Jen's Legacy.
The disturbing first night together.

She was left alone with her thoughts, staring into the fire, wondering how she’d managed to survive and wind up here.

She had him to thank for that.

The light gradually faded from the canyon, leaving only the fire, crackling away, and the increased noise of the river, as all other sounds faded.

Here she was, days away from anywhere, and for the first time in her life was alone with a man she didn’t know the first thing about.

He was lying at the edge of his unzipped sleeping bag with his back to the fire to get warm. As it became colder, he would move back into it and zip it up.

Her head fell to her knees as she hugged them closer to her. Her friends would be worried sick for her, and she felt that deep concern that they must be suffering at that moment. Her grandmother would worry too, but she wouldn’t find out about any of this for a few more days. Claire might be able to phone her before then, to let her know that it wasn’t the way everyone assumed, and that she was safe. If she was still safe, and still alive.

It was difficult to accept that when her friends did get out, those who responded would believe that they would be searching for a body. Everything Royce had said to her made sense. No one survived for long in that water.

They didn’t know she'd been rescued. As far as anyone would know, she really must be dead. Yet she wasn’t dead, and there was no way she could let anyone know that she wasn’t dead. She was helpless to do anything. It was a horrible feeling.

While he had his back to her and couldn’t watch her, she should, ‘go’, but she wouldn’t move very far from the fire this time. He wouldn’t be able to hear her over the noise of the river.

She moved toward the rocks on the far side of the fire and watching that he didn’t move, she undid and lowered her shorts, then pushed her hands into her swim suit where he had cut it around it, making it easier for her, and stripped the bottom down, leaning back against a rock, still warm from the sun hitting it. It was rough and hard on her, but she wouldn’t be long.

She was peeing too loudly! She stopped and started a few times, then realized she should just let it flow and get it over with faster. He must be able to hear the tell-tale ‘hissing’ noise. It drained even as it hit the sand. She was far enough from the river she wasn’t going to worry about it.

There was never any paper when you needed it! She swore, wiped along herself with her fingers and then rubbed them into the sand before she pulled up her clothing.

He had not moved, thank god. Maybe he hadn’t heard her.

After rinsing her hands in the river water, she returned to where she'd been sitting, making up the fire before she sat down.

She watched him for a few minutes, and then gave up, and tried to go to sleep.

She was in his hands now, and whatever was going to happen to her would happen, and not much she could do about it, but he hadn’t threatened her so far, or been difficult, except at the very beginning, and it didn’t seem as though he would be, though he had shocked her.

She was not sure how long she sat there dozing, day-dreaming. With the brighter light from the fire she couldn’t even see the stars, to get comfort from something that was familiar.

It was difficult to get comfortable. Nothing was familiar. There were noises in the vegetation not far from her that she couldn’t identify, a rustling of things moving.

She dozed.

An animal screamed from somewhere close by, jolting her wide awake as a hand grabbed at her gut and squeezed. Her heart was pounding and every sense was on edge. Some animal had just met its end? It sounded like it.

The terrors of childhood returned to haunt her. Eyes looking at her from the blackness behind the slightly-open door of her closet, and she could swear that the door moved. Dark shadows creeping out from corners of her room, reaching fingers out to touch her. Curtains moving for no reason. Strange noises from under her bed. She dove deeper under her covers, pulling them over her head. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her!

She was cold, even with his jacket around her and bunched up as she was, and even near the fire. She felt the cold air falling from above, washing over her.

She looked at the sleeping bag and Royce lying in it, deeper into it now and with it zipped up behind him. She hadn’t seen him do that.

He looked warm.

She made up her mind.

The hell with this foolishness! He had offered.

She put more wood onto the fire, lifted open the top of the sleeping bag, seeing that he was asleep or seemed to be, and that he now faced the fire which was alive again with the wood she’d just pushed into it. There was a space down behind him. It would be snug, but she would move slowly, feet first, once she got rid of her sneakers and rolled his jacket for a pillow.

No other clothing was coming off her!

But once she was in there with him, then what?

She popped the buttons at the top of her shorts to release that discomforting pressure, tucked her shirt between her legs and slid down into it with him, feeling him move to give her more room—so he was awake—but he said nothing.

Once down into it with him, touching him, but with her hands resting upon her own body, she laid still, her head on his jacket, and let out the deep breath she’d been holding as she’d slid in with him, trying not to wake him up.

His back was warm.

She'd never be able to sleep.

He moved back into her, forcing her to move more onto her side, facing his back. Her left hand was trapped between their bodies, and the other hand was free. There was nowhere to put it, but to rest it gently on his side, hoping that it was not so cold against his skin as to startle him.

To her surprise, she felt him take hold of her hand and pull it firmly over him to hold against his bare chest, pulling her close to him. Then he reached down and, pulling behind her legs, he brought those closer into him too, so that their bodies were like two spoons, front to back.

It took her a few seconds to settle and to recognize the futility of objecting or fighting him away when all she could fight was his back, especially as he wasn’t doing anything for her to object to, so she settled again with her head resting against his back—he gave her no choice—and her body against his, touching all along him.

She gave in, and leaned closer into him, breathing down his back, pushing her arm farther over him to hold his lower arm, and leaving her other arm down between them, touching against his underwear, and not daring to move after that.

She’d never shared a confined and intimate space like this with anyone before and would never have considered it with any man. Sleep would be impossible, not knowing what to expect from one minute to the next.

She lay still, getting warmer and was able to doze off for longer each time, despite them adjusting their positions with each other in some small way all of the time. They mostly maintained the front to back position; not facing each other, except briefly. Facing each other for any length of time would be too dangerous, even if they were fully dressed. He was male, and she knew about them! They could be devious beggars!

