Uncaged (6 page)

             
“Oh, Bruce!”

             
“Wren!  My love!” he grumbled between grunts.

             
Wren closed her eyes, loving the way he said her name, the way the ‘n’ lingered on his lips. She was now dripping with desire. Bruce slowed down. She reveled in the excruciatingly beautiful time he took with each thrust, making it worth the beautiful ache that went along with holding back. He reached beneath her, finding her breasts, freeing them. Wren gasped as he palmed them. Her ass rose in answer, giving him full access to her aching nipples. The bed squeaked like a giant mouse with each thrust. Wren was completely lost, mesmerized by the luxurious cadence of their lovemaking. Her fear of waking the
servants was soon forgotten.

             
Bruce gripped the sides of her hips and pulled her onto her knees. She clawed at the quilt as he stopped to spank her and palm both cheeks, rubbing and stroking. Wren cried out in pleasure, begging for more. “Oh, please Bruce!”

             
“Tell me how much you like it, my love.”

             
Wren moaned, turning her face into the quilt, raising her ass higher, wanting more of this delicious play. Never had a man spanked her and made her feel so loved, so wanted, so desired. She rather liked this type of punishment. Bruce persisted. “Tell me, Wren. Tell me to spank you,” he whispered into her bent head.

             
Wren lifted her head from the bed, panting with desire, moaning with need. “I love it Bruce! Please, spank me.”

             
“You like it, don’t you?”

             
“Mmm,” she purred.

             
Bruce spanked her harder, leaving a pink palm print on her tanned flesh. The love lashing tingled, making her wetter. She was hot for him. Damp with desire, she throbbed and dripped against his swollen cock. She bucked, begging him to thrust into her again. Bruce chuckled, growing inside of her as she
clenched around his erection.
He groaned, tossing his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. Wren teased him, clenching, letting go and then bucking her ass back onto his cock, driving him further into her. She pushed herself up on her arms and reached behind her, finding his balls, holding them in her warm, slender fingers. Bruce gasped, opening his eyes blindly as sweat trickled down his face and chest.

             
He fingered her swollen clit, finding her center, lightly tapping
as he thrust again and again.
Wren tossed her head back. Long, black tresses clung to his wet chest. Steams of silk flowed between them as their bodies rocked to and fro. She arched her back, riding him languidly as glorious sparks traveled through her, igniting and exploding in one swift, rocking spasm of luscious release. Bruce came with her, pulling her to him, sinking himself fully into her warmth. With one arm wrapped around her breasts and the other around her neck, pulling her face to his, he kissed her. Her screams vanished in the caverns of his warm mouth while his tongue took possession of hers, stealing her breath.

             
Bruce held her to him. With overheated breath, he kissed her back to reality. He rolled her onto her side and pulled her to him, brushing the wet curls off of her face and heaving breasts. She smiled with her eyes closed. Wren thought she felt her heart skip a beat. She was in love with this man. Her waking thoughts were spent of laughing with him and making love to him. She could never imagine tiring of his love.

             
It was barely morning and both of them were exhausted. Bruce kicked his boots off and pulled the quilt back over them. She sighed as she snuggled against him. She found herself thanking God for putting him on that diseased ship and bringing him to
London
.  She couldn’t
imagine living life without him. Her life, once so lonely and void of love held so much promise now.

Chapter 4

             
After spending a glorious weekend with Wren, most of it naked, Bruce dreaded leaving her behind to journey outside of
London
. He’d had no other choice. He was growing weaker by the day. The raw steaks he’d consumed had only increased his appetite. Bloodless hunks of cold meat did nothing to curb his craving for a fresh kill and all the sexual activity had drained him. He’d had to stop twice along the way, tying his horse to a tree so
he could rest for a few hours.
Never had he felt as feeble in all his life. Amelia had warned him. Now he wished he would have at least feasted on a nearby rabbit before participating in the sex marathon of the century. Just thinking of her, even in his weakened state stirred his loins.

             
He had passed the last country village over two hours ago. This would have to do. He could go no further. The tantalizing scent of deer wafted through the air. Bruce swallowed the  sour spittle that dripped onto his tongue, streami
ng in waves with every whiff.
It wouldn’t be long now. He would feast for two days and return to
London
, satisfied. He could live a fortnight without needing a fresh kill. He’d already told Wren that he had business to attend to. Luckily she’d bought his farce.

             
Bruce walked his stallion half a mile into the woods. October leaves crunched beneath his feet as he led the horse into a clearing near a trickling stream. The horse neighed. 

             
“All right, boy. Just a little further.”

             
Bruce let go of the reigns. The horse trotted to the stream, anxious for a drink. He nodded a quick thank you. Bruce understood. The horse
and he were on equal ground.
Bruce dropped to his knees and cupped his hands, quenching his thirst before sitting back to sniff again. His mouth watered. A deer was close by. Its musky scent decorated the autumn air with delicious aroma. The horse finished and raised his head to look at Bruce.

             
“Finished, bloke?”

             
The stallion blinked his hazelnut eyes and swished his tail in answer. Bruce led him to a nearby tree and tied him. He’d have to venture into the woods to shift. No sense in scaring his traveling companion. He patted his mount’s rump and walked deeper into the woods. Tall trees, heavily overgrown with vine and lush foliage delivered him into darker seclusion where only sunlight peeked through, dappling the October leaves with patches of yellow light. He undressed quickly. He could hear animals all around him. His senses picked up the various species, sorting through their gender.

             
Ah, a doe. A nice, fleshy doe.

