Last Hope Read online

  As my hot seed jets out of me, I throw back my head and roar. Around me her entire body contracts—the thin walls of her cunt, her thighs around my hips, her fingers on my chest. I jerk upright and hold her tight against my body with my one hand and continue jacking her hard and fast, just as she’d asked. Another orgasm rips through her body and she shouts my damn name out louder than the stupid monkeys in the trees.

  “Rafe, my God, Rafe!” The echoes of her screams will haunt me and please me in alternating modes for the rest of my life. Her smell is baked into my nose and whenever I’m alone, my fingers will curl in the memory of her smooth cunt and her tight, wet walls. I both hate myself and am ridiculously pleased.

  She shudders against me, twitching when I withdraw from her clearly sensitive skin. The desire to throw her down on the ground and bury my face between her legs is overwhelming. I’m tense with the repercussions of what just happened because instead of wanting her less, my cock is immediately hard and wanting more.

  The orgasm I just experienced doesn’t leave relief. Oh no. I’m greedy. Fucking her with my tongue would be a good start. Bending her over a rock and pounding her with my cock would be even better.

  Roughly I push away and draw a trembling hand down my face. “We’d better get going. Why don’t you wear the jacket until we can mud you up some more.”

  “Oh, okay,” she says in a quiet voice.

  I’ve hurt her somehow and that makes me feel like shit, but maybe that’s what’s going to get us through this without me throwing her against the first semi-flat surface I can find and fucking her to death. Literally.

  I make an impatient movement and she gets the hint and hops off my lap. My shorts are uncomfortable so I tell her to wait while I stumble down the hill again, ostensibly for more mud. But before I slather up, I undo my pants and pull off my shorts to wash in the water. I pull the pants back on and tuck the water-rinsed shorts into my back pocket. I slather up my arms, neck, and face and then return with a handful for Ava.

  “I’m sorry about the maiden aunt remark,” she says as I rub the mud on her exposed skin.

  I shrug. The less I say to her the better. Every time she’s kind, she makes me think of things that I can’t have.

  My sole mission right now is to get us out of the jungle and return the information to the U.S. so I can get Davidson and go back to my island.

  I should have told her I was a monk when she suggested it, but my dick was too inflated to let me think rationally.

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

  “It’s fine,” I grunt. “We’ve got supplies to look for.” I hand her the health bar. “Eat this.”

  “But I ate the other one,” she protests.

  “Eat the damn bar, Ava.”

  Her hurt morphs into anger, but she grabs the bar from me because she can clearly read my intent. Eat the bar or else.

  As she eats, I gulp down water, leaving her about a quarter of it.

  Her deliberate bites and overobvious chewing end with a very fake smile. “There, happy?”

  “No,” I respond gruffly and hand her the water bottle. She makes a show of wiping the opening before lifting her mouth to it.

  I have to look away because everything about her mouth is sexual now. Everything. Even when she is glaring and her lips are pursed in an unhappy expression. That face just makes me want to kiss her until she’s slack with lust.

  “Let’s go.” I don’t wait for her to agree but just turn east. I pull out my knife, attach it to the buckle, and wrap the whole thing around my palm. Over by a small clearing, I spot two good broken bamboo branches to use as a walking sticks. I hand one to Ava, which she accepts with narrowed eyes, and keep the other for myself.

  “Why are you so angry? I thought orgasms made men happy. Is it the V thing? Because I don’t really care about that.”

  I turn to her and she steps back when she sees the fire in my eyes. She has no idea how hot it burns, how long it has been banked, and how it could consume us both.

  “I’m angry because now I want to fuck you.”

  “And you think I’m going to protest?” She threw her hand back toward the matted grass where I came in my pants while I fingered her. “I was totally with you. I came hard with just your fingers. It was great. Really great.” Those last words sound a bit confused, as if she’s surprised at how much pleasure it brought her.

  Let her be confused. Let her want. Better than the alternative.

  I turn and storm off into the jungle instead of responding to her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AVA

  Well, that escalated quickly.

