Liza Fleming understands the dangers and recognizes the risks. Still, when her best friend disappears and no one seems too interested in pursuing the leads pointing to her abduction near Appalachian Holler, Liza reaches a decision. She’ll hike the mountains, ignore the myths surrounding the reported Bigfoot sightings, and return home with her best friend in tow.
A search and rescue mission may not be as easy as Liza thinks.
Prague, Landly, and Windelgo are standing guard around their family pod. Their tribal brothers abducted a young woman from her North Carolina home and later fell in love with her. Now the tribe members realize the authorities will soon surface, but nothing could prepare the trio for the feisty little reporter who shows up instead. And brassy or not, Liza never counted on the illicit adventures set to unfold right there in the middle of the world’s most dangerous holler.
When I first saw them approach, I wasn’t startled. I’d been dreaming about scary monsters, dragons, and even mountain lions, so when I awoke to find three large figures hovering over my tent, I wasn’t alarmed.
I really can’t now.
At first, I tossed one way and then another, pretending to sleep through the crunching of twigs and limbs under the heavy weight of large feet, paws, or whatever the hell they were. Next, I barely opened one eye. Spooked, I closed it again and rolled onto my left side.
The first thought that came to mind was why I hadn’t bothered to put out the fire, which was now blazing a little higher than when I’d first turned in for the night. Giving the matter some thought, I decided the strangers there must’ve added a log or two before they approached my tent. Why, I wondered, would they bother doing something so considerate if they were there to bring me harm?
I thought about that, too. Don’t think I didn’t. I’d watched enough television to know in the olden days, it wasn’t a rare thing to skewer a human like we mountain folks might roast a pig.
Oh no. I wasn’t very happy about the light illuminating through the canvas and the A-frame opening. If I’d been a more responsible camper, I wouldn’t be able to see the monsters in the dark, the hairy beasts that I now knew were anything but a myth.
Deciding how I wanted to approach this dilemma, I quietly considered my father’s advice. If I hadn’t zipped up to my chin, I could’ve tossed away the sleeping bag, rushed out of the tent, and yelled, “My hands are up! I surrender!”
Using all ten fingers, I curled them over the only protection available and peered over the top of the insulated material. The three sasquatches were now bending over and checking out the contents of the tent, too. Sadly, said contents included me.
Windelgo made a throaty rumble and seemed to criticize Prague for his aggression. Prague roared, swung his long arm behind him and pointed at my pussy. Landly pursued me then with his nose tilted in the air. Each step he made resounded like thunder. Determination existed in his eyes.
I shivered as he closed the distance between us. Still, Prague had been the one to touch. Landly, so far, had only wanted to sniff.
Thinking I had Bigfoot 101 down to a science, I lifted my hair and threw my head back. “Go on. Smell me.”
To my horror, he practically pounced on me then, running his nose up and down my neck, down my chest and across my breasts. Finally, he squatted in front of me, grabbed hold of my hips, and took one deep breath after another.
My pussy clenched and the lust was unmistakable. Prague’s forceful touch had been the whole problem. I had always liked rough sex and my body had apparently responded as if taking a sensory cue. Pavlov’s dogs came to mind as Landly rocked his face against my pussy, holding me back and scenting the air and then drawing me close to nuzzle once again.
His long tongue ran up and down my exposed thigh and it felt like the buffer side of a fingernail file—smooth and almost slick. He licked right under the lace hem of my short-shorts before smiling up at me. Then, he pushed his face against my denim and wiggled his cheeks against me, making some sort of crude, “Woogle, woogle” racket.
Ignoring the throaty call to the wild, I jolted forward, wishing my lust wasn’t so damned out of control. Either way, Landly’s tongue against my denim-covered cunt had stripped away all perceived defenses.
Yep, those dogs and I had a lot in common. They drooled and foamed at the mouth when food was introduced. I became wet and aroused when cocks were launched in my direction.
Apparently our triggers were the same, too. Bitches in heat were hard to handle. All someone needed to do was show us a hard bone.