For the first time that day she began to feel truly warm, bathed in so many masculine smells, not at all offensive, and overlying that, hint of a woman’s scent that their warmth had revived from the fabric.

She found the smells interesting, bathing her, enfolding her in a secure cocoon of male warmth and of comfort, more than she had ever experienced in her life before. She’d never felt this way as a girl growing up with her father; never feeling this same degree of strange security.

She had been living on her nerves ever since he’d pulled her from the river, expecting the worst all of the time, but nothing had happened; he was not going to harm her. At least he hadn’t, yet.

Something was happening to her. Something had already happened between them and was still happening, apart from the accident, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it was. She would think about it tomorrow.

Every time she moved against him or made a noise, suggesting she was getting warm again, he smiled. She was warm now, and safe, even if she didn’t know it or believe it. He’d made a bet with himself that she’d be able to tolerate the cold for about an hour or two after dark--no more than that--but she’d stuck it out for almost three, he guessed. At least he hadn’t had to get out of his sleeping bag and lift her into it, kicking and screaming against him, although by then she would have been too uncomfortable and cold to object, but would just have been happy to have been in his arms.

He heard the fox, yipping, not very far away, calling her grown cubs to eat, and he could hear other animals scrambling in the rocks and undergrowth where she’d complained about the smell of a dead animal.

She woke up from time to time, breathless, and as nervous-as-a-kitten as they’d moved and changed positions, discovering that, at times, he faced her with his arm over her pulling her close to him with one large hand at the middle of her back, and his head snuggled into her neck; or he had his back to her, with her putting her arm over him—which took some courage at first—resting her face into his neck.

It was all disturbing, how he could hold her so close to him and so securely, but ….

She was startled into sudden wakefulness when he kissed her on her neck and spoke to her dreamily, smoothing his hand over her face, before he drifted off again, mentioning a name; Jen, as he pulled her closer to him with his hand resting on her breast this time, outside of her clothing.

“We’ll get an early start tomorrow.” He was talking while only half awake.

She couldn’t get out of the sleeping bag without waking him, but didn’t want to get out. She could be a nervous wreck by morning.

She became suddenly stiff and tense, ready to fight him off, as his hand wandered lightly over her body again, this time inside her shirt, but outside of her swimsuit, then tracing over her hips and legs, as though to check her orientation before he pulled her back into him with his hand upon her bare middle between the top and bottom parts of her swimsuit. Another time she felt his hand pushing down into it, pulling at her hip, having glided over her down there without her noticing what he was doing, then another time, rising up to push his hand under the top, almost to her breasts, just to the point of sensing them against his hand.

He had not touched so far, yet, either up or down to cause her to retreat in panic to the fire, which was still flickering with life. Then he settled again, but she didn’t.

He had been asleep, and he had called her that name again; Jen, as he had pulled her closer to him, touching her, waking her instantly.

Everything she did reminded him of Jen in his fogged brain, where he wanted to see Jen, and only Jen. Rather than fight it, he let himself drift into this dream-world where he snuggled into her, feeling her warmth, turning to her, fighting for air, finding her breasts in his face as he moved.

Everything reminded him of Jen; everything. He had to close his eyes to blot out the memories that flooded back over him, realizing that he could be going mad, that this was just a dream he was caught up in, and that by morning he would wake up and he would be alone again and in even greater pain. None of it would have been real, but at this moment it felt real. He had to pinch himself, to be sure. He felt the pain, and yet he still dimly saw her there and the setting she was in; felt her body. He began to feel that this was more than any dream he'd ever had before. There was a reality to this that he would not be able to shake off.

The next time she woke up he was mostly on his back with her lying on him, his shirt over her—she had been cold—her head resting upon his chest with her arms holding him, as he was holding her.

She could smell him better now. Definitely male; making her mouth dry, her breath catching in her throat, and setting strange sensations she didn’t know existed, tingling throughout her body, causing other changes she was not sure a truly respectable girl would admit to.

She daren’t move, but he was asleep, and he was warm. There was no threat in any of it. If he was going to be a problem for her, it would already have happened.

She watched him then, in the dawning light, and studied him.

There was a pale scar… several such scars that she had not noticed before, on his head, and disappearing into his hair line from his forehead.

He had strong arms, everything about him was strong, with no ‘give’ in his hard body, and he was decisive in everything he had done. He knew all about survival out here where she didn’t, and she was now in his care. It felt right.

‘The first law….’ What was that he’d mentioned?

The first law of what? 'Waifs and strays', he'd said. Were there others? The thought disappeared from her mind as quickly as it had appeared.

All of this was a first for her. She’d never shared any kind of a bed with anyone, and never with a man. He was no threat to her, except accidentally as they moved together and he touched her unconsciously, pushing his hand down in front of her and behind her inside of her swimsuit more than once, to pull her closer to him, and had rested it there on her soft skin, holding her intimately on her nether cheek and setting her nerves on edge for a few moments, wondering what he intended; what he would do next? She soon realized that he didn’t intend to do anything. It was all unconsciously done.

She had never shared such intimacy or closeness with anyone, and yet she also felt safe and even looked after.

She would have to trust him. As long as he was with her she would be alright.

It was a strange feeling for her to have, and contrary to everything she would have believed.

She was helpless, and was his prisoner, chained to him by necessity; nothing else, yet she wasn’t his prisoner. It was almost as though he were hers; chained to her with invisible bonds of responsibility, with him having no choice about looking after her. It was an interesting thought; A noble, principled rogue. But she didn't know him, and she didn't know if he was a rogue or not. He had been noble, and had been principled, so far.

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