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*no longer possessed or retained. *no longer to be found. *not used to good purpose, as opportunities, time, or labor; wasted. *being something that someone has failed to win. *ending in or attended with defeat. *destroyed or ruined.

Erotic Suspense by

Jodi Kae


Copyright © 2016 by Jodi Kae

Lost is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be distributed, reproduced, or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the author.


This book contains material not suitable for readers under the age of 18. Scenes of violence, graphic language, erotic content, and other aspects that some may find disturbing are included. If you would like to read the toned down version of this same story, you will want to purchase the romance version.

Reader discretion is advised.


Title page



Chapter One - Freedom

Chapter Two - Heal

Chapter Three - Revelation

Chapter Four - Starved

Chapter Five - Awakening

Chapter Six – Shame

Chapter Seven - Console

Chapter Eight - Panic

Chapter Nine - Redemption

Chapter Ten - Enlighten

Chapter Eleven - Frantic

Chapter Twelve - Protection

Chapter Thirteen - Committed

Chapter Fourteen - Distraction

Chapter Fifteen - Rejuvenation

Chapter Sixteen - Hope

Chapter Seventeen - Escape

Chapter Eighteen - Diversion

Chapter Nineteen - Salvation

Chapter Twenty - Transformation

Chapter Twenty-one - Conception

Chapter Twenty-two - Sacrifice

Chapter Twenty-three - Desperation

Chapter Twenty-four - Elimination

Chapter Twenty-five - Control

Chapter Twenty-six - Revenge

Chapter Twenty-seven - Closure

Chapter Twenty-eight - Breathe

Chapter Twenty-nine - Enrapture


Chapter one


*the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants. *absence of subjection to foreign domination or despotic government. *the power of self-determination attributed to the will; the quality of being independent of fate or necessity. *the state of not being imprisoned. *the state of being unrestricted and able to move easily. * unrestricted use of something. *the state of not being subject to or affected by something undesirable.


The open road brings me peace, just a long stretch of smooth asphalt to keep me company. Cruising through the mountain pass, my Harley’s quiet hum is music to my ears until I can reach my sanctuary in the hills. Coming home always brings a sense of peace to my soul, even though I’m alone here with nothing but the crickets and wildlife to keep me company; I prefer it that way. I come here to get away from the rat race I live in, but If Shana needs to reach me, she has my satellite phone.

I haven’t taken a vacation since starting Mason PI six years ago, and after the last case, my secretary demanded I take one or she was going to quit. Shana has worked for me for the last five years; she is an angel sent from above. After ten secretaries storming out calling me every name in the book, I’d just about given up. She claims to tolerate me because I’m just like her papa who was also a PI. He was shot and killed during an investigation, and she thinks it’s her duty to keep the same from happening to me.

I was only twenty-three when my own parents were murdered in their home. The scene was made to look like a random robbery, although only a few pieces of jewelry and some antiques were missing. The police said when my parents came home from the country club surprising the robbers; no witness was their motto. They were bound, gagged, and shot execution style in their bedroom. After two years of no leads and the case getting colder by the minute, I decided to go hunting myself, which led to Mason PI. With the help of my friend Jax, who is an agent with the FBI, we were able to put two thugs away for life without the possibility of parole. My dad’s business partner who ordered their murder only received twenty-five to life with the possibility of parole; granted he will die in prison of old age before he ever sees that day.

My inheritance was my father’s investment firm, which I didn’t want. It is one of the top Fortune 500 companies in the world. Many people might think I hit the gold mine, but I am not the business suit corporate type; sitting in a stuffy office with other suits is not my idea of a dream job. My dad expected me to take over for him and was ready to train me to be his protégé’, so I’m sure he turned over in his grave when I decided to sell most of my interest in the company to one of his other business partners. It was the best for all parties involved. His partner assured me that my dad’s employees would remain with the company and be taken care of. The monthly residual checks from my retained interest in the firm are donated to different foundations, which are handled by my secretary Shana.

With both my parents gone and no siblings to care for, I have put all my energy into building my cabin. With a solar system and a private well, I have everything needed to retire up here someday. At thirty-one, it won’t be soon. Not because I need the money, but to keep myself from becoming a hermit. My inheritance is enough to set me up for life and any family I leave behind; which is not in the cards for me, the family that is. I like my solitary life and only crave a woman’s company for one thing, but dollar signs have them craving so much more than I’m willing to give. They only seem to want more once they realize who I am; Google has definitely not done wonders for me. Being the only heir to a multi-million dollar company tends to bring a lot of unwanted publicity.

Since I never planned to take a wife or have any children, I thought I could splurge on my private get-away. Two hours into my scenic drive, my private road welcomes me home. Turning off the winding mountain road onto an unkept dirt road is not what I’d normally do to my bike, but I haven’t been here in six months to maintain it, so I’ll just have to go slow.

The sunset is amazing, at least what you can see through the trees anyway. The temperature is cooling to a comfortable 60º, much better than the humid 80º in the concrete jungle where I earn a living. Purchasing this mountain eight years ago was the best investment I’ve ever made. The two hundred and fifty acres provides me the privacy I crave.

