Uncivilized by Sawyer Bennett
When he turned me around in the chair and I saw myself in the mirror, I waited for sadness to hit me that my hair was gone... because it was one of the things that identified me as a Caraican. But it didn't. I just stared with interest, noting how short it was on the sides, but he left it a bit longer on top. My hair was actually a bit wavy and, without the weight of the long locks pulling it down, it flipped at the ends in about a dozen different ways. I looked younger, or so I thought, and I was generally pleased.
Standing outside the barbershop, I look down the street left and right, trying to decide what to do. No doubt, Moira would be up by now, but I still wasn't ready to face her. I had no clue where we stood, and I wasn't ready to find out just yet.
So I head in the opposite direction, and just start walking.
I need more time to think.
I'm so fucking lost.
How in the hell did that happen?
I've been navigating my way through the Amazon for most of my life, hacking away new paths with my machete and exploring unseen areas. I always found my way back.
But after walking around the suburbs of Evanston, Illinois, fuck if I have a clue as to where I am.
Turning down a new street, I hope for some familiarity, but find nothing but new sights and sounds. I walk for another few blocks until I emerge on another street that has some businesses. A small diner, an antique shop--no clue what that means, and a locksmith. No clue what that means either.
Just down the street in a small parking lot, I see two police cars parked beside each other, facing in opposite directions. Knowing what those are, I head toward them. I have a sudden and distinct memory of a police officer coming to my school when I was little. I don't quite remember why he was there, but he talked to our class, and I remember him being in a position of authority and security. I figured they were my best bet to figure out how to get back to Moira's.
When I approach the cars, I see their windows are down, and the cops are talking to each other. Their gazes lift toward me, and one of the officers gives me a small smile. "Can I help you?"
Scratching my head, because this is awkward and embarrassing, I tell him, "Yeah... I'm sort of lost and can't find my way back to my friend's house."
The officer arches his eyebrow at me. "New to the area?"
"You could say that," I tell him.
"What's the address and I'll get you pointed in the right direction?"
Address? Fuck.
"Um... honestly, I don't know. It's a white house with black shutters."
I can see immediate distrust wash over the cop's face, and he opens his car door to step out. "You don't know the address?" he asks skeptically. "And you say this is a friend's house?"
I put on my friendliest smile. "Okay, I know this sounds weird... but, um... I've actually been living in Brazil for the past eighteen years and the woman I'm staying with was hired to bring me back here to the United States and help me adjust to this culture. I've been staying at her house."
Apparently, that didn't go over any better because I see the cop's distrust magnify. The other officer now steps out of his car and gently shuts the door to face me. I expect at any moment for them to pull their guns or something, which makes me feel twitchy. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, so I take a step backward.
"You needed help to acclimate to what? Your English seems pretty good to me," the cop says.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out and lay it on the line. "I actually lived in the Amazon... with an indigenous tribe. This is my first time back in the modern world. The woman is an anthropologist at Northwestern, and she was hired by my godfather to 'rescue' me and bring me home."
Now both of the cop's eyebrows raise high with surprise. One of them says, "Are you fucking with us?"
"No, sir. I'm not keen on you shooting me," I tell him with a grin.
The other officer starts laughing and gets back in his car. "I'll pull up her address, Carter, and give him a ride over there."
The cop, whose name I now know to be Carter, nods and gets back in his own car. "Go ahead and get in his backseat. He'll take you over there."
With relief, I thank him and get in the other cop's vehicle. When I close the door, he says, "I'm Officer Stevens. What's your name, buddy?"
"Zacharias Easton," I tell him.
"And your friend's name?"
"Moira Reed," I supply and then add on, "I really appreciate it. I can't believe I got lost."
"Can happen to the best of us," he says while he types away on a small computer mounted to his dashboard. "So you really lived in the Amazon for eighteen years?"
"Yeah. My parents were missionaries there, and they died when I was eight. The tribe adopted me. I had no clue there was someone here in the States looking for me. Don't remember a whole lot about my time here."
"Fucking incredible," he says thoughtfully. "Okay, I got it. Moira Reed... she's over on Kopoula Street."
"That's it," I say with recognition.
"Okay," he says as he starts the car. "Put your seatbelt on, and I'll have you home in a jif."
When we pull up into Moira's driveway, utter relief courses through me. It's a shitty feeling being lost and out of control. I try to open the car door, but it's locked.
"Hold on," Officer Stevens says. "I'll have to open it from the outside."
He exits the car as I take off my seatbelt and, when the door opens, I step out onto the concrete driveway. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
"No worries," he says with a smile. "But I'm just going to go up to the door with you."
Ahhh. I get it. He wants to make sure that Moira really does know me, and that I'm not some lunatic trying to murder her. Very impressive.
Just before we hit the front porch step, the door flies open, and Moira comes running out. She looks stunning, her flamed hair pulled up in a high ponytail. She's wearing a butter yellow sundress with white flowers around the hem. "Oh, thank God, Zach. I've been worried sick about you."
