Cavegirl (Primitive Lust)
Strong and independent, Pitma doesn’t need a man to protect her, but it is her duty to have a baby, thus presenting a challenge for her parents, who must find a suitable mate. Once Tristor arrives, Pitma finds him surprisingly attractive, but she fights these feelings, not wanting to give in to him. Claiming the spunky cavegirl is something Tristor relishes, but it’s not just her lush, young body that captivates him; the ultimate prize is her heart.
This story contains erotic romance, virgin sex, breeding sex, and voyeurism. All characters are eighteen and above. Adult 18+
My mouth fell open. “Refrain from talking?”
“Men like their women submissive and meek. You’d do well to remember that.”
I laughed then, not being able to stop myself. “Meek? You mean cowering in fear? I don’t want a man like that.” I stepped onto the path, a foot higher. Now I was level with him, meeting his gaze. “I’ll not be some simpering fool who can’t take care of herself. If it weren’t for babies, I’d have no use for men at all. Not only do I find them repulsive and smelly,” I sniffed him, “but…I’d never submit to groping and grunting and…slobbering. I find it disgusting.” I hated that when he smiled like that, my tummy tingled. What on earth was happening here?
“You say that now,” he murmured. “Just wait until you’ve been in a man’s arms. Until you’ve been taken and ravished…and kissed.” His gaze lingered on my mouth. “You can’t judge something you’ve not experienced.”
I snorted. “This conversation is boring. You’re boring. I’ve other things to do.” My feet had a bouncy spring; the steps were surprisingly light. I’d enjoyed bantering with him, finding the exchange stimulating. I had lied about being bored. I couldn’t wait to argue with him again. “Come on, old man. You can make it up the hill.” I glanced over my shoulder, seeing him scowling at me.
Mother and Ersella were busy preparing the meat, some of which would be dried and eaten later. Wella was on a fur playing with bone carvings of animals, cooing happily. Tristor had come in behind me, gazing at us with an unreadable expression. I hardly paid him any notice, as I cut the fruit into pieces, but I could feel the weight of his stare burning holes into my back. It was peculiarly stimulating, knowing that I interested someone to such a degree that they would stand and stare. Tossing hair over my shoulder, I placed the fruit in a clay bowl, adding as much honey as I could, the fruit now floating in the sweet nectar. When the task was complete, I left the concoction over a portion of the fire, where it simmered lightly.
Mother was beside me. “What happened?” Her look was inquisitive.
“What do you mean?”
“You were gone a while.”
“We got honey.”
“He wants you.”
An intense burst of tingles shot into my tummy at that declaration.