When I flip on the bike lights to show me the way through the thick evergreens up to my home, the beam highlights the dirt road up ahead, but what catches my attention is not normal for my neck of the woods. “What the hell!” Stopping my bike, I angle the headlights toward the small form. From the looks of it, a wild animal was planning on a meal, and I may have interrupted. Holding my breath, I listen for sounds to give anyone or anything away, but the forest is eerily quiet like it’s trying to warn me that something is out there. Hopping off, I grab my .45 from my shoulder holster and rush forward. As I get closer, I see the crumpled and bloody body of a child lying two feet from the roadside. The long dark hair covering her face is matted with dirt, leaves, and blood. I reach down to touch a cold, bare shoulder and she moans. “Son of a bitch!”

Her body temperature is low, and she starts to shiver uncontrollably. Picking her up and trying to be as gentle as possible, I move quickly to my Harley. Holding her close to my body, so I don’t move her too much, I glance down to see her mouth open on a silent scream. Tears stream from her eyes to mix with the coagulating blood at her temple. My blood boils at what has possibly happened to this girl. Mounting gently, I start up and head for home.


The pounding in my head is excruciating. Something thick and wet slides down my face with a faint drip to the hard surface below. Trying to open my eyes to see where I am is impossible; they feel glued shut. My arms feel weighted down, and no matter how hard I try to move, I can’t raise my hand to my face. I think I’ve died, but where am I? Who am I? What happened to me that I feel this much pain? Hoping to be a good enough person to make it into Heaven, although I’m not really sure that is where I want to be if the pain I feel comes with that privilege. I can’t see the bright light that everyone always waxes poetic about, or feel the sense of peace.

The throbbing at my temple dominates every one of my senses, so I don’t hear the approach of footsteps, but I feel the light touch of a calloused hand on my shoulder. A rumble of a deep voice reaches my ears, but I can’t make out what it is saying. As a large hand slips under my neck and one under my knees, I open my mouth to scream out from the pain except nothing comes out. Tears slide down my face, and I am mad at myself for being so vulnerable. Then I feel nothing.


Lucky for me my cabin is nestled in a thick mass of trees that anyone would miss if they didn’t know what to look for. Having a perimeter fence with no trespassing signs usually stops trespassers, although sometimes a determined hunter gets through. It’s the high-tech security system and cameras that prevent anyone from breaching my private domain.

With some slight maneuvering, I manage to free one hand to punch in the security code, and my door pops open. Slipping inside and kicking the door closed, I carefully move up the stairs to my room.

My unconscious bundle doesn’t make a sound when I lay her on the chaise lounge in the corner then stand back to get a better look. I’m shocked to see that this is no child but a very petite woman. She has several cuts on her face, including a gash at her temple. Her entire body doesn’t appear to have a spot unmarred by bruises. She is covered in dirt and blood, which will increase her risk for infection if not cleaned up soon.

Rushing to the adjoining bathroom and starting the bath, I move quickly about to gather supplies. Unfortunately, I’ve never had a woman here, so I only have supplies that I use. No fruity smelling soaps or lotions, just Suave shampoo and Dial soap will have to do. Moving quickly to the bedroom to gather the small woman into my arms, she whimpers, but after looking down, I see that she is still unconscious. I carry her into the bathroom, kneel down on one knee by the tub and rest her small body on my leg. Undressing her from her remaining shredded tank top and cotton shorts only to realize there is nothing on underneath, causes my heart to skip a beat. I curse my good and my bad luck at the same time while slowly lowering her into the warm water. A small sigh escapes her lips although she remains unconscious. Washing away the grime from her body was the worst sort of torture I could’ve put myself through. I feel like the biggest pervert as I notice her creamy skin although marred by cuts and bruises. Her breasts are high and firm, and the small patch of a landing strip between her thighs does nothing to calm my raging hormones. She is a temptation I didn’t need. Cursing myself ten times to Sunday, I finish cleaning her long, dark hair and lift her out of the tub. As gently as possible, I carry her into the bedroom and lay her on some towels to wrap her up. Pulling back the covers, I shift her body to the center and cover her with the comforter, tucking the thick blanket around her small body. It doesn’t escape my attention that now she smells like me, and that just feels right. I need to get my hormones in check because the last thing she needs is to wake up to a strange man drooling all over her.


Excruciating pain in my ribs jerks me awake as calloused hands scoop me up again. Too afraid to open my eyes, I let oblivion claim me while dreaming of warm water with soft caresses that lap over my tired, sore body. A picture flashes in my mind of a white sandy beach stretching out behind a beautiful cottage. The beach and its warmth sinking into my bones remind me of basking in the sun and the heat that comes with it. Where it is, I don’t know or can’t remember. All too soon the warmth is gone, and I want to cry out for more except I can’t seem to make any sound come out of my mouth. When will this pain end? What have I done to deserve this kind of fate?


Running a disinfectant-soaked cotton ball over all the scratches covering her body leaves very little untouched. Even marred by cuts and bruises, it’s still the softest skin I’ve ever touched. I choke back a groan as my fingers glide the cotton over the bottom of her breasts; this is pure torture. They are so firm and creamy, my mouth waters with a craving to run my tongue all over her berry colored nipples. What the hell is wrong with me? This woman is vulnerable and under my care. All I can think about is molesting her while she sleeps only to have her wake with my hand between her thighs and beg me for more. I truly am demented and must have lost my mind. After covering the worst cuts with gauze and medical tape, I slip one of my t-shirts gently over her body. Seeing her in my clothes does something to me indescribable; some age-old primitive reaction I’ve never felt for any other woman on the planet. “Mine,” whispers from my lips but I have no idea where that came from. Needing to clear my mind away from this woman, I cover her back up with the bedding and quietly move to the door. Taking one last look, I turn off the overhead light leaving only the soft glow from the bedside lamp and step out.

