Is he a good guy? Is he bad? He hasn’t hurt me—until he spanked me. But what the hell did that do to me? I freaking loved it, coming close to orgasm on his lap under his hand.

Two days have passed and he hasn’t touched me. He’s barely looked at me. He spends all day outside, but not far. The couple of times I’ve ventured out, I’ve seen or heard him at work.

I’ve always had a strong work ethic, clocking 25 hours a week babysitting and waiting tables even while I was still in high school, showing up early and leaving late for shifts, but Knox makes me look like a wimp. He’s a machine. He's a pioneer man, foraging and hunting. The man has survival skills.

And I think he's avoiding me.

I don’t understand what happened between us two mornings ago. So I try not to think about it. Even if I’m thinking about it all the time.

I don't have enough to do all day, that's part of the problem. No TV, no Internet, barely any books, I'm going stir-crazy. I've thought about asking him if he needs help with whatever he's doing, but I haven't. It's not as if we’re on a vacation together.

But I also haven’t tried to run. Not just because he told me not to. That wouldn’t be enough to stop me if I really wanted to escape. It’s because I believe him when he tells me there’s danger out there. And I’m starting to believe that he’ll keep me safe.

It doesn’t make sense. Two mornings ago he spanked me. I should think of him as an abuser, a violent man who has done me bodily harm.

But that’s not how I’m thinking of him.

The old-fashioned clock on a shelf tells me it's two in the afternoon, as warm as it's going to get today. I decide to head outside. Thankfully, my feet aren’t that injured from my escape attempt, mostly scratches that feel fine with Band-Aids. Too bad I have the most stupid shoes ever created, wee slips of ballet slippers. The second it snows I won't even be able to walk around out of the cabin. It's one of many “what happens next?” questions I have swirling around in my mind.

In back, Knox is chopping wood. He's not even wearing a shirt. The man is a wall of muscle and sweat, a dusting of chest hair tapering down into a V at his jeans. He splits a giant log in two, then pauses, panting, to look over at me. His dark blue eyes hold mine with a predatory gleam. But then he turns away, shakes his head, and gets back to work.

I want to stay out and watch the rivulets of sweat travel down his abs, his coiled, hard muscles flexing in the sunshine. So I go back inside. He doesn't follow.

For the past couple days, he’s barely acknowledged me. When I’ve cooked, he’s accepted what I’ve prepared with a grunt and a nod. He eats in silence. Then he washes up, falls asleep far on his side of the bed, and rises before the sun.

That should be what I want.

Standing inside, I’m right next to the chair he was sitting in when he took me over his lap. I run my hand over the wooden back. My skin tingles as I recall the rough feel of his hand. His biceps bulged, veins running down his corded forearm. The feel of him pushing me down, holding me there, owning and disciplining me.

I shake my head and get myself a glass of water. Maybe I'm going crazy.

When the door of the cabin opens, I jump, spilling water down my front.

Knox stands in the doorway, glaring at me as if he's angry at my presence. He's put on his shirt. I should feel more relieved than disappointed.

“I came in to feed the fire,” he growls, striding over to the wood-burning stove. I watch him add a log and stoke the wood, making the blaze burn bright again. Back in the kitchen, his gaze lowers to my chest. I look down and realize the spilled water has made my white blouse transparent. Pulling the fabric away from my skin, I feel naked.

The muscles in his broad back flex and stretch as he reaches up and gets a water glass.

“So.” I lick my lips and swallow nervously, stepping to the side to give him room. “What’s the plan?” He looks at me like he doesn’t know what I’m asking. “Say you’re telling the truth,” I continue. “There’s bad guys after me and you’re keeping me safe. What’s the plan?”

“We lay low.”

“Are you saying I can’t go back to Chicago?” He can’t mean ever.

“Not now. Not unless your dad pays up.”

I shake my head. There’s about a snowball’s chance in hell my dad will part with money I’m sure he sees as hard-earned. He’s many things, but an engaged, loving father is not one of them.

“Worthless piece of…” Knox mutters to himself as he fills his water glass. “For him to put you in harm’s way like this.” He slams the cabinet shut.

He’s talking about my father. What a strange feeling, to have someone angry on my behalf. I’m glued to the spot where I’m standing, dumbstruck.

“You need to call your mother.” He swallows his water in two gulps. “I’ll get you a burner when I head out for supplies.”

“A burner?”

“Prepaid, disposable.” He grabs a baseball cap and slides it on his head. Worn and tattered, it makes him look even more handsome. He heads for the door, but the amount of questions I have propel me forward, stopping him.

“How long do you plan on staying here? Do you live here? Do you have a job, other than work for the mob?”

He pauses at the door, though I can tell he doesn’t want to answer any of my questions. “I’m not working for Rudy anymore.”

“Because of me?”

Lifting his cap, he scratches his head as if considering how much to tell me. “I only ever planned on working for him for a couple months. I was saving up to move out here. But, yeah, you could say I quit my job over you.” Is that the slightest hint of a smile on his lips? That’s the deadliest weapon he possesses. My heart melts even as I try to surround it with ice packs.

“So you only worked for him for a few months? What did you do?”

“Lookout. I’m a trained sniper.”

“What?” A sniper? Like in American Sniper? Or Shooter? All my military knowledge is from movies. The images are swirling in my mind right now as I picture him in fatigues, or better yet, dog tags on his bare, muscular chest.

He exhales, cap back on his head, looking down as if all this talking is wearing him out. I can tell he keeps to himself. It’s not in his nature to tell me everything. But here I am. He’s brought me into his world, and I need to know more about it.

“I was a Navy SEAL.”

