Chapter 8 (Apiary)

Riding Hood had it her way.

She spent the day, completely consumed by her unruly display of lewd behavior, being had by men she just met in the street even in broad daylight, taking nothing but their strength and a few invaluable belongings.

She spread her legs to older men, poked fun at the wee lad and got high in fever with her favorite lover, Salvatore, with whom she spent most of her nights in town, in return, he bought her lavish gifts and took her to a fine pub and imbibed liquor after a hearty meal before going down to their night time conquest. Either he or she controlled the game but both gained and met their needs for carnal love.

After a month of living a debaucherous life, she had made a reputation, as a man-eater minx, equal to a lady killer in the form of a woman.

But the town was small of her big appetite so she decided to go back to the forest and traveled to the uncharted place where she could find more men to taste and what could this life do to her. She considered herself epicure to fine men and searching for them was a bit of a hard task.

But all of the trials and hardships will pay off to attain a grandeur price. And she would love to meet again the men who made her come in many different ways, Fausto or François, she mused who is the best between the two.

Fausto was around mid-twenties, while François was in late thirties.

She also couldn’t help thinking about Hydell, the old man whom she found out, a former renowned leather artisan who owned a boutique in Galeshire, the town she just visited. Some even complimented her boots which were made by him, she also couldn’t help but lustfully think about getting laid with him one last time to know if his potency was failing him. That old man was a bull, he could even match her youthful vigor and virility to produce brood.

Aimlessly strolling down the riverbank, she heard a gunshot from afar. She jumped out of her skin a few times before the gunfire halted.

She had no clue what was going on so she hid from the bushes, crawling and peeking to where those sounds came from. When she thought it was safe, she straightened her back and was about to take a step out of the bush just when she heard a familiar voice.

“Going somewhere, little missy?”

She swang her back and saw the huntsman, standing dangerously glaring at her. “I can see that you found your clothes,” then remarked sardonically.

“Uncle,” she smiled recognizing him.

“Don’t call me that, it’s François,” he chided.

She turned her back only to pull down her lacy hose and undergarments. She heard the juggling of his belt, and the soft thud of his boots on the ground before she felt his powerful arms around him.

“You never knew how much I had longed for you, young lass,” he huskily whispered, nipping her ear.

“I’m taking my bath, can you join me?”

“Gladly,”

They both got undressed and left their clothes and their stuff nearby before they started kissing, familiarizing again their territory and making landmarks.

He carried her in his arms as he stepped into the cool pool. The cool water made her gasp and clutch his nape, which he chuckled before he took a plunge deep into the water together with her.

When they went to the surface, their lips were engaged in a hot, long, and torrid kiss. He carried her and swam to the shallow part, knee-depth, and leaned her to the bed of rock, stilled her, and secured her first before he pulled himself in. They both sighed, reliving the first time and the memories of their wild encounter, he was just looking straight into her eyes before she urged him to go faster.

“Not quite yet, I want to punish you for leaving me in the middle of the wilderness, young lass, you sneaky witch,”

She gasped as she felt her thousand nerve endings and sent her eyes heavenward, he held her jaw with his hand, fixated to keep her in place while the other was smoothing her buttock, slipping to her back thigh to catch her leg and prop up, she willingly wrapped her calves around his hard back thighs and welcomed him again.

A reenactment of their first mating, and made her heart jolt, thudding like crazy while looking at his grim face. With his hooded eyes and warm lips, he dived down to meet hers. Her hands clumped his nape and clawed his back. He growled and gazed back at him, those emerald green eyes suddenly haunted her.

Not knowing what it was, she just let him take the lead, his amorous ways, the motion of his hands, the precise amount of strength for his every thrust, and the gentleness of his sweet caress, she was confused but she liked it. She was analyzing it inside her head while he carefully took her, making sure she remembered, the first bloodstain of her deflowering, the moans and screams she made, and his name. François, she kept calling him over and over.

“François, François, François, Oh!! Faster!” her mouth ran dry as her body was under his full control.

He finally smiled, with a glint of triumph. “Finally, you remember me,” he went to her ear. “I want you to keep this to your pretty little head, lassy, do not play fire with a demon,” then he added. “I can make you burn, lassy, burn with desire, just stay with me and be my eternal lover,”

Her heart fluttered again, taking his words to heart and that feeling, that unknown feeling that was taking over her. She wanted him, yes, she wanted him to just bury himself inside her and never pull out. Her upper and lower limbs reacted to his cloyingly romantic confession, coiling around him and joining him on his bumpy ride.

She couldn’t fight it, she couldn’t hold it, her orgasm flowed and made her so wet.

The huntsman triumphantly laughed again. “So, you missed me too, aye?”

She couldn’t find a word, she couldn’t define it but she loved it, she loved it! Yes, she loves it!

Her speech failed her but action answered him by pulling him for a hungry kiss, making them both breathless, followed by a groan and moan, their lovemaking was so erotic, that she made her miss the feeling for the time. She felt loved again.

After a month of searching and playing her wild game of libertine, losing her trump card to this man, she realized, she found her match. Her longing mate lasts forever.

*******

Days passed and Riding Hood still felt the same. Looking at the man who tagged her along to his nomadic way of living, hunting, skinning, and preserving his catch for goods and food. They often hunted deer, an elusive elk, black and grey hares but also big forest dogs and wolves alike.