Hoping that fresh air will clear my head, I head outside to my bike to grab the supplies I picked up from the little store twenty miles back and move to the deck. Popping open a beer, I relax back into the built-in swing and close my eyes. My thoughts race to what I should do next. Should I take her to the hospital or contact the police? My gut instinct screams no. It seems too suspicious that she ended up on my road in the middle of the mountains. What if whoever dumped her there comes back with intentions to finish the job? If they come back only to find her missing, will they search hospitals and police stations to reclaim their victim? There are so many different scenarios playing out in my head that I decide to wait until she can tell me herself what happened to her.

Chapter Two


*to become sound or healthy again. *alleviate a person’s distress or anguish. *correct or put right an undesirable situation.


Warm and comfortable, I stir half asleep. The soft caress of silk crosses my legs as I try to roll over, but the pain in my ribs stops me quick. My eyes feel as though they weigh a hundred pounds, however, prying them open anyway is necessary. As my vision clears, the large soft bed in a dimly lit room starts my panic.

Where the hell am I, who brought me here? I try to remember but can’t even remember my own name. Who am I? How did I get here? Where is here? My heart races, and I feel as though it will jump right out of my chest. Pushing off the silken covers, I try to sit up and can’t do that either. What is wrong with me? The pain limits my movements, so I start by moving my legs; they seem to work fine. My head is throbbing, so I reach up and find a bandage at my temple. Was I in a car accident? Why can’t I remember what happened to me, or anything for that matter? Looking around, my concern only grows when I realize that I am not in a hospital. I slide my hands down my body to feel a soft cotton shirt that reaches my thighs. Slowly I pull the fabric up moving my hands to my stomach and feel several bandages on my abdomen. Gliding my hands along my body as far as they will reach, I find more gauze on my arms and upper thighs. My hand slides under the shirt to move it above my breasts to check for damage there too, and I freeze.

Movement to my left catches my attention, so I slowly turn my head to stare into the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Heat races from my chest to my face and I’m sure turns beat red. Getting caught fondling myself in front of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen is more than humiliating. If there is a hole nearby, I’ll crawl inside and never come out. He just stares at me, mouth open, probably at a loss for words as I am.

Slowly pulling the t-shirt back into place, I try to ask where I am except only scratchy air comes out. Pushing sound through my vocal chords feels like running my tongue over sandpaper, which I did once on a dare when I was a little girl. My eyes fly open in shock at the memory, which probably makes me look like I am going to freak the hell out, which I might.

The beautiful man puts his hands up in surrender as he moves slowly to the bedside. I should be scared to death considering I feel like someone beat the shit out of me, but something in his eyes tells me I’m safe; which is crazy! I don’t know this man or even who I am for that matter. Although, someone took care to bandage me up, so I assume it was this man. Please don’t let him turn out to be my abuser with a guilty conscience.

He slowly leans down to reach the bedside table and picks up a glass of water. Tucking his hand under my head, he lifts slightly to put the glass to my lips, all while his eyes search mine as if waiting for me to panic. I sip slowly; holding back a wince at the pain swallowing caused, but feeling like I’ve just crawled out of the Sahara Desert, keeps me drinking what I can. He moves the glass away, but trying to tell him thank you proves impossible. He shakes his head.

“Sssshhhh, not yet.”

Something in his face warns me not to argue. Although he seems angry, it doesn’t feel as though it’s directed at me. He leaves for just a minute and comes back with a spoon with white powder on it. I hope it’s aspirin, but why would he spoon-feed me enough cocaine to kill me after he’d wrapped me up? He mixes a little water with it and leans down to place it on my tongue. Drinking down the powder only hurts a little and tastes horrible, but I can’t imagine the pain of swallowing a hard round pill at this point. I lie back into the softest pillows and close my eyes again. Just that small movement has already exhausted me. Who knew drinking water could take so much out of a person? Movement on the bed jostles my body and I quickly open my eyes to see him lying down on the other side. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod! What does he want with me?

“I’m only laying on top and promise to keep my hands to myself. I just want to be close in case you need me. Your ribs are badly bruised, and I’m not so sure they aren’t broken. I just need to hear you breathe and know you are safe, okay?”

Relaxing a little, my eyes close again to let sleep claim me once more.


She is fast asleep again, so I head back outside. Fresh air and two beers do not clear my mind. I can’t stop thinking of her so small and damaged in my bed. Now I can’t stop thinking of her sliding her hands across her body up to her breasts. My head screams, “she’s just assessing the damage,” my hormones scream, “Do you want help with that?” It has been too long since I’ve enjoyed the company of a woman and it shows. Maybe she didn’t see my tongue hanging out of my mouth while I imagined it following the path of her hands. Her face burned hot with embarrassment making me feel bad to have put her in that position, but I can’t help the excitement of seeing the shy innocence reflected in her eyes.

