Christ, the way she’s looking up at me. Wild and confused, panting and blushing.

She’d been staring at my cock, watching it grow hard for her with parted lips, her innocence mixed with wanton lust. I want to give it to her, make her suck it and take it all the way down her throat. I’d cum in her hard, then make her lick it clean and start all over again.

But now she has terror in her eyes. That stops me cold. There’s legitimate fear in her along with desire. I’m a dominant man and I want to take this woman rough, but I won’t do it until she’s all quivering need.

She’s halfway there. I can scent her feminine musk, rich and intoxicating, as she’s wriggling beneath me tied up on the bed. Her skirt is so far up her panties are almost showing. What would I see if I did what I wanted, shimmying her skirt up just a little more? It would only take a few more inches. Then I’d make her part her legs. She’s confused and frightened, but I can still sense her responding to me, even if she doesn’t want to.

What would I see if I make her show me? Would there be a wet spot on her panties? That would snap my control. I’d drive my tongue along her wetness. I’d rip off her panties and make her lick her own juices off them, force her to taste how much she wants me.

“Please don't hurt me,” she whimpers, starting to cry.

Damn it. I roll away from her. She's been drugged and abducted, and here I am fantasizing about doing a hell of a lot more.

Swearing, I get off the bed, adjusting my massive hard-on. I swear my cock just about burst out of my jeans with her looking at it like she did, so hungry and amazed. My zipper practically undid itself.

But now’s not the time. She must feel like hell, with a vicious headache coming off the drugs. And I haven't even offered her water.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” I snarl, pissed off at myself more than her. I'd nearly lost control. I’m a 29-year-old man who's seen heavy combat. I’ve been trained to use my body as a finely-honed weapon. Yet around her, I'd almost acted like a teenager, rutting like I’m in heat. For all I know, she’s a teenager. I'm nothing more than a dirty old man.

I head to the kitchen, and by that I mean walk eight steps to the sink and stove. I found this cabin three months ago, up near the Canadian border in the northern Wisconsin wilderness. It normally took longer to get there from Chicago, but I'd done the drive in five. A drugged woman tied up in my backseat plus mobsters possibly on my tail had motivated me to make good time.

The cabin had been used as a hunting lodge, nothing much more than four walls surrounding one room and a bathroom, plus a big shed out back for a workbench and tools. I’d bought it for next to nothing, then fixed a few things, replacing the wood-burning stove with an updated model to get me through the winter.

I hadn't expected any company. Now it looks like beauty and I will be sharing close quarters. One bed, one bath. I’ve dragged her into my lair.

She moves behind me. I hear her feet make contact with the floor. “Don't do it,” I warn her without even turning around, sensing her intent to flee.

She sighs. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

Right, she hasn't done that for hours either. I’d promised myself I’d take good care of her. I need to start doing a better job.

“It's right there.” I nod to the only other door in the cabin. She's already been in and out of the front door. Twice.

She walks over to it, but pauses at the threshold. In a shy, quiet voice, she asks, “Can you untie my wrists?”

The sight of her standing there barefoot, her hair down around her in a messy cascade, her clothes rumpled, damn if she doesn't look like she's just been fucked. My cock hasn't fully gone down, and seeing her like that, it rises to attention yet again. I wonder if I'll ever get a moment's rest while she's here in the cabin with me.

How long will I keep her?

Forever, the beast within me growls. That's crazy, of course. I’ll let her go, once I know she'll be safe. Probably.

I walk over and untie her wrists. My hands brush against her lower back and she shivers at my touch, so responsive. My blood pounds in my veins.

“Don't try anything crazy,” I warn her. “You try to attack me with a shaving razor and I'll have you over my knee so quick your head will spin.”

Her eyes widen as she looks up at me. Mine darken, picturing her ass ripe and ready for me, positioned over my lap for a good, hard spanking.

She ducks into the bathroom. I fill her a water glass and pull out a sleeve of crackers. The pantry isn't fully stocked like I'd wanted before I moved out here, but it isn't bare. I've been lining it with canned goods and staples like oatmeal and rice, onions and carrots. We'll be fine for a week or two, enough time to let this blow over. Enough time to fuck her hard against every surface in the cabin.

She comes out of the bathroom and I head over, making her turn around. I can fit both of her wrists in one of my palms. That will be useful for holding them above her head and pinning them against the wall. For now, though, I tie them together again behind her back.

“Do you have to?” she asks, plaintive.

“Last time I untied you you promised you wouldn't run. And then you ran.”

She looks down at the floor. I bring my finger under her chin and tilt her head up to look me in the eyes. “Are you thirsty?”

She nods, licking her lips. The sight of that little pink tongue makes my pulse race. “Sit down.” I point to the bed, gruff. Compliant, she sits and waits for me.

I bring a water glass to her mouth. Looking up at me with big eyes, she opens and sips. “That's good,” I encourage her.

The white button-down shirt she’s wearing is a little too tight on her. With her wrists crossed and fastened behind her back, she looks like the ultimate fantasy of a naughty secretary. The swell of her breasts makes the buttons strain at the seams.