  Here I wanted to see a little dick, get everything out in the open, and the next thing I know, Rafe and I are tongue-fucking and he’s fingering me until I come. And while it’s crazy good, and the release is wonderful and just what I needed to ease some of the tension in my body . . . I still haven’t seen his dick.

  He’s a virgin. That explains a lot, and it also adds a hell of a lot more questions. The virginity explains why he gets weird when I mention his dick. It explains why he stiffens up when I touch him. It explains why he sucks at playing a game about secrets.

  It doesn’t explain why a man as sexy as he is hasn’t had sex before. I mean, Jesus. The man has a mouth that makes me wet just looking at it. He’s got scars on his chest, but I’m like most girls in that I find scars more sexy than frightening. He’s got a tight body that ripples with muscles, and combined with that big package? As long as it’s not too big, I’m down with some straight-up nasty Amazon sex.

  But . . . he’s a virgin.

  I admit this has me a bit stymied. There has to be a reason behind it. I ponder this as we trek through the jungle, slapping more mud on our bare skin when the rain washes it away. He’s silent as we walk, the only sound the movement of leaves, the wildlife around us, and our walking sticks smacking into the earth. I don’t know if he’s pissy because he fingerbanged me or if he’s pleased about it. He’s not speaking to me at all.

  It makes the jungle trek shittier than usual. Combined with the bugs and the mud and the rain that constantly seems to be pissing on us? I’m more convinced than ever that I’m never leaving the city again.

  I’m lost in my dire thoughts when Mendoza stops abruptly in front of me. I pause just before I run into his back. I know from my experience earlier that he’s not a fan of that. “What is it?”

  “I see something up ahead,” he says, voice low.

  I drop my own voice, too, worried. “More wreckage?” Dear God, I hope not.

  “Stay here,” he says, not answering me. He pushes ahead and disappears between a pair of bushy ferns.

  Stay here? I look around. There’s nothing that differentiates this part of the jungle from any other part of the jungle, and I hear Mendoza’s footsteps moving farther and farther away. Screw this. I’m not getting left behind. I push ahead after him. I’ve already seen one dead body. More won’t gross me out too much. Hopefully.

  Ahead, Mendoza’s squatting at the base of a tree, examining something. I move to his side. “What is it?”

  He looks up at me and scowls. “I thought I told you to stay put?”

  “I thought I told you to whip your dick out earlier? Seems like neither of us is good at listening, huh?”

  Rafe gives me another black look and then wipes mud off something that looks like my purse, except there’s a piece of tape on the bottom. I hug my chest, the sodden jacket sticking to my skin. My wrist hurts but I ignore it. “Should I point out the obvious? That looks like my purse.”

  “Except for this part right here, yes,” he says, indicating the tape on the bottom. “The idea was to switch it with your bag and steal the information.”

  I stare at the back of his head. “That is an incredibly dick move. My best friend’s life is at stake—”

  “Hers isn’t the only one,” Rafe says abruptly. He shoves his stick at another bag, this one made out of black nylon—the ki
nd you find in stores that involve the outdoors. I only know this because Rose did a shoot with Tumi once and the on-set manufacturer’s rep showed her how indestructible it was. He picks it up and starts rifling through it, completely ignoring me.

  “So it’s my fucking friend for yours?” I bellow at him. When he doesn’t look back at me, I swat his ass with the end of my walking stick. “That is bullshit!”

  He stands up now, eyes narrowed. “I’m not working with a lot of choices right now, Ava. I have to do what’s best for my men.”

  “What about what’s best for me? Did you ever stop to think that if you stole that information, you’re totally screwing me over?”

  “You weren’t part of the equation . . . before.” His voice drops.

  “And now?” I choke out.

  His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I know Mendoza’s thinking about our kiss earlier. About his hand sliding between my legs and getting me off. About his big cock grinding between my legs as he came.

  My breath pants in quick, shallow gasps, and now I’m thinking of it, too, even though I’m enraged.

  “Now things are . . . different,” he says, and turns away. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

  For some reason, that softens my anger. I never wanted to be a mule, myself, but circumstances forced me to. Maybe he doesn’t want to dick me over, either. “Fair enough,” I say shakily. “We can argue about the bags when we get rescued.”

  He looks back and flashes a grateful grin in my direction. “Deal.”

  That grin makes me weak in the knees all over again. I feel like a stupid, giggly teenager that just got told by a cute boy that he likes her. Ugh. What is wrong with me?

  A lot, my brain chimes in. Hot guy that hits all your buttons + big dick + virgin + Stockholm syndrome = Ava fascination. Right. Thanks, brain. Thanks for nothing. Maybe Rose isn’t the only one that has poor taste in men.

  “Is that your bag?” I say after a moment. He nods. “So we’re going to be okay, right, it has everything we need to survive?”

  “It did,” he agrees flatly. He flicks it open a moment later and displays the empty contents. “Someone got here before us.”

  I stiffen, glancing around in the jungle. “Someone else is here with us?”

  “Someone else survived, yes. And since Afonso was the last one near the bag, odds are it’s him. Or it could be anyone else. Or it could have been raided by natives.”

  “Natives?” I ask. “There are natives living here in the jungle?” It seems like the most miserable place on Earth to me. Why anyone would want to live here in the bugs and the mud, I have no clue.

  “Yes, and not all of them are friendly.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Rafe stuffs his sleeve bag into the nylon sack and starts walking. “Which means we should keep moving.”

  • • •

  That afternoon, there’s a complete and utter downpour that saps my will to live. The jungle’s pretty shitty on a regular basis, but throw in a skin-drenching soaker and I’m ready to hang up my towel and call it a day. My wrist aches even more than before. The layers of clothing I wear aren’t staying dry, and they stick to my wet skin and make me prune up. Even the mud can’t stick to my skin, and after an hour or two of the constant downpour, I’m clean and fresh as a daisy. I’m also miserable as hell, and my teeth chatter despite the humidity.

  I’m hungry, but we’re filling up on rainwater at least. Our bottle fills over and over again due to the drenching rainfall, and so we’re not thirsty. There are no bugs, which is a small blessing. Very small.

  But by the time the sun starts to set and the temperature drops, the rain hasn’t let up a bit. I might be sniveling quietly out of sheer misery, but I’m still moving because Mendoza keeps powering through the jungle like a one-man crusade. If he’s tired, cold, hungry, or scared like me, he’s not showing it.

  One of my flimsy shoes squelches in the mud and gets sucked off my foot. I stagger backward and move to retrieve it. As I do, Mendoza doesn’t stop. He just keeps plowing forward.

  “Wait,” I call to him. “My shoe.”

  He pauses, and I backtrack to the muddy glop where my flat is now making its home. Not that it’s much use against a jungle, but it’s all I’ve got. I stick my hand in and retrieve it, and it’s positively slimy. And because I have no other shoes, I have to stick this stinking thing on my foot. I resist the urge to cry, though my face scrunches up as I slide it back on.

  “Got it,” I say faintly. “Thanks.”

  Maybe Rafe notices that my stiff upper lip is now soggy with misery. He comes to my side and rubs my arm to encourage me. “You okay, Ava?”

  I nod. I’m not okay. I want to throw my shit down and flop on the ground and wait for a rescue, but I can’t, because there isn’t one. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and the only people that might come looking for us are the bad guys. So I suck it up. “I’m fine.”

  “Not too much longer, and we’ll find a place to stop for the night, all right?”

  I nod, my head bent so he won’t see my red-rimmed eyes and know I’ve been blubbering. I don’t want him to think I’m weak, so I save my sniffle until he turns away. He’s the one with the eye patch, after all. I’ve got two good eyes. If anyone should be weeping about their fate, maybe it should be him.

  We trek for maybe a half hour longer before Mendoza raises a hand in the air, scanning the brush. “Wait here.”

  “Why?” I ask wearily. My teeth have started to chatter again.

  “Just trust me, okay?” He pulls out his knife and disappears into the brush.