When I touched her neck to help her get a drink and give her some Advil pm to help her sleep, it sent little shock waves up my arm with that simple touch. As she laid her head back again, I noticed the bruising around her throat. What has happened to this beautiful woman, who would hurt her this way? It looks as if someone tried to strangle her, and when I find them, heads will roll. What in the hell am I thinking? Why am I acting possessive? “No wife no kids,” is my motto; that way no one can take them from you. The loss would be too great.

After an hour, I make my way back inside, and I climb on top of the bed to be near her. My hormones, once again, go in a different direction than just being her caretaker. I have never kept a woman for longer than a few days except I can’t picture being without this one. What will happen two months from now, or even years, concerning this woman? My mind wanders to her laughing green eyes staring up at me from the porch swing while rubbing her growing belly and I know I’m a goner. I don’t know what it is about this one, small, fragile woman, but from the moment I touched her, I felt an unbreakable connection.

I keep her on a steady supply of Advil pm, chicken broth, Jell-O, and water, for six days and hope that resting will help her heal faster. I need to find out who she is, what happened to her, and where she’s from.

After this week of playing doctor and not in the way I’d like, all of her bruises are fading, leaving a few cuts and scrapes; only a few will scar. She moves more in her sleep now with moans and mumbles reflecting arousal instead of pain. Who is she thinking of as she sighs in her sleep? It has taken several cold showers not to take advantage of her vulnerability. I don’t even know her name, but in my head, I call her “Mine.”

This is not how I planned my long weekend to turn out, but I’m not complaining. It’s a good thing that I’m self-employed and can take as much time away as needed. I called Shana on Monday to inform her of the longer break, however, at the time I didn’t know how long I’d be gone and promised to keep in touch. She says she doesn’t mind the small reprieve. She’s enjoying a good book and will not mind finishing it before she has to go back into the office on Wednesday.


Standing on my white sandy beach, breathing in the ocean air, the sand squishes in my toes, and the gentle waves lap at my ankles. I call this place mine because no one else ever comes here. Turning my face up to the sun, I feel the warm caresses all over my body. Then I feel the caress of my blue-eyed lover sliding up and down my skin. Needing more but not knowing what or how to ask for it, has me moaning, hoping it encourages him to take it further. I feel fire everywhere he touches, licking every inch of skin. In my favorite yellow bikini, it leaves very little skin untouched by the sun’s warmth and his hands. He leans in and trails a hot wet tongue from my ear to my neck then sinks his teeth in at the base. I moan, hoping it encourages him to keep going as chills race up and down my spine, causing me to go weak. My hunger for him overwhelms me; my body seeks more of his touch. Turning to get closer, my dream lover turns into a tattooed predator, and I scream as darkness takes over my fantasy.

“Hey, it’s ok. It was just a dream.”

My eyes fly open to see my dream lover leaning over me. His calloused hands slowly move up and down my arms leaving streaks of fire in their wake. Taking several deep breaths to calm my heart before it explodes out of my chest, I start to cry uncontrollably. Was it a dream or a memory trying to break free? Not knowing is what scares me. My beautiful man slowly picks me up and pulls me into his lap calming my sobs. He tucks me against his chest and lays his chin on top of my head.

“Ssshhh, it’s ok, I’ve got you, Baby. No one can hurt you here.”

Somehow his voice encourages me to lean back, look into those electric blue eyes and whisper, “I don’t know your name.”


I’ve lessened the dosage of sleep aide, hoping to get her more coherent. In order to help her, I need to get some information. Her tears are killing me. She has to be terrified awaking to a stranger.

“Derek Mason. I found you about a quarter mile from my home, unconscious and about to become critter food. We’re about 20 miles from the closest town, so I have no idea how you ended up on my road. What’s your name?”

The look she gives me is like a deer caught in the headlights. Feeling her heart rate pick up and vibrate through her whole body brings me more guilt. “Ssshhh, it’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been watching over you for six nights now, so you’re safe with me.”

She relaxes a little and settles back into my body pressing her lush bottom into my erection. Not safe from me, the little voice in my head whispers. It’s obvious this woman is running scared. I need to tamp down my desire for her before she is running scared from me.

Chapter Three


*a surprising and previously unknown fact that has been disclosed to others. *used to emphasize the remarkable quality of someone or something. *the making known of something that was previously secret or unknown.


Derek. My dream lovers name is Derek, except he is no longer just a dream and he definitely is not my lover; although his erection poking my backside says he wants otherwise. He said he found me six days ago. Six days? What the hell happened to me six days ago that I don’t even remember my own name?

He calls me Baby, and I like it. He makes me feel safe, and I like that too. I haven’t felt safe in so long that it feels good to stop being afraid. Wait! Is that just a paranoid feeling from being dumped in the woods, broken and bloody as Derek says, or a memory of my past? As I struggle to sit up taller from this cradled position against his very firm chest, he helps me to rise. I feel awkward and vulnerable about sitting on his lap, and I want to move, but I can see in the sharp angle of his mouth that he will not let me go. I calm myself enough to ask questions.

