The Kenyan sun beats down on the back of my neck, a heavy, insistent hand that even the wide brim of my pith helmet can't entirely ward off. The air shimmers with heat, distorting the horizon where the fever trees stand like torches, their bark the colour of flame and their leaves a dusty green.
I adjust my grip on the heavy double-barrelled rifle, the checkered wood stock lodging into my palm. It's a solid weight, grounding me amidst the vast, golden ocean of the savannah.
Ahead of me, Lord Percy cuts a striking figure in his crisp khaki drill, the fabric stained dark at the armpits and collar. He moves with a practiced silence, his boots scuffing softly against the red earth. We are miles from the camp, the tents and the gin tonics a distant memory, hunting elephants that have been sighted near the river bend.
The tall grass, shoulder-high and serrated at the edges, whispers secrets as the wind ripples through it. It's a perfect place to hide, and a perfect place to die.
Percy stills, raising a closed fist. I stop instantly, my breath catching in my throat. Through the swaying stalks, I see the shape he's spotted—an impala, nervous and twitchy, grazing near a clearing. It's not the ivory we came for, but Percy is a hunter; opportunity is opportunity. He lifts his rifle, the motion fluid and slow, sighting down the barrel.
I scan the perimeter, the hairs on my arms standing up. Something feels wrong. The birds have gone quiet. The grass to the left of the impala parts, not with the wind, but with a heavy, low-slung purpose.
A tawny blur explodes from the undergrowth.
The lioness is a projectile of muscle and fury, launching herself at Percy, who is focused entirely on the antelope. She's close—too close for him to swing the rifle.
My body reacts on instinct, the hours of target practice at the estate taking over. I snap the rifle to my shoulder, the brass bead finding the centre of the golden mass.
The crack of the shot echoes like a thunderclap, rolling across the plain.
The lioness crumples mid-spring, her momentum carrying her into a heap just feet from where Percy stands. The impala vanishes in a blur of its own. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the ringing in my ears and the harsh, panting breaths of the man in front of me.
Percy lowers his gun slowly, turning to look at the dead cat, then back at me. His eyes are wide, pupils blown with adrenaline and something else—something darker.
He looks at me not as the flapper he blindfolded in his library, nor the conquest he dominated during a fox hunt by a brook.
He sees the predator.
"Vivian," he breathes, my name a rough rasp in his throat.
I lower the rifle, the adrenaline surging through my veins like hot liquor. It's a heady rush, far more potent than the champagne we drank last night.
I remember the library back at the manor, the way he had bent me over the mahogany desk after the hunt dinner, his hand in my hair, taking what he wanted with a rough, aristocratic entitlement. My hands tied, my eyes behind ribbon.
He had been the wolf then, and I the willing prey.
I walk past the dead lioness, stepping over the still-warm fur without a glance. Percy is still standing there, stunned, his chest heaving. The scent of gunpowder hangs in the air, mixing with the musk of the wild grass and the sharp smell of his sweat.
"You hesitated, Percy," I say, my voice steady, laced with a teasing mockery.
He swallows hard, his eyes raking over me. I can see the memory of the library in his gaze—the way he had ravished me, claiming my body as his territory. But now, the territory is mine.
"I... I didn't see it," he stammers.
"No," I say, stepping into his personal space. I reach out, running a gloved hand down the front of his sweat-slicked shirt. "You were looking the other way. Fortunately, I was watching your back."
I don't wait for a response. The hunt fever is upon me, a different kind of hunger now clawing at my insides. I push him backward. He stumbles, his boots catching in the tangled roots, and he falls into the tall grass. The stalks envelop us, creating a private, golden world hidden from the sun.
I straddle him before he can sit up, my knees pinning his thighs to the earth. The rough fabric of his jodhpurs scrapes against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my clit.
I'm wet, soaking through my silk tap pants, the slick, seeping gel, a stark contrast to the dry air.
"Vivian, we can't—the porters might see," he protests, but his hands are already moving to my waist, his grip tight, betraying his words.
"Let them look," I growl, unbuttoning his trousers with frantic, clumsy fingers.
"I'm the lioness now, Percy. And I've caught my beast."
I free his cock, thick and hard, springing up against his belly. The sight of it makes my mouth water, my pussy clenching in anticipation.
No niceties. I hike up my skirt, tearing the delicate lace of my knickers aside, and sink down onto him in one swift, fluid motion. Giving him access to the special world beneath a women's undergarments.
"Orrghh!" Feral as a lioness, "Orrghh!"
We both groan, a raw, guttural sound that startles a nearby bird into flight.
He fills me completely, stretching my tight walls, the head of his dick hitting that deep, aching spot inside me.
I throw my head back, the pith helmet falling off into the grass, letting the sun beat down on my face.
My face flushed, my pussy about to gush.
I ride him hard, unbridled and wild. There is no rhythm, only the desperate, frantic need to conquer. I use my thighs, my muscles burning as I lift and drop myself on his shaft, taking him to the hilt with every thrust. The grass scratches my bare ass, adding a stinging sensation to the overwhelming pleasure.
He stabs upward, he's on a safari all right, cruising through my pubic jungle, prowling for living pussy, his fingers join the hunt, rolling wider my folds, releasing liquid secrets.
"Fuck, Vivian," he gasps, one hand digging into my hip, "You're insatiable."
I pant, leaning down to bite his neck, tasting the salt on his skin. I mark him, just like he marked me in the library. But this isn't submission; this is domination.
I grind my hips against him, circling, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as it pistons in and out of my dripping cunt. The friction is exquisite, a tight coil of pleasure winding in my belly, threatening to snap. I look down at him, his face contorted with lust, his eyes locked on my breasts as they bounce with the force of my movements.
"Touch me," I command, grabbing his hands and placing them on my tits. He squeezes, rough and needy, pinching my nipples through the thin fabric of my shirt. The tingle spikes through me, mixing with the heat until I can't tell where one ends and the other begins.
The sounds of our fucking are wet and loud—skin slapping against skin, the squelch of my pussy as it devours his cock, our ragged breathing. It's filthy and raw, and I love it.
I am the queen of this jungle, and he is nothing but my throne.
"I'm going to cum," he warns, his voice straining.
"Not yet," I hiss, tightening my inner muscles around him, milking his dick, refusing to let him spill until I'm ready.
"Hold it, Percy. Don't you dare spill until I say so."
He groans, his head thrown back, his neck corded with the effort of obeying. The power rushes through me, headier than the kill.
I ride him faster, chasing my own release, the friction building to a fever pitch.
My orgasm hits me like a gunshot, sudden and violent. I cry out, my body seizing up, my pussy convulsing around his cock in rhythmic waves.
"Orrghh! Oohh! Oh Fuck! Oohh!"
I shatter, my vision wild as the flowering flame trees, the pleasure washing over me in a tidal wave that drowns out every other colour.
He bucks up into me, driving himself deep, and I feel him throb inside me, pumping his hot, thick ropes of seed deep into my womb.
It pulses out of him, coating my insides, marking me from the inside out. I'm all skin, all stripped flesh, as my lioness will on day be as a rug.
We collapse together, a tangled, sweating heap in the grass, our chests heaving in unison.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of our breathing and the rustle of the wind in the trees.
I rest my forehead against his, feeling the rapid thud of his heart against my chest.
The lioness lies dead a few yards away, but here, in the tall grass, the hunt is over, and I have never felt more alive.
My nails rake claw lines down Percy's exposed chest.