The first time I do it, he bares his teeth and hisses at me, but he never stops his movements. That’s because he is as lost to the haze of lust and carnality that I am suffering under at the same time.

His h*ps pound against me, his c**k going in so f**king deep. My fingers work myself furiously and both of our breathing is so harsh and labored, I’m afraid one of us might succumb to a heart attack.

“I’m close, Zach,” I breathe out, pressing down harder on my clit.

“To coming?” he rasps out, slamming into me brutally hard.

“Yes. You?”

“Just a minute,” he says, and then pulls my legs up onto his shoulders, leaning more of his weight onto me. He slams his hands onto the carpet by my ribs, and then unleashes holy hell on my body.

Zach starts driving into me so hard that I swear I feel my spine embedding into the floor, yet the pleasure that he’s creating inside of me is so beautifully fulfilling that I want to scream at him to go harder.

Grunts, moans, and wet, slapping flesh. His balls hitting my backside and my fingers working at my own slickness.

It’s insane, crazy, wild, and uninhibited f**king.

It’s spectacular, and I can’t hold back anymore. “I’m going to come, Zach.”

He grunts deeply and, impossibly, he goes just a little bit faster, chasing after his own release.

Slamming into me one last time, Zach goes utterly still and throws his head back, causing his long, dark hair to spill down his back. “I’m f**king coming,” he groans as every muscle from his neck downward tightens.

The utter and divine pleasure painted across his face is my undoing, and I fracture right along with him. My hands fly upward and grip onto his biceps, my nails biting down into his flesh, and my entire body stiffens rigidly for a brief moment, then releases into an epically massive orgasm that tears through my body almost painfully.

It occurs to me that Zach just made me orgasm three times in less than an hour, and yet, we’ve never even kissed. Hell, we never even got fully naked—the biggest concession he was willing to give was in pulling my underwear free of my body. Zach has eaten me out twice, producing massive, rolling orgasms, and yet I’ve never felt those full lips upon my mouth.

This is just weird… the way our sexual relationship has progressed, but then I realize that I moved forward on his terms, not on my own, which are rooted in a culture that typically starts the foreplay at a kiss. Zach’s foreplay starts with a solid grip to the back of the neck.

Fascinating stuff, yet ultimately wasted knowledge from a scientific perspective, because I could never publish this research.

After Zach came down off his orgasmic high, he pulled out of my body slowly and stared at me a moment. Reaching a hand out, he rubbed his fingers lightly over my lower stomach, and then said, “I’m going to go take a shower.”

He stood up without another word and walked down the hallway to the guest bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

I roll over and pull my knees up underneath me, pushing my way off the floor. I groan from the stiffness in my neck and hips, testament to the not-so-gentle pummeling Zach just gave my body. I bend over and grab my panties, then head into my own bathroom as his se**n trickles down my legs.

Another keen difference in our cultures. I observed the way Zach had f**ked Tukaba. It was impersonal… devoid of emotion and feeling. It was a convenient way for him to seek release, all while flexing his superior man muscles in front of his tribe mates. When he was finished with her, he pulled out of her and walked away, leaving her lying prostrate in the dirt below him. Given that cold barrier that seems to exist between Caraican women and men, it’s no wonder that Zach just pulled out of me and walked away. I can’t imagine a man like him being into after-sex cuddling.

And that makes me sad. Because while every bit of the dominance that Zach has asserted over me pushes all of my buttons in just the right way, as a woman… as a modern woman who embraces the emotional side to the act of sex… a warm embrace of care and tenderness is something that I’m keenly missing right now.

Turning on the shower, I wait until the water gets hot and step under the spray, wetting my hair thoroughly. I go through the motions of shampooing and conditioning my hair, then give myself a thorough scrubbing with some gardenia-scented body wash and a loofah sponge.

There was a time that Zach looked at me a bit ago, and I swear I thought I saw something in his gaze that looked like fondness. It was such a contradiction to the arrogant face he normally shows me, and it gave me hope that maybe this was more than just a one-time only thing.

And it was more than once—three times by my count.

But the way that Zach just abruptly stood up and walked away? So cold… so uncaring of the intimacy we had just shared. Now I’m not so sure what he feels, and unease courses through me.

I hastily soap down the rest of my body, wincing slightly at the tenderness between my legs, but then shuddering in remembrance of Zach’s time well spent there.

With a confused sigh, I rinse off and step out of the shower. I give my teeth a good brushing and quickly dry my hair to where it’s only slightly damp. Back in my bedroom, I put on a cotton cami top and a pair of loose pajama pants and crawl into bed.

As I start to get drowsy, I remember just before we left the Caraican village, as Zach made his goodbyes. He had done nothing but glare at me every time we made eye contact. Yet, there was a world of warmth in his eyes as he grasped each of the men’s arms, and then finally wrapped Paraila in an embrace. He tucked the old man’s face into his chest and hugged him tight. Tears sprang to my eyes, as I knew how very bittersweet that moment was for Paraila.