“Can you tell me where I am?” My voice comes out in a scratchy whisper from non-use in I guess six days, but he hears me. He pulls his head back to look down into my eyes and his soften. An urge to press my lips to his full soft ones overwhelms me, so I quickly cast my eyes down. Hopefully, hiding thoughts that are probably written all over my face. When he places a calloused finger under my chin to lift my face to his, a shiver races through my body. His smile hints that something is funny, but only he is privileged to the joke. However, none of this is funny to me. When I start to pull away because I’m getting angrier by the second, he senses my irritation and begins to tell me of my crazy story.

“You are at my home in Connecticut. I own two hundred fifty acres in the mountains, and no one is going to find you here.”

Oh my God! No one can find me here. My heart starts to race realizing that this man could be my predator and I am his prey. He probably gets off on beating women nearly to death, nursing them back to health only to start over again. He probably makes his victims feel indebted to him and then punishes them for the smallest infraction, just to start the process all over again. Panic rushes in, and my hands start to claw at his face and arms in desperation to get away. As I run my nails down the side of his face, he cusses out a string of swear words including a few words I’ve never heard before. With no effort at all, he flips me over onto the bed face down and pins my arms underneath me. Desperately I kick out, hoping to catch him in the balls, but he presses his body over the top of mine and pins my legs with his. His weight is heavy, and suffocation becomes a real possibility. As I take in gasping breaths to get enough air, he shifts slightly to take off some of his weight; still not leaving me room to move. He is definitely still aroused; now I’m sure he gets off on causing pain. He is probably going to rape and kill me; no one will ever find my body, just like he said. I am in full hyperventilation mode now, and my vision is going blurry. He keeps mumbling things I don’t understand, probably trying to get my cooperation. Then I feel nothing.


“Baby, sssshhhhh, calm down.” What the fuck! She has gone completely still underneath me. Moving carefully, I roll off of her to give her some room. What the hell just happened? She went from a nightmare to confused to aroused and submissive to panic and passed out in all of two minutes. Someone obviously did a number on this girl, and she doesn’t know which way is up or who to trust. I gently turn her over to check her breathing. Her heart rate is slowing, and it probably won’t be long before she comes around again.

Climbing off the bed, I step into the bathroom to check my face. Sure enough, three little scratches from my temple to cheekbone. Damn, she’s a little fighter. Hopefully, she got in a few scratches to the asshole that beat the hell out of her. I move into the bedroom and cross to my closet to pull out four silk ropes. Tying her to the bed seems to be the best option to keep her from fighting or running and finding herself in more danger.

Moving her to the center of the bed and trying not to watch her breasts jiggle, I close my eyes to get myself under control. I gently secure her wrists to the headboard and her feet to the footboard, so she is an X in the center of my bed. My imagination runs wild. I am a class “A” bastard! All I can think of is getting her underneath me, putting my mouth all over her delectable body and savoring her for hours. Her vanilla scent permeates through my soap within an hour of bathing her daily, and I find myself addicted to her smell. I desperately want her splayed out for my pleasure so I can spend hours lapping up her juices until she explodes in my mouth; to sink into her tight wet pussy over and over again until she screams my name. My need to fill her with my seed and watch her belly grow with my baby is overwhelming. Holy shit! What is wrong with me? I have never reacted to a woman this way before, but I feel as if she is mine! I don’t know why or how, just that she is mine!

I snap out of my daydream, only to see her watching me with tears rolling down her temple into her hair, but she says nothing. She just caught me staring at her on full display with my shirt covering none of her lower half and drool probably running down my chin. Fuck me! No wonder she panicked. First, I rub my dick on her ass; now she catches me staring at her very delectable body. I pull the blankets over her to give her some sense of privacy and hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender but not before I catch her scent of vanilla. She looks up towards her hands and then back at me as if to say, “you perverted bastard.”


I open my eyes to see my dream lover/serial killer hovering over my half naked body. How can such a beautiful man be a crazed lunatic? Glancing up, he sees me watching him and blushes; since when do rapists blush? The expression on his face as he was looking at me was that of a man starved, not one intent on causing me harm. Warmth spreads from my face to my belly and forms a knot in my stomach. Anticipation settles in my core and my body clenches. Why is my body trying to betray me? Am I trying to give off the wrong signal? How can I want this man to take what no other man has had or touched? Maybe I’m the crazy one. I did have a gash on my head, so maybe I’m suffering from delusions as well as amnesia. Then he does the unexpected; he covers my body with the blanket.

“Look, I’m not going to leave you like this; I just wanted to talk without having to hold you down and suffocate you with my weight. Like I said, my name is Derek, and this is my cabin in Connecticut. You seem to be running or scared shitless of someone, and I want you to know that you are safe. If there is a person or people that you are running from, they will not find you here. I found you a week ago on my dirt road, beaten, bloody, and frozen half to death. I brought you here to care for you, not to hurt you. Do you understand?”

With my nod he continues.

“Many times over the last week I have thought about taking you to a hospital or contacting the police, however, my gut instinct convinced me not to. I know that sounds crazy, it does to me too, but finding you on my road in the condition you were in is suspicious. I don’t know how you got there or if the person or people who did this to you might still be out there looking for you. Not wanting to take any chances with your safety, I felt it was best to help you heal so when you awoke, you could tell me more about your situation. I am a Private Investigator, and I have a friend in the FBI that I will call to see if he can help.”

