Chapter 2

Moira

I’m exhausted. Letting out a tired breath, I lean my temple against the backseat window of the cab. Zach sits quietly beside me, taking in the Chicago skyline as we make our way past the Windy City, en route to Evanston, about fifteen miles away.

To my home… where Zach will be staying with me for a while before making a trip to Atlanta to meet Randall. I’m on a summer break from my teaching post in the Anthropology Department at Northwestern University. I also took an extended leave of absence, at least for the upcoming fall semester, as Randall and I felt that Zach could possibly need my help for several months. But in truth… I’m flying by the seat of my pants at this point because Zach is not making anything easy on me.

Our plane flight from Brasilia into Chicago was relatively calm, considering how difficult it was for me to make it out of the rainforest with a reluctant travel mate. I had fought the heat, humidity, dehydration, the never-ending supply of gnats and mosquitos, a near-death experience with a bushmaster snake, and yet none of that was as hard as dealing with Zach’s antipathy during the trip.

The man clearly did not want to leave his home with the Caraicans. After having spent eighteen years immersed in their culture… after having been adopted into their tribe and revered as a member, he had absolutely no desire to return to the States with me.

This was something I had expected was a possibility since he had lost his parents so very long ago. I had a feeling that Zach might not remember much of his prior life, and here I was… taking him away from the comfort and security of what he knew best. I had even told Randall, Zach’s godfather who had arranged this entire rescue mission, that Zach may not want to return to his American roots. Randall was far more positive on that than I was, just telling me to do the best that I could.

Ultimately, I had nothing to do with Zach’s capitulation to come. I stayed in his village for two days after my arrival, while his adoptive father argued with him mercilessly. He was very eager for Zach to take this opportunity to learn more about his own heritage. I’m not sure what Paraila finally said to his adopted son, but on my second evening there, Zach approached me and said, “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Those were his first words to me. Despite the fact that we had shared a highly intimate experience that first night over the blaze of the campfire, when he fucked another woman while holding my gaze, he had not spoken a word to me until he informed me of our departure. His next words were no friendlier.

After saving me from a bushmaster that was perilously close to my leg, he had sneered at me, “You need to keep your eyes on the path, foolish chama de cabelos. Next time, I let the serpent strike.”

Then he turned his back on me and started walking away, taking the lead and hacking his way through the jungle once more.

I imagined what chama de cabelos might mean in Portuguese. I was thinking something along the lines of idiot, dumbass, moron, or even bonehead. Father Gaul told me later when I asked him that it mean flame-haired.

I ended up taking that as a compliment, despite the fact that Zach looked like he wanted to strangle me whenever we made eye contact.

Zach didn’t speak another word to me until later in the day when he was forced to, because once we reached the Jutai, we split up from Father Gaul and Ramon. His words were short and simple. He told me to get into the dugout canoe that Father Gaul had arranged for us at the small trading village on the river and to paddle hard.

Which I did… and within just an hour, my arms were shot and useless. He muttered something in Portuguese, and I suffered his glare the rest of the day as we traveled up the Jutai toward the Amazon River.

He gave me nothing further but silence on our second day on the water, despite my efforts to talk to him. I knew his English was still in fine form, as Father Gaul continued to speak it to him over the years, but he would only respond to me in Portuguese when I would try to ask him something, and I think half the time he was cursing at me.

Finally, something changed as we ported the canoe at the end of the second day. Something that started out with a few words, but then ended with soft moans and exquisite release.

I shudder now even thinking about the moment we had together.

After pulling the canoe up onto the bank, Zach silently took his machete and hacked away at some low-lying vegetation between two young Kapok trees that bordered the riverbank. When he was done, he merely pointed at the trees and said, “For your hammock,” then turned around and disappeared into the jungle.

He was gone for less than an hour, returning with a small spider monkey he prepared over the fire that he efficiently built, but he didn’t offer any to me. That was fine… I nibbled on my dehydrated rations and tried to talk to him about Randall, because Zach had not bothered to show one single bit of curiosity as to where I was leading him and what would happen when we returned to the States.

“Zach… do you have any questions about Randall Cannon, your godfather?”

I was met with silence as he poked at the dying fire.

“He’s a nice man,” I told him simply. “I think you’ll like him a lot.”

Zach ignored me at first, then stood up and went down to the river where he splashed water on his face. When he returned, he said, “I won’t like him but tell me how he knows me… why he has the right to ask me to come to him.”

I took the opportunity and poured out everything in a rush. “He was very good friends with your parents. He was your father’s best friend. In fact, your father saved Randall’s life once, and it created a very deep bond between them. I’ve seen a lot of pictures of you and Randall together. Your parents came on a few mission trips when you were very young, and you stayed with Randall each time. He cared for you then, and he cares for you a great deal now.”

I heard a faint snort come out of Zach as he resumed sitting by the fire. “What is this word you have been using… ‘godfather’?”

