ALPHA’S PREY

She stomps off, muttering something about, “Long periods of isolation can result in loss of basic courtesy and knowledge of social interactions…”

I’m thankful when she falls silent, but nothing helps me forget she’s there. Having her here is a special form of torture. I can’t just hang around doing nothing with her all up in my space. Her strawberries and vanilla ice cream scent tickles my nose. Her uppity feminist sensibilities riles my temper. Her curvy body looks so ripe for a pounding. My bear claws to the surface so fast my vision changes. I blink rapidly, shoving him back down.

Shit! Stop thinking about pounding her.

Stop. Thinking.

Maybe what I should do is go into the bedroom and jack off. Just to take the pressure off. My cock twitches against my jeans in favor of that idea.

But the cabin’s so quiet she’d probably hear me.

Christ, why don’t I have a television? Radio? Anything to create some comfortable distance between me and this human female?

Miranda

CALEB SNOOZES behind a National Geographic with grizzly bears on the cover most of the morning. He doesn’t move from the couch until lunchtime, when he makes us turkey sandwiches, which he serves with a bowl of mixed nuts.

I help clean up the kitchen, then sit down and catalogue the few tree ring samples I took. When I finish, I take notes on my tablet for my research, then spend a few hours editing a proposal I happened to save onto the tablet as well. There’s no WiFi and my cell phone doesn’t work, so I can’t check emails or get any business correspondence done.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

When I’ve exhausted all the work I can do without my laptop, I turn off the tablet.

“Well, I’m out of things to do,” I announce, even though Caleb’s not into conversation. “I can’t believe you don’t have any games. A pack of cards. A puzzle. Something. Anything.”

I go to the window and press my face against the glass. Despite nearly freezing to death yesterday, I find the snow beautiful.

“Trivial Pursuit?” I ask hopefully, even though I already know the answer. “It’s my favorite.” I’m babbling but the silence is getting to me. “My last boyfriend hated playing it with me because I always won. Have you ever played?”

“No.”

“My ex said it was a waste of time, learning all those useless facts, but I think he was just a sore loser.” I spin away from the window and go back to pacing the floor. His cabin is curiously devoid of almost anything personal, although it’s quite comfortable. There are throw rugs on the floor and the walls are painted pretty colors-apple green and cheery yellow. The decor doesn’t really seem like grumpy mountain man.

Except in other ways it seems very much like him. Custom cabinets that might have been hand-hewn and carved. A gorgeous slab of polished burl wood made into a coffee table. Did he make them? He seems like a man who works with his hands.

I eye them. Very large, calloused hands.

I shiver, remembering those hands stripped me bare, helped me gently into a tub of tepid water last night. What would it feel like to be caressed by those hands?

Or even… held down. Manhandled. Fucked roughly. Yeah, not by the hands, but by the man. Wow. I can’t believe I’m having these thoughts.

The mating habits of the human species. The male preens and flexes his muscles. He feeds and cares for the female, proving he will be a suitable mate with the ability to provide for their young. The female pretends not to notice, but it’s only a matter of time before she finds an excuse to brush against his big, burgeoning cock. The resulting mating dance involves fornication on the couch, on the floor, on the kitchen table…

Ack! My mock-u-mentory is turning into porn. “Cabin Sex Fever: Innocent researcher rescued by mountain man shows her gratitude.” I’d totally get off to that. Especially if Caleb was in a starring role.

I scrub a hand across my heated face. Maybe freezing and nearly dying in the woods boosts your hormone levels to epic proportions.

Caleb glowers at me from his chair. Bear watches me without moving from his slumped position on the floor near Caleb’s feet. It’s weird how my dog seems to think Caleb is his master now. I guess he’s a sexist pig, too, deferring to the man in the room. Traitor.

“Come on.” I clap my hands. “Let’s play a game.”

“No.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Pass.”

“Please,” I plead. “What else are we going to do?”

Caleb mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “Thought a brainiac scientist would be quieter.”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “We can either play something or I can tell you more about my research.”

“No.”

“My current project is about the effect of climate change on the tree population in New Mexico. I’m using samples from ponderosa pine trees to look at what’s happened over the last one hundred years or more.”

Caleb grunts.

I know he’s not really interested, but since he goaded me with that quieter comment, I can’t help but give it back to him. I settle in to explain the details of my grant-funded research. “Basically, I’ve plotted an area near the research cabin and now I have to take a sample from every tree within the plot. I started last fall, but the plot didn’t prove big enough, so I’m back up here to gather a larger sample size.”

Caleb’s sensuous lips tighten, but he doesn’t look away. He’s staring me down with an unnerving animal-like intensity.

I plow on anyway. “My preliminary research shows a significant effect on the trees. When I put this together with my research from whitebark pine, I should have a real case to make. Especially with the whitebark pine. It’s a keystone species in Colorado and Wyoming. Its decline has a direct affect on wildlife, especially the brown bears, who rely on its pine nuts to eat.”