What he’s saying takes a moment to register. I sigh in relief and try to speak except it comes out crackly. He leans over me to the nightstand to grab some water, and his rock hard abs brush against my belly and breasts starting the warm rush all over again. My body betrays me as my nipples pebble under his shirt I’m wearing, so when he leans back to help me drink, a small smile crosses his lips and lights his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know my name. I have no idea if I’m running from someone. I have no recollection of what happened to me or how I ended up on your dirt road. I keep having small flashes of memory, but they don’t give me enough information. I am scared shitless and a little out of my element being tied to your bed.”

He stares at me as if I am speaking a foreign language and then moves to untie my legs. As he pulls down the covers to get to the rope binding me, he gets another full on view, and I feel my face go hot. He caresses his hand down my leg and loosens the soft rope to slide my foot out, although he doesn’t let it go. He wraps both hands around my ankle and massages it as if to soothe any aches. I watch as he reaches for my other foot and releases it, repeating the same ritual and then does the same with my wrists. I feel a warm rush between my legs and know he can see it too. His eyes zero in on my almost bare privates, and I feel my face turning beet red. Will he think I am a freak with not much hair? I hated body hair and had laser hair removal when I was eighteen. It seemed at that time most kids my age were running out to get tattoos. I was more interested in removing unwanted things from my body than putting permanent ink on it. My eyes widen with that little bit of memory.

It is not disappointment I see when he looks into my eyes; it’s lust. He wants me and doesn’t care that I caught him looking. I have no experience with this sort of thing; sure I flirted with guys, but had never gone beyond kissing and a little rubbing; another little flash of memory. Yes, I am curious. However, the right guy had never come along. For some crazy reason, I feel like this savior of mine could be that guy; which is crazy! How can my thoughts go from a serial rapist and murderer to wanting him to take my virginity? Something is definitely not right in my head. I don’t know him other than his name and that he lives in Connecticut; also that he has cared for and nursed me back to health. That knowledge does something to me and warms me like no one ever has. I can’t decide what to think of this savior of mine. Is he good or bad?

He stands up from the bed, walks to the door and turns around to give me a view of an Oscar-worthy erection outlined by his jeans.

“ I’ll bring you some soup.”

What the hell just happened? He didn’t respond to my memory problem and even acted a little frustrated that I didn’t know anything. Maybe he is pissed that I thought him to be the bad guy but what did he expect when he tells me of his cabin in the woods, revealing that no one will find me here? I’ve seen enough scary movies and know that the ending of a story with that statement in it is never good. Maybe he is mad that I was getting turned on. He shouldn’t have rubbed my ankles and wrists so sensually if he wasn’t aiming for that kind of reaction. I’m sure there are more clinical ways to untie a person that’s tied to your bed. Smiling at that thought, I realize he wants me. It was written all over his face and barely hidden behind his zipper. My body was ready to let him have what he wanted. Dammit! Since when is it okay for your body to act the opposite of your mind? I can’t explain the connection or the desperate need to have him touch me, but it was there. His hands were so warm and gentle, chasing away a deep chill set in my bones. Maybe he is not attracted to me, just the idea of sex. Maybe he has decided I am too damaged or come with too much baggage to bother. I don’t even know my own name for hell sakes, no wonder.

Chapter Four


*deprived of something necessary. *feel very hungry.


I had to get out of there before I feasted on her like a starving man. Good hell! I should kick my own ass. Is it not bad enough that she doesn’t even know who she was or what had happened to her? She had to catch me devouring her with my eyes and one hell of an imagination. Her arousal hit me like a freight train, and I almost fell on her and shoved deep. She is petite, only about 5’5”, which is perfect for my tastes. She has long muscular legs and a tiny waist; her breasts are perfect. She would be so tight that it might take a while to work my way inside, but I would be gentle if it killed me. She would let me take her, innocent or not, I could see it in her eyes. She probably has some hero worship going on coupled with a lot of vulnerability.

For a week I have touched every inch of that beautiful body. Not in the way I would have liked, but my imagination still touched her in a sensual way. Watching her injuries heal from bruises and cuts to the softest perfection has been torture. I need her to get better but dread my control when she is. How long will it take before she could handle me taking her? My desire has only increased to heights unimaginable; I can’t ever remember a craving so deep. It has been a little while since I’ve enjoyed the company of a woman. However, this one small, vulnerable woman makes me feel like it’s been years. Pent up arousal has given me blue balls for a week, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without claiming what’s mine.

Good God! I’m not some bastard who is going to take advantage of the situation, but I will have her at some point because she is mine. The timing has to be perfect; I have to bind her to me since I’m not letting her go. Where the hell is this coming from? No wife no kids! That is my motto. I have never wavered until now.

Working my way around the kitchen, looking for the right food, proves difficult. I only picked up a few things from the store, planning to go back again after a few days. I didn’t expect to find a half dead woman at my doorstep, so that has changed all of my plans. I always stock some canned goods except I think ravioli is a little too heavy for now. She hasn’t eaten much due to the drugged sleep coma, but I’ll just give her more broth until I can make it to the store.

While heating the broth, I drink a beer hoping for a calm that I don’t feel. I need to go back into my room with a new resolve of keeping my hands to myself. She is confused and scared shitless; she doesn’t need my raging hormones adding to her own stress.