“It’s a symbolic title. He was chosen by your parents to have a hand in guiding and directing you in life. It can have spiritual meaning, which I’m sure it did since your parents were very religious. Randall wasn’t, so I think there was also an element where your parents chose Randall to be a secondary guardian to you. Someone that would look out for your well-being.”

“He’s not my father,” Zach said defensively.

“Of course not,” I assured him. “It’s just a title. You make whatever relationship you want with Randall.”

“I don’t want any relationship with him,” Zach sneered. “I just want to go back to my home.”

Then he stood up again and walked into the jungle. He didn’t come back for almost two hours. I laid in my hammock, wondering where he was and if I would be eaten by a jaguar that night.

But he did return, saying not a word to me. He merely laid down on the ground beside the fire and closed his eyes. I swayed in my hammock, looking up at the stars in the swatch of jungle that had been carved out by the river. The sounds of the night forest lulled me… birds and monkeys calling to each other, frogs croaking out love songs, and crickets merrily chirping. Some people thought it was too loud, but I loved it. It was like a soothing, white noise to me, and I was starting to get drowsy.

Before my eyes drifted closed for the night, I turned my head slightly and looked over at Zach. I glanced at his face first and saw that he was still awake and staring up at the same stars I had been looking at. My gaze traveled down his chest, and I was stunned to find he had his hand between his legs. His cock was fully erect, and he silently stroked it with his right hand, his other hand casually tucked under his head while he peered at the night sky.

He didn’t make a sound and had it not been from the impressive erection sliding along his palm, I would have wondered if he were even enjoying himself.

I knew I should have averted my eyes and given him privacy while he masturbated, but damn… there he was under the broad, starry sky, wearing nothing but his hand around what I estimated was an amazing eight-to-nine inches of steel and velvet.

Zach’s chest was moving up and down in tiny spurts, increasing in tempo with the beat of his hand, but no sounds of pleasure came out of his full lips. His cock was moist and, in the firelight, I could see pre-cum leaking from the tip. Everything else about him though was utterly still and silent, and I came to understand the fact that Zach had amazing control over his body and his feelings.

As I watched Zach pleasure himself, I couldn’t help but imagine it was my own hand on him… then I imagined it was my mouth… then I imagined he was lodged deep inside of me. I’d never been with someone that large before, and I thought to myself… the stretch and burn would hurt in just the right way.

I felt moisture soak my underwear, and my body felt twitchy and frustrated. My breasts ached, and my stomach tightened. Rolling my body to the side, I winced slightly when the hammock strings groaned, but Zach didn’t notice. He just kept stroking his cock and staring at the stars.

Pressure built quickly between my legs, and I swear I could feel my blood pumping through my clit, making an uncomfortable throbbing sensation. I couldn’t stand it… I needed the same type of relief that Zach was rushing toward.

I craved it more than I had craved water in the heat of the jungle.

Common sense seemed to be dispossessed of my brain, and I moved without thought. Slowly lowering my hand to my stomach, I worked my fingers at the button on my pants and undid it. I tugged my zipper down, thankful for the noisy jungle to hide the sound. Humid air hit my lower belly, and I wasted no time slipping my fingers under the top edge of my cotton panties while I stared at Zach stroking himself.

His hand worked faster and his breathing became shallower, but he was still eerily quiet. I needed to catch up because he was leaving me far behind, so I pushed my index finger straight into my slickness, swallowing my groan as I realized how drenched with need I had become. Pulling my hand back, I dragged my finger over my clit and my hips jerked slightly, causing more creaking from the hammock. I held absolutely still for a moment, panicked that I would interrupt Zach’s moment, but he was completely ignoring me.

With a soft sigh, I rubbed over my clit again. It felt so good I had to suck in a lungful of oxygen. God, it had never been that sensitive. Never felt that gratifying. But then again, I had never secretly masturbated with a gorgeous stranger laying just a few feet away from me, while I watched him pleasure himself with complete indifference to his surroundings.

Confident that either Zach had no clue what I was doing, or he just didn’t care, I started to move my finger over my clit again, but I immediately went still when Zach lazily turned his head my way, letting me know at that moment… he had been aware the entire time what I was doing to myself. His own hand stilled, and he stared at me with the fire flickering in his eyes.

“Does it feel good? What you’re doing to yourself?” His voice was avidly curious, and it occurred to me… maybe he’d never seen a woman do this before.

I blinked at him in surprise and started to remove my hand from my panties.

“Don’t,” he commanded me harshly. “Don’t stop what you’re doing. I can tell you’re aroused. I can smell it, and I can practically hear your blood humming.”

My hand stayed put, but I didn’t move. I was frozen in shame that I had been busted.

“I ask again, Moira… does what you are doing to your body feel good? Good like what I’m doing to mine?” he asked as he languidly pumped his cock a few times.

“Yes,” I whispered as I pressed my finger down hard against myself. “It feels really good.”

