ALPHA’S PREY

None of that can be attributed to my newfound fascination with the man’s burly chest. Or the way I’m suddenly even more intensely aware of my nudity. The slickness between my legs. My body’s reacting to the sight of his sculpted muscle, the nearness of a naked male. Is he naked?

I peek inside the sleeping bag.

Boxer shorts.

And, um, morning wood.

Holy shit, his cock is huge!

My nipples tighten, a slow thrum begins between my legs.

I’m not sure when I’ve been this turned on. Of course it’s been a long time since I’ve had sex. A really long time.

Three years long time and that was with Will Carter, another grad student who literally fucked me over, using me to help him sort through his research and dumping me as soon as he figured out what to do.

Which is why I don’t do men. Or sex. Or relationships.

Observe the male of the species, poisoned by testosterone. Spurred by his competitive and antagonistic instincts, he views any intelligent woman as a threat…

Because being a woman in science has taught me one lesson very well: If I don’t look out for myself and my research, I will never get anywhere. Sex, relationships, even friendships-they only screw your career in the end.

It doesn’t help that the extra weight I carry makes me look like a fertility goddess instead of a serious science geek. And this man here got to see it all last night. Every pound of flesh on me.

My pussy clenches as if it suspects he liked what he saw, even though my brain tells me different.

It’s crazy-not like me at all-but I slowly push the sleeping bag down to see more of the man’s chest. I tell myself I just want to see the rest of the tattoos.

The ritual markings of the male, signals his pain tolerance and non-conformity to conservative ideals…

Hello, twelve-pack of abdominal muscles. His body is both lean and large at the same time. I’m tempted to touch the curls in his dark beard, but I know that would be going too far.

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I don’t speak to my dog because I don’t want to wake up my rescuer. Not until I crawl safely out of this sleeping bag and find some clothes. I continue my ridiculous shimmy, army crawling my way out of the bag and he snorts, curving up the arm that was under my head and is now at waist level and capturing me.

Oh crap.

My breast now brushes the top of his head, and my pussy’s wetter than before just from feeling his strength.

I imagine him using that strength to hold me down and bring those sensuous lips to my nipple.

OMG, what? Okay, I’m crazy. Hold me down? Definitely not a fantasy I’ve ever had before. I don’t go for cocky, dominant men who think they need to take charge in the relationship or bed.

Gross.

I try to keep shimmying, but his arm around my waist bands tight, even though he’s fallen back into gentle snores.

What kind of man tightens his grip on a woman when he sleeps?

A serial killer, the worrisome voice whispers.

I shake it off. No, that’s not right. A man who is used to sleeping with a woman.

And I should find that sweet, but instead a knot of jealousy tightens in my belly. So this guy regularly brings women home to his cabin? Who are they? Women from town?

Okay, I give up. I’m going to have to risk waking the guy up. I’m starving and I have to pee. I clear my throat.

Nothing. He doesn’t even stir.

I try to push the limb around my midsection away, but it doesn’t budge. I clear my throat again.

“I, uh, need to get up,” I finally say out loud.

He still doesn’t stir.

Wow. Deep sleeper.

Well, screw polite. This guy has to let go. I push at the arm and struggle to get out of the sleeping bag, accidentally kneeing him in the ribs as I do.

He snorts and shakes his head, rolling over to his side and up to an elbow in a slow but fluid motion. He blinks like I just woke him from the dead. His eyes seem yellow at first, but it must be a reflection from the fire, because after he blinks, I realize they are very dark brown. Almost black.

Then his lids snap wide, because, yeah. He’s got a curvy naked woman on her hands and knees beside his head. I’m sure he’s getting more than an eyeful of way too many of my unclothed parts. After a quick debate between diving back under the sleeping bag covers and getting out, I choose getting out. Because I don’t need to rub my bare body down the front of his bare body-Stop, brain!-I scramble out as fast as I can, covering my breasts with my forearm and my twat with my other hand.

The man makes an animal-sounding growl and his muscled arm swings through the air as he twists his body and reaches up behind him. The fire glints in his eyes again, giving them an animal-like glow.

A hunter green flannel shirt flies through the air at me, and I catch it with my face. I yank it on, buttoning quickly and pulling the hem down as far as it goes. He’s a big guy, but I’m a big girl-curvy, I like to say because it feels better than overweight-and I fill the shirt so it barely drops below my crotch.

My face totally burns up as he watches me with dark eyes. I remember him carrying me out of the bathroom last night like I weighed nothing. Like I was the heroine in a movie.

I shake my head to dislodge that starry-eyed thought.

“Um, thanks,” I mumble, backing up as he starts to crawl out of the sleeping bag.