Stomping my way up the stairs seems the best way to alert her that I’m coming in. My hormones can’t take another peep show. Walking back in with a steaming bowl of chicken broth, I sit down on the side of the bed. She looks at me with big green eyes seeming confused by her arousal; or my reaction, I’m not sure which. My caveman instincts kick in, and I know that I will be keeping her. Having no idea who has done this to her, I am determined to keep and protect her with my life. Now I just need to get my hormones in check, so I don’t have to protect her from myself. After placing the tray across her lap, she proceeds to sip the soup watching me warily.


I am starving, but my stomach can’t hold very much, so after taking in half the contents of my soup, I motion to him that I am done. As Derek leans over the bed to remove the tray, I place my hand on his wrist and he freezes. His skin is hot to the touch and sends an electric jolt up my arm warming me all over.

“Derek,” his blue eyes stare back at me, begging me for the next words. “I’m sorry for attacking you before, I just panicked. It is very weird for me to not know anything about myself−Not my name or even how I came to be here. Thank you. I don’t know how I will ever repay you for saving my life, but whatever it is you need or want, please let me know.”

Needing a connection to someone, even if it’s only on a physical level, seems like a necessity for me. Feeling lost and alone, no identity, or past I remember, makes me vulnerable and needy. Whatever this man is willing to give, I’ll take.

His eyes flash with understanding right before his lips press into to mine. Molten fire races through my body robbing me of control over my hips as they start to undulate, moving the tray up and down. I moan into the kiss and use my hands to slowly push the tray and blankets toward the end of the bed. Sliding my legs from beneath the covers, I use my foot to move the tray out of reach. Even baring my lower half, the cool air does nothing to soothe the aching heat between my legs. Slowly he places his hand on my exposed thigh and proceeds to draw circles, inching his way to my molten center. As his finger glides over my clit, it sends little shock waves thrumming through my body. Panting faster and faster, I barely hear him whisper.

“Cum for me.”

I can’t help but cry out as my body spasms on command. Stopping the movement of his lips, like he can’t concentrate on two things at once, he eases his finger into my clenching center. His magic finger pumps me slowly, wringing my body for every drop seeping from me. I am floating on cloud nine, and I can’t wait to come back here again. My eyes roll into the back of my head, “oh god, oh god, please don’t stop,” I whisper. His heavy breathing against my lips brings me back from my lust filled haze. He mumbles one curse word and then another, slides his hand from between my legs and brings them to his mouth to suck my juices from those thick magical fingers. He stands up quickly, grabs the tray, and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. Holy shit! What is wrong with him? Better yet, what is wrong with me?

I am broken in more ways than one, and I have just had the most explosive orgasm of my entire life, from a complete stranger. The worst part is, I can’t wait to do it again, but next time, have him sink his massive bulge into my aching center.

I roll off of the side of the bed barely managing to stand on shaky legs. I need the bathroom and the privacy; I feel way too exposed and vulnerable. His bathroom is a luxury I didn’t expect. There is a huge shower that could fit six people in one corner while a Jacuzzi tub fills another. The shower has an embedded river rock design in a wave pattern about eye level with clear green, glass block tiles from floor to ceiling. The floor is covered in slightly grooved long gray tile that is warm to the touch, and the counters are black granite with flecks of silver. There’s a sunken bed of loose river rock that follows the walls, giving the room an outdoor spa like feel. This bathroom is so peaceful; I could live in here. After washing my hands, I walk out into a quiet, empty room feeling deserted. Curling up on the bed with rumpled sheets as I remember what just happened here, brings a smile to my lips. Exhaustion wins over euphoria, so I lay down to take a nap only to find myself dreaming of Derek, no longer my serial killer but soon to be lover.


“Shit! A virgin!” Stomping my way to the kitchen, I toss the tray into the sink, splashing the leftover soup up the back splash and window. Dammit, what the hell just happened? How can this virgin woman be so responsive and submissive? I pace to the fridge to grab a beer, then back to the sink to look at the mess I’ve made. Shit! I walk back to the fridge and toss the beer inside. I need all my wits about me if I’m going to survive the night without taking advantage of this innocent woman. Again, I need to have my head examined. This young woman has been through some trauma that not even she remembers, and I can’t get my head out from between her legs. “Great, another vision I won’t be able to erase.”

Stomping to the front door and forcing my legs to move me further from this temptation, I slam the door behind me and make the call I’ve been trying to avoid. First, I’m afraid he will knock some sense into me, and I’m not so sure I want to come to my senses. Second, we have a history with women; will he ask to share this one when I’m positive I won’t be willing? Three rings turn into voicemail, “Hey, Jax, I know it’s been a while, but I need a favor, call me when you get a minute.” Sitting down on the bench, head in hands, I contemplate how I’m going to keep my hands to myself. The problem is, she is a once in a lifetime woman, and I should know because I’ve never found one like her in my lifetime.

My balls are about to burst from the need to take her and make her mine. I want to sink in deep where no other has been before and mark her with my scent so all others will know who she belongs to. I don’t care who she is or where she’s from, all I care about is where she’s going and that’s nowhere without me.