Wow. I’m not exactly an expert on military divisions, but everyone’s heard of the SEALs. They’re black ops, the bravest and most badass. And deadliest. “For how long?”

“Seven years.”

“Did you like it?”

The way he looks at me, instantly I know it’s a stupid question. “I mean, not like you like a good movie. Was it what you thought it would be when you signed up?”

That must be a better question because he answers. “No.”

“Why did you leave? Did you have to?”

“Are you asking me if I was dishonorably discharged?” He stiffens.

“No. I don’t even know what that means.”

He exhales again, loosening. Slightly. The man never seems to relax. “I chose not to return. Honorable discharge.”

“You didn’t want to go back?” He shakes his head. “You decided you’d rather work for the mob?”

He leans his neck to one side, then the other, shrugging his shoulders in a circle, working out the kinks. Striding powerfully out of the cabin, he tosses behind him, “I've got work to do.”

The door shuts. His answers have only inspired more questions, more I want from him. Violent mobster or elite military hero? Kidnapper or protector? Who the hell is this man?

My nerves are shot. The clothes I've been wearing for four days straight are filthy and now my shirt is wet, too. I need to get clean.

I rummage around in the chest of drawers where he has his clothes and find another T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. They're way too big, but I need something so I can strip down and wash, myself and my clothes.

In the bathroom, I take everything off and head into the shower. Warm steam rises around me. I don't know a thing about this cabin’s plumbing and heat sources, but my guess is we don't have an unlimited tank, so I try not to make it a long one, even though it feels so good.

The water sluices down my naked body. Sliding a bar of soap between my legs, my fingers twitch. Being around Knox has me so worked up. We’re sharing a bed so I haven’t been able to touch myself at all. In the shower, there’s no way he would know if I did. I could try to do what he did to me two mornings ago, waking me up with his fingers, making me cum harder than I ever have before.

But I move the soap to my legs and arms. It feels too wrong. It's shameful to want my abductor.

Climbing out, I towel dry and comb my hair as best I can. If I thought his shirt was too big on me, his sweatpants are hilarious. I double, then triple fold the elastic waistband to try to keep them up over my hips. It barely works. All I can hope is that my clothes dry quick. I should have done wash in the morning, I realize. Then I could have left my clothes out to dry in the sunshine all the day. But now that I’m out of my old clothes, there’s no way I’m putting them back on until they’re clean. I’ll just have to wear his until tomorrow night.

The kitchen sink is larger than the one in the bathroom, so I take everything over, scrub them with soap and then let them soak.

I rest my hand on the cabinet, right where he slammed it in frustration over my father’s failings. Indignation on my behalf. That felt good.

The problem with wearing his clothes is they smell like him. It's like when we’re in bed and I can smell his masculine scent even as he stays far over on the other side of the mattress. The cotton of his shirt is old and soft. Free of my bra, my nipples tighten against the fabric.

I’ve been in a state of heightened arousal ever since the spanking. The sweatpants slip a bit down my hips and I tug them up again. Will Knox be angry at me when he comes in and sees me dressed in his clothes? What if he is angry? Will he spank me again?

I have to close my eyes as a naughty tremble runs through me. I can feel him grab me and take me over his knee again, teaching me some manners, making me say please. This time he’d pull down my panties and give me a full, hard spank right on my bare ass. I’d twist and wriggle, but he’d be stern and firm with his discipline. I couldn’t get away. I’d be pinned under his hands, one at my upper back, holding me down as the other rained blows on my burning ass.

Trapped in the cabin, just the two of us, I know whatever we do no one will ever know. It’s our own private world. We can explore any forbidden fantasies we want. He could make me cum again, this time with his mouth. He could make me kneel and open for his cock. I’ve never done either with any man. But I can picture Knox making me give him everything, spreading my legs and claiming my virginity, making me his.

I can’t take it anymore. I’m desperate for release.

I’ll do it quick. It’s like taking care of an itch. The more you don’t scratch it, the worse it gets. The state I’m in, it’ll only take 60 seconds. Then I’ll be calmer, more composed around him, maybe even sleep through the night.

I sneak a furtive peek out the window above the kitchen sink. I can't see Knox anywhere. The past few days he hasn't come back to the cabin until the last drop of sunlight falls behind the horizon. He's just had a glass of water. I'm sure he won't be back for hours. The coast is clear.

Biting my bottom lip, I steal a guilty hand down my sweatpants. The second my fingertips touch my pussy, I’m lost to how good it feels. I can't believe how slick and dripping I am. I’ve never felt myself so wet. Just the thought of Knox has me gushing. Already feeling my knees a little weak, I rest my hand on the countertop for support. I need to make myself cum. And when I do, I’m going to cum so hard.

I mimic the way he touched me, working my fingers and teasing my clit. I want him to finger me again. I want him to taste me. I might fight him and tell him he shouldn’t, but once he holds me down and feasts on me I’ll melt under his tongue.

My fingers pick up speed, working faster, taking slick arousal and using it along my clit, so swollen and sensitive. This won't take long. I'll give myself an orgasm, and then it'll be easier to ignore him tonight. No sneaking peeks at his arms and chest. No wondering if I could slide into his arms in the dark without waking him up.

Just like Knox did, I take a finger and start to slowly fuck myself with it. It feels so good I arch back, moaning, losing myself to the sensation. What if it were Knox using his finger? My nipples tingle, heavy and tight with need as I imagine it’s his hand cupping me, fucking me. Maybe he’d pin my arms behind my back, making me let him do it. Maybe he’d force me to tell him how much I need this. How desperate I am for him to make me cum.

“What the hell are you doing?” Gruff words break the spell.

I gasp, opening my eyes, caught with my hand literally down my pants. Knox is standing at the door.