Her eyes flick back and forth between the cop and me, but when they rest back on me, she says in surprise, "You cut your hair."
My fingers rise up and sift through the short locks. "Yeah... I guess so."
She smiles at me briefly and says, "I like it."
Turning to the police officer, she says, "Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine, ma'am," he assures her. "He just got a little lost and couldn't remember how to get back here. I assume you know this man."
"Yes, he's staying with me while visiting from Brazil."
"He told me the story. That's pretty amazing," he says kindly. "Well, I need to get back out there. You two take care."
We both say goodbye, standing on the porch and watching as the officer pulls out of her driveway. When he's gone from sight, I turn around and look at Moira. "I'm sorry you were worried. I just went walking and don't understand how I got so lost."
Before I know what's happening, Moira launches herself at me, slamming her body into mine. Her head rests on my chest, and her arms wrap around my waist. Squeezing tight, she says, "I was going out of my mind with worry. I had no clue what happened to you."
My arms come up and tentatively wrap around her. The way she's so boldly touching me now confuses me. It's not a sexual touch, but rather a warm embrace of relief. It's nice to have been missed.
"That's it," she says as she releases me and pulls back. "We're going out right now and buying you a cell phone so you can call me if something like that happens again."
"Sounds good," I tell her with a grin. "I know there won't be a cop on every street corner to rescue me every time."
Moira turns away and heads back into the house. I follow her in, noting that her shoulders still look tight, so I know something else is bothering her. She walks into the kitchen and picks up her coffee cup that was on the table. I watch as she pours the contents into the sink and then rinses the cup.
I silently walk closer to her and, when she turns around, I don't hes
Perfect.
I lower my face and touch my mouth to hers.
Our very first kiss.
My very first kiss with a woman.
Moira sighs at the light touch, and instinct takes over. I slip my tongue in between her lips... past her teeth and, when it touches hers, a breath of pleasure releases from my mouth into hers. My lips move against hers, our tongues twining. She tastes like coffee and sugar. Unbelievable how soft her lips are.
Wrapping her hands around my neck, Moira pulls me down a little closer, and our mouths move just a little harder against one another. My blood quickens as my hands move from her face to her hips to pull her body into mine. My cock starts to harden, and I understand now... how a soft and sweet kiss can turn bolder, becoming so sensuous that sex would be the next logical step.
Yes... sex is definitely next on the list. That wasn't my original thought when I first kissed her, but it's certainly my thought now.
My only thought as a matter of fact.
Dropping my hands, I swiftly put one hand under the hem of her skirt and run my fingers up the inside of her leg. Moira gasps into my mouth and her hips flex forward, seeking my touch. I slip one finger under the edge of her panties at the crease of her leg, and take a swipe at her pussy. Warm and moist... fucking perfect.
I sink my finger into her, and Moira bucks against me. Her mouth pulls from mine slightly and she bites my lip, causing me to jerk away. I look at her with surprise, and her eyes challenge me to continue the kiss.
Fuck yeah, I can take a little biting. As my finger pumps in and out of her, I crash my lips back to hers and kiss her with savage need.
Moira's hands go to the button on my shorts and she works at it frantically, practically ripping the zipper as she slams it down. Her soft, warm hands reach in to take my cock and oh, fuck... that feels like heaven.
I've never had a woman's hand on my cock before. So fucking good.
She strokes and squeezes me, causing my finger to thrust harder into her hot flesh, while my head spins with dizziness. I feel like I'm going to break apart in just a few more short strokes of her hand so I rip away from her, my chest heaving with the exertion of trying to maintain some level of control.
Moira stands there, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed, and her breathing just as heavy as mine is.
I look down at my hands, and they're shaking.
Fucking shaking.
"Zach?" Moira says softly.
My eyes rise to hers slowly.
"I want to do something to you," she whispers. "I want to take you in my mouth."
Oh, fuck.
A seismic shudder runs through my body at the thought. Yes, yes, yes. I want that very much. Having her mouth wrapped around my cock, just like I saw that woman in the video I watched. The imagery of Moira doing that to me is almost too much to bear. I'm not sure I could keep control. I'm fairly certain she would break me.
"No," I tell her. "Not yet."
"What?" she asks stunned. "But I want--"
"Turn around," I order her. "Bend over the kitchen table."
"Zach?" she asks uncertainly.
"Just do it," I order her. "I want to fuck you from behind."
Because it's too intimate to stare at her face. I just can't handle the feelings that will invoke.
Disappointment fills her eyes and, for a brief second, I reconsider. But I can't let her have the control. It's the only thing left of my true nature, and if she takes that, then she takes everything from me.
Moira inhales deeply through her nose and lets it out softly through her mouth, before turning away from me. But she doesn't walk to the table, instead striding right past me to her purse on the table by the door. She grabs it and opens the door.
"I'm going out to buy you a cell phone. I'll be back in a little bit."
She doesn't even look at me again as she walks out the door and shuts it behind her.