I stomp around my property checking security, gathering wood, and desperately trying to keep my mind busy. I don’t know how long I’ve been out here avoiding my future, but the sky is streaked with pinks and blues by the time I march inside. I finally realize that whatever is happening between us inevitable. I need to quit wasting time and take action, but when I burst through my door the sight before me stops me dead in my tracks and robs me of speech. Standing by my kitchen sink, she is slightly bent over searching for something underneath−Wearing only my shirt, which normally would hit her upper thighs, giving me a view of all that is mine.

Chapter Five


*coming into existence or awareness. *the beginning or rousing of something. *an act or moment of becoming suddenly aware of something. *make someone aware of something for the first time.


I sleep like the dead until blue eyes flash in my mind, and my body becomes unbearably warm. Strong fingers bring me so much pleasure I think I’ll die without it. Opening my eyes to find myself still alone, I decide to take advantage of a cold shower. Unfortunately the sensation I feel from the rasp of the washcloth across my erect nipples and swollen nether region does nothing to cool me off.

I dress again in another of his shirts, this one a button down, baby blue, dress shirt I found hanging in the closet. None of his bottoms will fit without falling off, so I go without them, hoping that the shirt that barely covers my ass will suffice. It’s not like Derek hasn’t seen or touched all of me in the time that I’ve been here.

I flush at the memory of how intimately he has touched me and decide I should find something to keep me busy before I spontaneously combust. Slowly opening the bedroom door, I call out, “Derek,” no answer, so I move slowly to the top of the stairs.

Realizing that this is the first time I have been out of his room, my eyes wander to take in the homey, masculine, cabin in the woods. The staircase curves slightly, descending into a massive great room, and the entire back wall is nothing but floor to ceiling windows. Through the windows, I have a view of a sprawling lawn that disappears into a forest that seems to surround the property. As far as my eyes can see, there are no other rooftops or signs of human life. To the left of the wall of windows is a chef’s dream kitchen. In the living room there is a dark brown leather sofa that faces a fireplace, and above the mantle hangs a flat screen T.V. To the right of the windows is a massive bookcase filled with books and collectibles that look ancient, probably antiques. There is a small table surrounded by two worn leather club chairs in front of the bookcase; broken in just enough that it would seem like a luxury to sit there with a good book and fuzzy throw. Next to the bookcase is a wide, short hallway that appears to lead to a bathroom and another door that probably leads to a bedroom. The dark hardwood floors give the house a warm and cozy feel. It would be amazing to snuggle on the couch being warmed by the fire and watch the snowfall outside

Moving down the stairs to get a better look at the kitchen, I notice a lingering soreness to my thighs and remember the cuts and scrapes all over my body. Though healing nicely, thanks to Derek, some of the muscles ache as if deep bruising has occurred.

A vision flashes through my mind of a cane slicing through the air to connect with the top and back of my thighs over and over again.

“We have to see how much you can take; you’re gonna need some pain tolerance where you’re going.”

Thinking of that malevolent voice sends chills down my spine. So familiar but I still can’t place it. I shake my head to clear it of the horrific images and move into the kitchen.

A stainless steel induction cooktop sits in the center of a large island. Resting above is a mid-century looking rack that dangles pots and pans. Imagining the view of a shirtless Derek working over the hot stove has me getting hot and bothered. I need to focus on something else, so looking around again, I see a large farmhouse sink centered in a granite counter positioned on the back wall just below a window that also looks out into the forest. There are remnants of soup splashed along the wall and up onto the window. Probably thrown in his haste to get away from me.

Bending over to open the cupboard below, I Look for a washcloth to clean up the mess. I hear the door open, and a draft of cool air rushes up between my exposed legs to the heated center of me. Mortified at what I am exposing, I spin around quickly to protect myself from what lurks behind me and lock eyes with a predator. My head spins, and I can feel myself losing balance when strong, calloused hands wrap around my waist to steady me. As my vision clears, it’s definitely a predator I see, but not one I will run from. Heat crawls up my neck to burn my cheeks, matching the scorching feeling between my legs. I cast my eyes down as to not let him see my embarrassment. Instead of lifting my chin to get my attention he lifts me by the waist.

“ Wrap your legs around me. Please, tell me you want this?”

His lips press fully to mine as he devours my mouth. When I gasp, his tongue works its way between my teeth, and I wrap my lips around it and suck gently. He moans into the kiss, and his hand’s snake around to grip my ass. As he pulls my cheeks apart and pulls me into him, my core sinks closer to his body. I have no control in the pulsing of my clit as it rubs on his abs. It feels like it has a heartbeat of its own pounding wildly out of control. I’m squirming and moaning, and as much as I can move my hips in this position, I am rotating little circles against him. Holy shit! I’m going to cum just like this. The heat of his body, even through his clothes, is ramping me up to fever pitch. “Please,” I whimper, and faster than I can comprehend he is striding to the staircase.

“There is no going back, Baby; after this you are mine.”

His statement sends a chill down my spine and only increases my desire to have this man buried deep inside me.

The climb to the top of the stairs is sublime torture. Every step bounces me a little on his body in time with the pulsing in my clit. I would be horrified if he could feel it against his skin, but I fear that this is exactly what has him speeding faster to the bedroom. As he lays me on the bed, his eyes zero in on my core and he groans. I am wet and to my embarrassment, I have left a wet spot on his shirt where my body was fused to his so tightly.

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