  I panic for a moment because the downpour is muffling his footsteps. “Say something if you’re not okay,” I call after him.

  There’s no answer. Just when I start to panic, I hear a crashing through the leaves and a curse word. “Rafe?” I cry out, clutching my walking stick. “If you don’t answer me in two seconds—”

  He appears triumphantly through the bushes a moment later, holding out a limp snake as long as I am tall. There’s a grin on his rugged face and I swallow my cry of alarm. “How do you feel about snake for dinner?”

  Probably the same way I feel about the jungle. But my stomach growls, reminding me that we don’t have any other food. So I eye the snake. “It’s really freaking big.”

  “It is,” he says proudly. “Almost lost him.” He points at his eye patch. “This is fucking with my depth perception.” Rafe grins and then gestures behind him. “You should see what else I found.”

  “If it’s another snake, you’ll have to forgive me if I scream and don’t sound excited,” I say, following close behind him.

  He laughs. “No, this you’ll like.”

  I sidestep as Rafe slings the headless snake over his shoulder. “After you.”

  He steps forward, pointing ahead with his now-dirty knife. “I was hoping that would turn out to be what I thought it was, and I was right.” He pushes through the underbrush to a small cliff overhanging with tree roots and half-exposed rocks. Ahead, there’s a break in the cliff wall.

  A cave.

  I gasp. “Please tell me that’s not inhabited by lions and tigers and bears, oh my.”

  “Not from what I can tell, but if you can hold a few things, I’ll check it out again.” He holds the snake out to me.

  I stare at him, then at the snake, and gingerly take it in hand. “You’re lucky I’ve already rumbled with a bigger python in this jungle,” I tease him. When I get nervous, I fall back to cracking jokes, and it seems that Rafe’s going to be the recipient of my humor.

  He gives me a weird look, then hands me the bag of wood and clothing and disappears into the cave.

  Way to go, Ava, I tell myself. Just can’t help it with the dick jokes, can you?

  I sigh at my inappropriate humor and hold the snake, and it’s so big the weight of it hurts my bad hand. How on earth did he kill this with his tiny freaking knife? He’s a badass. That he found me dinner and a
cave makes him ten times sexier than if he was the most gorgeous, most normally hung guy in the universe. If he can cook this for me, I’d happily show my appreciation with a bit more hanky-panky.

  Then again, I’d probably hanky-panky with him again anyhow. Last time was pretty intense. I squeeze my thighs together at the memory of him, his fingers inside me. If the rain wasn’t so miserable—

  “It’s safe,” Mendoza calls, jogging back out to see me. He takes the snake from my hands, and as he does, I notice that he’s affected by my earlier words, too. Godzilla’s making his presence known.

  Of course he is. I’m such a jerk, teasing the virgin. I feel guilty as I follow Mendoza into the cave.

  The interior’s not anything to write home about. It’s about twenty feet deep and not all that wide. There’s a lot of debris and dried leaves in the cave, but it’s big enough for the two of us to lie down inside with room to spare, and it’s dry from the endless rainfall outside, which automatically makes it a win.

  Mendoza points at the piles of leaves around the edges of the tiny cave. “We can gather that up and use it as tinder for the fire. If our wood’s even halfway dry we might be able to get something going. Just check for scorpions before you stick your hand in. I’m going to gather some leaves to make a bed.”

  I don’t point out that everything in the jungle is soaked. That’s obvious. If he’s getting leaves, maybe he has a plan to dry them. “Tinder. No scorpions. Check.”

  He dumps the dead snake near the entrance and then disappears off into the jungle. I unsling the bundle of wood and check it. It’s a little damp but hopefully usable. I concentrate on prodding my walking stick into all the piles of leaves, and then when I’m convinced there’s no creepy-crawlies, rake it into a pile off to one side of the cave.

  Rafe brings massive palm fronds and long, leafy ferns, stacking them at the front of the cave while the rain just pours and pours. Then, he moves to a section of the cave, unbundles the wood, and covers it with tinder, then starts striking his knife against a stone. “Works in the movies,” he tells me. I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.