instead, he closed his eyes. He could rest as well.

The slightest sound, the barest shift in the wind, even the most gentle waft of a change of scent, would awaken him. She was safe, and he, for the first time, slept, breathing the comfort and pleasure of her essence.

— VI —

When Jane opened her eyes, it was to daylight…and a very intense blue gaze looking down at her.

“Zaren,” she said, and reached for his hand when he would have moved it away.
 

“Jane,” he whispered, and left his fingers on the edge of the bed, covered by hers.

She looked down, lifting his hand to examine it. Tanned deep brown, rough, sprinkled with hair on the back. Wide, callused, the underside broad and tough and slightly more pale. His nails clean and short, one of them black from an injury. Scratches, some new, some healed. His fingers…long and elegant. One of them had been up inside her. She shivered.
 

Jane looked back up at him and their eyes met again. Heat raged between them and her insides fluttered and seemed to take flight. He seemed to be drinking in the sight of her as he did every time they were together. She wished she knew what he was thinking. She wished she could speak with him.