             
Saliva poured into the caverns of his mouth. He kicked off his boots, tossed his clothes over a fallen log and crouched onto the forest floor. Leaves crunched beneath his toes. A disturbed beetle crawled over his foot, unno
ticed. Bruce closed his eyes.
He angled his head to the sky, sniffing the damp air as he opened his mouth, preparing to shift. It always helped to widen his jaws, to keep his teeth from cutting his gums and lips. He positioned himself on all fours and shook his head.
Orange
sparks flitted off his golden head. Large, padded lion’s feet sprouted from his lean flank. His round head expanded, quadrupling in size, making room for the fuzzy muzzle that grew outward. A tail sprung from his mangy behind, swishing with excitement, anxious for the kill. Sparkles rippled over his yellow fur, turning from orange to amber, like hundreds of blinking fireflies twirling and tumbling around him.

             
With one shake of his massive mane, he was off, following the scent of the doe whose life would be cut short within seconds. He slowed when her scent was upon him, musty and light, a tempting combination. His tail slapped at the bark of a tree behind him. He could already taste her. Cocking his head to the side, he listened. A twig snapped. An acorn popped. She was moving toward him. He sniffed, crouching lower, hiding behind a giant fern.

             
Bloody hell, she has a fawn with her!
The cat licked the saliva dripping from his jowls.
Christ, I’ll have to kill the baby too!

             
A frightened rabbit darted past him, her long, white feet pounded over the dead leaves as fast as they would carry her. The lion squinted. He’d let her go, after all, he hadn’t come this far for only an appetizer. Now on his belly, the lion inched closer to the doe and her fawn when anot
her scent invaded his senses.
It was heartier, muskier. The lion turned his massive head ever so slowly, wanting to remain unseen and unheard. He felt the earth vibrate beneath him as something else ventured closer. He sniffed again and licked his chops. The doe and her young were safe for the time being. The beast would go after the larger prey that approached on heavy hoof. The lion watched as the buck’s horns shoved a dead, dangling branch aside. A low grumble rolled from his empty stomach. Two more steps and the buck would be only a lunge away for the lion.

             
It happened so quickly the buck never knew of his fate. The gentle creature had no chance to experience fear and no chance to flee. The lion sprang from behind the fern that had concealed him with such perfection. With one swift bite to his neck, the buck’s life was cut short.

             
The beast watched as one back leg twitched and then stilled. He caught the doe and her fawn out of the corner of his eye, fleeing deeper into the woods.

             
Run little doe, run. Take your young far away.

             
There was always a small measure of guilt, for the mind and soul of a man also lurked beneath the fangs, beneath the fur. But only a small measure of it, never enough to stop him from killing. It was necessary for survival and his preferred way of life. Now back in his natural state, his mind wandered back to Wren and doubts clouded his mind as he tore into the smooth, rich flesh. Sweet, warm blood rushed down his throat. His gut grumbled in answer. It had been so long. He ate heartily, swallowing chunks of delightful, gamey buck.

             
He grunted and growled as he tore into the animal’s flank, tearing the tastiest meat from the bone. The tender, warm morsels melted in the lion’s maw, a delicacy he had sorely missed. When his belly became extended, he lay beside the mangled carcass and sighed. Night was near. A cool, autumn breeze tickled his mane and dried his wet nose. New energy surged within. He would feast for one more day and head back to
London
. He bathed himself, licking his bloodied paw and rubbing the dampened fur over his face and whiskers.

             
His mind wandered to Wren again. This was the first time he’d shifted since escaping the cage and it had felt glorious. Now he was wondering if life with a man could hold such freedom, such joy. As a man he’d have to find employment and sustain his other half by concealing his true identity, but there was Wren. He could never see himself walking away from her, her love or the amazing womanly things she did to him in the night. He nibbled again at the ca
rcass,
swallowed and sighed.
He’d leave the rest for the vultures.

             
He padded back to his clothing and sat on his haunches. The moon was just rising over the tallest pines. A strong urge to roar welled up inside of him, but he thought of his horse and restrained it. Again he sighed.
Africa
held so much freedom. He yearned to be wild once again, but doubted that was now a possibility.

             
He shifted quickly and then dressed. The horse neighed and swished his
tail when Bruce approached.
The nearest town was a few miles up the road. He’d check himself into an inn and sleep. One more day of feasting and he could return to Wren. He was already worried about her, relieved that he missed her even more when he made the change back to man. He knew that his human thoughts while in lion form could be clouded by raw, feral emotions linked to the hunt.

             
As he guided the stallion onto the winding dirt road, his mind wandered back to
Africa
. Drum beats echoed in his head. Images of freedom, nights beneath the stars and long, lazy days spent loving his lioness edged their way into his consciousness. The road before him became a wavy blur as tears threatened to spill. Bruce rubbed his eyes and sniffed them back. Being far from home made him miss her more, though she’d been gone five long years. The thought of losing Wren too made his heart ache. He knew he wouldn’t be able to sur
vive that kind of loss again.
He stopped the horse, stared at the night sky and made his decision. With one click of the tongue, he had the stallion turned around and headed back home. One kill would have to do. He’d survive on forest bunnies if he had to. He headed home, back to Wren, back to the woman he knew would now become his wife.

~*~

             
With another full day of travel behind him, Bruce was exhausted. He contemplated passing Wren’s home and heading into
London
. He could sleep at the tavern and return in the morning, but the pull in his loins refused to let him go further. The horse had already sensed his direction, turning instinctively onto the dirt road and through the opened iron gates. Bruce wondered if Wren had ordered them left that way in case he came home earlier. Both of
them had dreaded his leaving.
He’d even told her not to be surprised if he cut his business short. The house was pitch black and deathly quiet. He dismounted his horse and patted his sweating rump before bounding up the creaking steps to peer through the blackened windows. There was no noise, no wind. Even the locusts were asleep. The wooden planks beneath his feet groaned in protest as he walked from window to window. He couldn’t make out a thing.