“Then you may continue,” he said simply, turning his face away from me again to look at the sky. His hand resumed stroking himself, slowly, as if starting his pleasure all over again.

Watching him for a moment, I was stunned at his lack of interest in what I was doing. I remember thinking that I was pretty certain any red-blooded, American man would never turn his face away from a woman intimately touching herself.

Strangely, I found his indifference to me completely unsatisfying.

Completely wrong.

Part of me wanted to remove my hand from between my legs and just go to sleep in frustrated silence. But as my clit throbbed against my finger, I decided that the sweet release I would give myself would be more greatly appreciated by my body.

So my hand started moving again, and I rubbed in slow circles, skirting the outside edges of my most-sensitive flesh. I watched Zach as I touched myself, noticing that he started to move his own hand faster, twisting at the base and then rubbing his thumb over the swollen head on his upward strokes.

Pressing in closer to my clit, I skimmed over the top, occasionally sinking a finger deep into myself. I finally decided to give myself two fingers, and when I pushed them into my slickness, I couldn’t stop the deep groan that slithered its way out of my throat.

Zach’s head snapped to the side in response to the noise I emitted, and his eyes were wide and curious as he stared at me. I found his attention now to be overwhelmingly sinful. Completely ignoring the consequences of what this could all mean for our working relationship going forward, I started to rub myself furiously, completely giving way to the sensations. My hips bucked against my hand and I moaned repetitively with every stroke I gave myself, never taking my eyes off Zach.

Once again, we stared at each other across the fire, our gazes filled with lust and challenge.

Zach’s eyes narrowed as he watched me, his hand moving more roughly against his flesh as he tugged and pulled on himself. And I felt vindication when he finally lost a little bit of that steely control, and a loud huff of breath pushed out of his mouth. He immediately sucked back in more air to replace it, his chest heaving as he started to become lost to his own pleasure. It was the first time he made a sound in the two times I had watched him engaged in sexual activity, and I felt womanly pride that it occurred in response to my own sexual pleasure.

“Mmmm,” I moaned out into the thick, night air to see how much further out of control I could make him. “Feels so good.”

Zach rewarded me by groaning loudly in response, and his back arched slightly from the ground.

I was amazed. Titillated. So very turned on.

My sensuality was ramping up Zach’s pleasure… making him lose himself. This was a complete change from his measured discipline as he had sex with that woman the other night. And watching Zach start to come undone solely because he was watching me and hearing me come undone, fueled me on.

My breaths came out in harsh pants, my hips gyrated against my hand, and I didn’t hold back a single sound as I raced faster and faster to what I knew was going to be a shattering explosion.

More fluid leaked from the tip of Zach’s cock and, after an especially hard pull on his shaft, he actually started grunting with every stroke.

It was music to my ears and obliterated the last barrier to my release. My entire body stiffened as my orgasm tore through me. I cried out hoarsely into the night, my back bowing up awkwardly in the hammock, while Zach’s glittering gaze drank up every bit of my reaction. I watched as his heavy balls pulled inward and tightened, and while tiny aftershocks pulsed through my body, Zach threw his head back, lifted his butt off the ground, and shouted out his release to the stars as he came.

Semen jetted out of the tip of his cock, flowing over his hand, splashing on his stomach, while he still worked his shaft. He gave another loud groan and squeezed his eyes tight, before finally releasing the hold he had on himself.

I watched in complete astonishment as his body immediately settled down. In the firelight, I was able to see his chest was rising and falling quickly, as well as the pulse in his neck hammering his life’s blood through his arteries. But otherwise, he remained absolutely still and quiet.

I gently removed my hand from between my legs, refastening my zipper and button. My gaze didn’t leave Zach, but he never looked back at me again. Keeping the one hand behind his head and the other one still soaking wet with his release across his stomach, he merely closed his eyes and went to sleep.

I pull my head away from its resting perch on the cab window and blink to clear those sinful memories out of my head. Shame courses through me as I think about what I did.

What more I still want to do with Zach.

Dr. Moira Reed, respected anthropologist and associate professor at Northwestern University. Given an extremely generous grant from Randall Cannon, philanthropist, multi-billionaire and godfather to Zacharias Easton, in order to collect him from the Amazon and help him acclimate to life here.

The only thing I’ve taught him so far is what it’s like to watch a woman masturbate. While technically, our culture’s sexual differences are something that Zach would eventually learn about, I’m sure Randall envisioned that coming from a textbook and not from a bird’s eye view of watching me perform.

If Randall ever found out about that little interlude, he would be furious I’m sure. It would not only mean the loss of the grant he is giving me so I can publish my work with Zach, but it would probably mean the loss of my career if he wanted to really punish me for corrupting his godson.

God, I’m such an idiot. I vow to myself that I have to maintain an absolute professional distance with Zach going forward. My career is too important to risk on something that is so far outside the bounds of decency.