She had spent a week on an excursion and learned a lot from him. He even teased her whenever he told her that he once saw and killed a werewolf, and then he would laugh at her expectant reaction.

“No, I haven’t seen one in my life, and God forbid, either I would be famous and rich catching one or become their meal,” before he tore his food with his perfect white teeth.

She would just keep staring at him, trying to decipher why she was drawn to him, to his manly charm and powerful words that gave her an impact that she indeed, needed a man, not just for a ride of pleasure but to look and take care of her. She indeed felt powerless, without him guiding him and providing her with what she needed.

A home. A place where she can rest her tired soul.

After they ate their sup, they would huddle their coats around them and lay on the thick sheepskin mat, even cuddled up lying awake and counting stars, while the fire pit was burning low. He would always pull her closer inside his arms, and she would nestle to his chest and sigh.

Their silent communication oftentimes led to a sudden call of nature. He would start teasing her with his naughty fingers and would send her laughing before she would meet his eyes.

She would sit up and peel her thick wool dress he traded for their last catch and would go back to him, she knew his riding breech was down because she could feel his erected loin grazing her sensitive part, her inner thighs. With just one look, they both knew what would happen next.

After a long kissing and touching part, she would feel him moving inside her, she would feel ecstatic over and over again, remembering how he had been the other night and when they bathed together in the river. She always recalled the memories vividly and made her heart do a crazy acrobatic stunt.

They would just stick in a marital coition where she laid on her back and him on top, keeping eye contact and never losing their connection.

She would gasp and moan, whispering his name.

He would feel it, savoring her and staying long inside her, for the act of waiting for her to release her orgasm but also warming himself. Their union would last almost half an hour giving them both a good night's sleep.

In the morning after their mating, she woke up finding him staring at him then he smiled. Making her blush and hide herself.

“Am I slipping my spit or mucus?”

He shook his head and kissed her instead. “Nay, you just look magnificent and ethereal, I can’t take away my eyes on you, I’m scared of losing you again,”

That confession concluded everything. She felt the sincerity and the amount of feelings entailed with it. He had fallen for her, and yes, the feelings were the same with her. Spending her weekend with this man had finally made her come in full circle.

Her gaze would only have one direction and it was his. And when he was out of sight, she was longing for him to see his side grin of mockery, his heated gaze, and his warm lips, she was craving for it more than anything.

She couldn’t discern if this thing was true or if she was just being delusional, but one thing was for sure, it made her want no other man, but him.

******

François was just looking at his young lover as she was cleaning their carving tools and paring knives, they were just done skinning the poor hair and he was cooking the meat.

She went to their makeshift cloth line, drying the fur they produced from the recent hunt. He spied how her body moved, the swaying of her hips and the elegant gait of her long exposed calves. She was wearing her skirt high to her knees, preventing her skirt from getting wet while washing the tools in the river.

His inner beast growled, feeling it in the midday, in broad daylight. He nudged his loin sideways to eliminate it, but it didn’t go away. Then she turned her head and smiled before returning to her task, airing her washed garments.

His heart skipped a beat before started thumping inside his chest. His breathing became harder and his blood was rushing.

He knew it was for something else but he tried to ignore it, but the signs were visible and he could feel it, this was different from the other conquest he had in the past. The life he had lived before was aimless, idly fooling around and screwing maidens, young or old. On the other hand, she was way different, way better, or way worse.

She started to get under his skin. Deep and penetrating. He stood abruptly, leaving the cutlery clinking and jiggling. The cauldron almost fell out of the place but he didn’t mind spilling their food, he was feasting on his carnal hunger.

She was not expecting him when he held her arm, smoothing it down, and sniffed her scent. He smelled of jasmine and her feminine scent sent him to madness, groaning while his eyes were closed. “Lassy,”

“François, are you—” she gasped when he tugged her and felt his groin sticking out and stabbing the small back of hers.

“Make love to me, now,” he sounded pleading even in his commanding voice.

Her giggle was the answer he was asking for. He took a heap of her skirt and pulled it up while he was struggling to unbuckle his belt himself. His wench laughed, turning to face him and helping him out.

She started smoothing his square jaw hinting at a three-week-old stubble before her hand went to his chest, to his rock-solid abdominal muscles, and grabbed his angry groin. He growled audibly and claimed her lips. They were sucking each other’s face while securing her in front, lifting her, and pinning her down against the nearest tree trunk.

He was getting deeply aroused, and if he did not hurry, he would explode before he could enter her. He was relieved when he deposited himself safely inside her. Both letting out a sigh of pleasure, they joined in unison, rocking, pounding, and panting, he tried to sustain his speed while looking at her wild eyes, those hungry look, anticipating look, loving and wanting eyes reciprocated his.

He hummed before growling deep, searching for her mouth and both met in the middle, agreeing in their unspoken terms and reunited again. A las, hers came first, he waited for her second, and when she was about to release her third, he joined her, finishing together and madly mating, entwined by fate and physical needs. He eyed his unaware lover, recovering her breath, he whispered the words that wanted to slip through his mouth the first time he took her maidenhead. “I love you,”

*A/N*

An apiary is a place/location where bee hives or honey bees are kept. Honey because they are super sweet and clingy the honey itself felt envious. Just kidding. They often get horny and produce honey so, yeah, that sounds quite dirty. Are there any fans of them yet?