I bet her nipples are sensitive. I could play with her like that, take one in my hot mouth, make it pebble for me even if she didn’t want it to. Even if she thought it was wrong. I’d turn her body traitor on her.

She looks up at me, wary. Maybe she can read my thoughts. “Drink all of it. It'll help you feel better.” She drinks it down like I tell her, tilting back her pale throat.

She has an abrasion where those thugs stuck a needle in her. Motherfuckers. Blood pounds through my veins as anger surges through me.

“Stay right there.” I head to the bathroom, wet the corner of a towel, swipe it across a bar of soap and grab a Band-Aid.

“Tilt back,” I order, by her side. “I need to see your neck where they jabbed you.” Slowly, she tilts her head back and to the side, giving me access to her throat. She looks so vulnerable, submissive. Gently, I wash her throat, taking my time with the towel. Then I carefully dry her skin and place a Band-Aid over her sore spot. Smoothing my fingers along her throat, she feels delicate, her skin like spun silk. I'll see to it that no one ever hurts her again.

When I look into her eyes, I see she's growing sleepy. I lulled her with my care. It makes my chest swell with pride, the way she's already starting to trust me, even if she doesn't want to. Even if she shouldn't.

“You need to sleep, Olivia.” I like the way her name rolls off my tongue. I like the name, too. I guess most people call her Liv. I call her Olivia. “We both need to sleep.”

Her eyes bolt wide open. “No, I'm fine.” She tenses right up. There’s only one bed and she's frightened of sharing it with me. Smart girl.

“I've been awake all night,” I explain to her, patient but firm. “You've been drugged and rest will help you recover.”

“I can sleep on the floor.” She’s stubborn. Soon she’ll learn that’s not going to fly with me.

“You think I’ll let you sleep on the cold, hard wooden floor?”

“I'll be fine.”

“No, you will not.”

I make a quick fire in the wood stove. That’ll heat up the cabin, but not enough to make her truly comfortable. It’s November in the Wisconsin woods. She needs to get herself in bed, under a wool blanket, preferably the same one I’m under. My body’s a radiator. Maybe it’s worth taking off the blanket to see if she'll press up against me in her sleep.

She glances at the bed, looking at it longingly like a kid pressing her nose against the glass of the candy shop. She's exhausted. No wonder, the night she's had.

I wash up and brush my teeth, all while keeping an eye on her. She’s standing like a statue by the side of the bed.

So I make up her mind for her. I grab a pair of handcuffs out of a drawer. Her eyes get big again when she sees them.

“Yeah, they give me all kinds of ideas, too.” I circle them around my finger and she watches them move.

“I didn't mean…” She swallows and blushes. Making her skin pink up might become one of my favorite pastimes.

“Tonight I'll just use them to keep you safe.” I pull her onto the bed, lying behind her, both of us on our sides. I untie her and slip her out of her little jacket so she’ll be more comfortable. She’s too tired to fight me, or maybe she’s realized there’s no point. Then I click one cuff over her wrist, the other through a belt loop on my hip. Lying side by side, me behind her, she can stay comfortable, but she can’t move even an inch off the bed.

Patting the cuffs, I remind her, “I’ll feel it if you try to leave.” I’ll also have to sleep with my jeans on. That’s probably a good idea, considering how tempted I’ve been to take them off and free the beast.

“This is crazy,” she murmurs, but I can hear it in her voice. She’s already halfway asleep. I listen to her breathing slow down, soon becoming deep and rhythmic.

My gaze roams her generous curves. She’s so beautiful. Does she know it? She’s built for a man my size. She’s much smaller than me, but not too small, around 5’7” if I had to guess. She’s rounded and full, enough to her that I could sink my teeth in, grab hold and plow into her deep.

Fuck, here I am again, hard as a rock. This girl’s my kryptonite. I lie there, unable to get to sleep for over an hour. What is it about her?

My inner caveman growls to take her and make her mine. But I also want to protect her and keep her safe. I burn with fury, thinking of the assholes who tried to hurt her. The father who didn’t look out for her, leaving her vulnerable to his bad decisions. The goons who almost stole her right out from under my nose. She calls to something in me that I thought I’d lost.

She needs someone to watch over her. I’d played that role many years of my life. I’d practically raised my little sister, Carrie, after our mom died of cancer and our dad withdrew into a deep depression. Carrie was why I’d come to Chicago after my final deployment. She’d moved there while I was overseas. She’s 26 now, but I still had to check in on her first thing after I got back. She’s still my responsibility.

Except she’s not any more. Carrie’s doing fine, shacked up with a nice guy named Rick. The kind who’ll make her a happy home.

The kind of man I’ll never be. I’m technically a civilian, but I still face every day like I’m in a hot zone, sitting watch, blending into the shadows, waiting for when I’ll need to strike with sudden and lethal force. I’ve been out six months, but as a fellow ex-SEAL told me, you’re never really out. The killer instinct will run through my veins for good.

But I also know discipline and restraint. Even as Olivia’s curves call out to me, everything in my blood urging me to mate, I force myself to wait. I know how to hold back, waiting until she melts into me. Then I’ll take her with all the pent-up force deep in my soul.