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 c**k 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 cl*t 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 h*ps 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 h*ps 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 c**k 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.