I’m careful to make sure no one follows us. In the desert, the land is flat and the roads are straight. We make it to our destination quickly, and she sleeps next to me.

She’s strong. She had to be strong, not just for herself, but for her old man. It’s a damn fucking shame that she had to be brought into this.

And the most fucked up part is that I want her. I can’t help myself. She drives me fucking insane, and I want to give up everything just to taste her again. Go against my family and keep her out here in my home, in my bed, and in my life. I’d bring her to visit her dad every single day, and I’d feed her and keep her safe and lull her to sleep in my arms, keep her full and begging for my cock, keep her on her knees like the good girl she is and make her beg for it like the dirty girl she wants to be.

And it will be for me, and only me. She’ll never have another man’s name on her lips again. When she cries out, cumming, asking for more, asking nice and sweet and panting and sucking, it’ll be my cock between her pretty cherry red lips, my cock between her legs and making her happy.

But I have to let her go, for her sake. I have to let her go, and I have to make sure she never enters my town again. After she leaves my secret home, I’ll have to make sure she never comes back ever again.

We enter my driveway slowly, and I check my rearview mirror one last time. I don’t want to be looking behind my shoulder for the rest of my life, but when I entered this business it’s what I asked for.

She wakes up slowly, blinking and wiping away the sleep from her eyes. She still needs more rest, though. She still needs to shut her eyes and let sweet sleep take her away.

“This is nice,” she says, resting her head against her window and peering up to see my home. It’s a one-level ranch style home, in the mid century modern style with a sloping roof, terra-cotta trim and white fresh walls, and all the lushness and greenery I’ve been able to achieve out here.

I don’t have a lot of things here. I have stockpiled cans of nonperishable foods, rice, other grains, cans of soup and stew, things like that. I don’t have a lot of clothing here, either. I don’t want this place to look lived-in, should anyone come upon it. I want to be able to vanish if needed, and I seldom come out here, anyway.

“You’re not to leave the house,” I say, punching in my security code as we enter the vestibule. I drop our duffels bags on the floor and she walks past me, looking up at the skylight letting in the fresh, bright moonlight. It illuminates her perfectly, framing her face and making her glow. She’s otherworldly, celestial. I want to pin her inside a glass-framed shadow box like the gorgeous butterfly she is, keeping her safe and frozen.

But I can’t keep her. I have to let her go.

My cock twitches as she walks away from me. She’s walking away, but she’s going deeper into my home. Her heels click on the light bamboo floorboards as she makes her way toward the kitchen. I pick up our bags, following her.

The kitchen is white on white, and glows in the light from the moon coming in through the glass walls on the East side of the home. Beyond the wall is my small, glass-enclosed pool area. Another time and under other circumstances, I would have told her to strip down to her bra and panties and told her to go outside, dip her toe into the perfect water, and slide her body down into the pool. I would have gone in after her and held her close, making her feel good, sliding my fingers against her. It would have hurt when I kissed her, because I would have made it rough. I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself from taking her.

Another time, maybe. But not right now. Not tonight.

“Sit.” I gesture to the row of chairs set up at the counter, and she slips easily into one of the high stools. “I don’t have much here, but you should eat.”

I open up a few cabinets and find a few cans of soup, selecting a can of tomato with rice. This was my favorite when I was a boy, but mom make it homemade, but this is the best I can do for Cherry right now.

I glance over my shoulder at her as I pop open the can and pour it into a pot I grab from one of the bottom cabinets. Her teeth are gnawing at the corner of her lip, and she pushes her wavy red hair away from her face. She needs to eat, and she needs to rest, but she doesn’t look like shit. A little bit tired and worn out, but she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve never seen.

“Thank you,” she says in a small voice, licking her lips. She scoots up on her chair and looks past me at the soup getting hot on the stove. “I haven’t eaten in days.”

In my head I work out how long she’s been with me, how long I haven’t let her out of my sight. The poor thing, she probably was so fucking nervous and on edge preparing to meet me that she didn’t eat before that. I curse myself silently and steady my teeth, biting down hard, clenching my jaw.

“Go into the bedroom.” I turn and take a long wooden spoon from a drawer, closing it with my hip. The soup is starting to bubble around the edges of the pot, and I stir slowly, the way my mother used to. She stirred her soup so slowly, coaxing the flavors out of it. The potatoes, rosemary, the freshly cooked chicken and the carrots that she always cut up into misshapen pieces. She called it rustic, because she didn’t want to make it perfect. But it was perfect. It always was.

I hear Cherry behind me, sliding out of her seat, padding over to me. She comes up behind me wraps her arms around my waist. I feel her tits pressed up against my back. I want to turn around, push her up against a counter and roll her little nipples around in my fingers, make her flesh pebble and flush against my hands.

“Go to the bedroom,” I repeat. She takes her hands off of me slowly. She doesn’t want to let me go, either.

My thoughts flash back to that hospital room where her old man is laid up. If he pulls through this thing, will he forgive me for fucking his daughter? Or will he thank me for saving her?

She pads away from me. She must have taken her shoes off, and I didn’t even notice. That means she feels comfortable around me, comfortable in my home. Fuck, that’s all I want, isn’t it? For her to feel at home in my home, to feel safe in my bed, to feel good with my cock filling her up. I want to cook for her, fuck, I’d even clean for her. Treat her like the princess she is. I’d spend all my money and time looking for the perfect way to make her happy.

I feel her pause as I continue stirring her soup, but I don’t look over. I feel her looking at me, but I say nothing. I let her keep walking.