Chapter 12
Moira
I've avoided talking to Zach for three days now. It's not been hard, since he's not talking to me. I've offered to take him places but he's declined, stating that he had some books he wanted to read. He's sequestered himself in his room and comes out at meal times, eating silently and acknowledging any questions I might have with short, one-word answers.
I know I shocked him when I wouldn't do as he demanded the other day. God, I wanted so badly for him to fuck me from behind like he ordered, but something inside of me refused to bend. Zach is shying away from the intimacy involved in sex, trying to hold on tight to his control. I have a feeling that losing his discipline may be too much for Zach to bear at this moment, and I don't want him to do something he's not comfortable with.
Yet, I can't be the one that bends to his every whim either. I'm not built that way. Not for the long term anyway.
I'll never regret for a moment giving in to him that first time. Letting him pin me to the floor in a glorious display of superior dominion. It's something I had been naughtily dreaming of since the day I first laid eyes on him. I know Zach's inherent nature is to dominate, to force submission, and even the second time we had sex, he had to assert his will on me.
Once the dam was broken within me, I knew there was no going back. I couldn't undo what we had done, and I don't want to. I also want to do it again, and again, and again with him. But I have an inherent nature too, and I desire having a two-way street when it comes to my sexuality. I like to give, and I want him to receive, but Zach has to want that too. And unfortunately, it doesn't seem like he wants that at all.
I'm also a woman--let's not forget that. And it about killed me when Zach walked away from me the other night, even as I still had sparkles of pleasure coursing through me. Any fantasies of Zach pulling me in his arms and stroking my hair with tenderness were quashed right there.
So I'm not sure where that leaves us. My feelings are tied up, but I also have to keep my eye on the prize. And that's making sure Zach has a healthy adjustment here in this new world he's facing. I can't do that if we're both tied up in knots over the uncertainty of where we stand with each other. The only problem is, I don't know how to approach any of this with Zach, so I've kept my silence and bided my time.
Unfortunately, time is up. Randall Cannon is eager for us to visit him in Atlanta, and I can't put him off any longer.
Walking back to Zach's room, I knock softly on the door. "Zach?"
I can hear the creak of the bed and then footsteps. He opens the door, just a few inches, and peers out at me.
"You got a minute to talk?"
"Sure," he says, following me out into the living room. He's wearing a pair of olive green cargo shorts and nothing else. They ride low on his lean hips, and I wonder if there will ever be a time that I can look at him without my mouth going dry.
I sit down on the couch and he takes the seat at the other end, angling his body toward me while flipping his arm over the back cushion casually.
"Randall called this morning. He's anxious for us to come out so you can meet. I'd like to book us a flight out of here tomorrow."
I expect a fight out of Zach because he has been vocal all along about his distaste of Randall Cannon. While I think he's forgiven me for my role in our transgressions against him, he's still harboring a world of bitter feelings against his godfather.
"How long will we be staying there?"
I shrug my shoulders. "I'm not sure. Maybe just a few days. I know he's eager to get to know you."
"Yet I don't want to get to know him," he says.
"I know," I say with a frustrated sigh. "So, let's plan on two days, and then we can come back if you want."
"Fine," Zach says and starts to stand from the couch.
"Wait a minute," I say desperately because I can't stand the cold shoulder I've been getting. I miss the easy humor that had started appearing within Zach not long ago, and I
Zach flops back down on the cushion and scrubs his hands through his hair. He turns to look at me, "No, I'm not mad. Frustrated, but not mad."
"I'm sorry," I tell him honestly. "I'm not being contrary. I just... I'm built differently from the women you're used to, and I just can't submit to your demands all the time."
"I know, Moira," Zach says quietly... a bit sadly. "I think that was just a good reminder that I don't belong in this place. The way you are... so confident and sure of yourself. You want certain things, and you know what's best for you. You don't need a man... not really. It's hard for me to accept."
My heart sinks over his words because I recognize the finality in his tone. I want to argue and rage against what he's saying. I want to tell him to try something new, to give it a chance. But I can't go there. It would be me arguing for something that I want personally, not what is best for Zach. I'm not here to change him, only to help him understand things. It sounds to me that he understands the way of things well enough though, and that means I need to leave it alone.
"Look," Zach says, standing from the couch again. "I'm going to go get packed up. Just let me know when we're leaving, and I'll be ready."
"Okay," I murmur, feeling the desperate need to latch onto further conversation, but realizing in my heart, there isn't anything more to say.
The plane trip to Atlanta is uneventful and after a twenty-minute cab ride, we are finally pulling into an immensely long driveway bordered by stately oak trees. It winds along for a good quarter mile, and then we round a bend, revealing a massive Tudor-style mansion. It sprawls on forever with steeply pitched roofs, half-timbered panels inlaid with herringbone brickwork, a sprawling porch that could hold about a hundred people, and tall, mullioned windows that reflect the early afternoon sun.
The cabbie pulls up in a large, circular driveway, and the front door immediately opens as we get out of the car. I see Randall walking down the front steps, looking fit in a pair of pressed khaki shorts, a white polo shirt, and brown loafers. He's followed by a man in about his forties, wearing a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt.