Moonlight streams in through a window illuminating our cabin. I shift slightly as I fully open my eyes, trying to get my bearings.

A foot away, Knox is lying next to me on the bed, asleep. The sheet’s twisted down by his waist, leaving his broad shoulders, massive chest and tapered waist on glorious display.

I look away and turn my back. This man does something to me, something that isn’t right. Last night I’d almost begged for his kiss. He’d pounced on me like a starving man and I’d wanted nothing more than his lips, his tongue, his hands. The way he’d trapped me with my wrists pinned under his huge, rough palm, I should have felt terrified. Instead, my clit had throbbed and I’d grown juicy wet.

I’d known I was asking for trouble the second I’d taken off my bra in the bathroom. My breasts have always embarrassed me, too big, too much to hide. I have D-cups, spilling out of my bras, unable to be tamed.

The bra I’d worn to work the other night didn’t even fit that well. I’d grown out of it. It was a little cotton thing, not enough for breasts like mine. I’d been wearing it for 30 hours. I didn’t want to sleep in it again. I kept my panties on, but I removed my bra.

His T-shirt was soft as I’d slid it over my nearly-naked body. It smelled of him. It felt like being surrounded, owned by him. Way too big, it scooped over my collarbone and hit mid-thigh. It draped down my body, caressing my curves. I knew wearing it braless would expose myself to him, but a small part of me liked that. It should have felt wrong to make myself more vulnerable. Instead it felt right.

Walking out to him, surrounded by his scent, naked save the shirt and panties, my defenses were down.

When he’d first seen me, his eyes had darkened with a predatory gleam. I could tell he liked seeing me in his shirt, as if it marked me as his own. Under his gaze, I’d pressed my thighs together, embarrassed yet unable to stop the heat. He couldn’t see that, though.

But he could see my breasts. There was no hiding my reaction to him there. My nipples had tightened, so sensitive, almost as if they called to him and craved his touch. I couldn’t hide as I stood there, and the way he looked at me only made it worse.

He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole. And I wanted him to do exactly that.

That’s what frightened me. I’d never felt so reckless. I’d never had crazy crushes on boys, never even sought attention. Now I couldn’t stop myself. I had to rely on Knox to stop.

So I’d begged him to not hurt me.

It worked.

The second he did as I asked, removing his touch, holding himself stiff and away from me, my body had filled with loss and longing. I missed him with an irrational pain. It was ridiculous. I should have felt relieved.

Instead, here I am, restless, struggling and confused. I should be frightened of him. He’d told me he’d been in the military, but he also worked for the mob. He’d probably killed so many people he couldn’t even keep count. I shouldn’t want anything at all from him. He was a criminal, a kidnapper, and I needed to stay away from him. I should be glad he’d listened to me, glad he was staying away.

A low, masculine groan disrupts my thoughts. I sit up, heart racing. In the moonlight, I see Knox is still asleep, but he tosses his head to the side, breathing hard.

I lean a fraction of an inch closer. Is he injured? In pain?

He groans again, pushing something invisible with his hand, twisting against the mattress. He’s having an nightmare.

His bare chest glistens with sweat. His rib cage moves with rapid breathing, his hands balled into fists. He groans again, struggling.

The pale outlines of scars mark his torso, up at his shoulder, down by his hip, along his side. In the ghostly moonlight, they almost look silver. How did he get them? Doing something criminal and bad? Or heroic and good?

He grunts, muscles tense, tossing his head. Is he reliving something he saw in the military? In the field? It may have happened a while ago, but for Knox it’s happening again right now.

I hardly know anything about this man, and I don’t completely trust him, but I can’t just let him suffer. “Shh,” I whisper. “It’s all right.”

When he hears my voice, he acts fast like he needs to save me. He rears up and covers my body with his as if to shield me from an explosion. Wrapping his body around me, unseeing, still asleep, he traps me under his heat and muscle.

“I’m OK, Knox,” I try. He doesn’t move, using his body like a shell to protect me, plastering me to him. “It’s OK.”

His breathing begins to deepen. He keeps his arms wrapped around me, but he shifts his weight to the side, dropping his head to the pillow. The tension slowly leaves his body. His chest pressed to my back, I can feel his skin, still hot and feverish, but his heartbeat slows, steady and even.

Wrapped in his arms, my last thought is I’ll never fall asleep like this.

I wake up the next morning still enfolded in his embrace. We’re lying side by side, his large, hard body molded to mine. My head is on his bicep.

I’ve never felt so safe in my life.

I know I’m not. There’s danger outside and in, but my brain isn’t in charge right now. My body is, and every inch of it feels more protected than ever before. Wrapped in his warm embrace, I feel like I’m exactly where I belong.

I keep my breathing slow and even, savoring this stolen moment. The second we’re both awake, I’ll have to get my guard back up again. I’ll have to fight my response to him, his advances on me. But it can’t hurt to steal a few more minutes of this.

There must be some sort of endorphin released in his embrace, a chemical running through my body making me feel so deliciously good. He’s got me. I don’t have to worry about a thing.

His body looks like a machine. He’s probably used it to harm and hurt, inflicting pain without mercy. But he isn’t doing that now. He’s holding me, possessive and protective.

I close my eyes and breathe him in. He smells woodsy and musky and the heat from his body radiates into mine. His hand rests on my bare upper thigh, possessive and heavy.

I want to squirm, but I make myself stay still. My nipples pebble out hard with need and I thank God my back’s to him so he can’t see. Wet heat soaks through my panties. His hand is close, but as long as it stays safely on my leg he can’t feel it.

I want to touch myself. The thought makes me blush, but it’s true. Even in that department, though, I’m no expert. I don’t have any sex toys stashed in my bedside table. I usually feel embarrassed about masturbating and don’t do it often. When I do, I try to keep things short and simple.

Even the way I feel right now is so much more intense. I’m like a caramel in the hot sun, my center turning into a gooey mess. He’s not even fooling around with me, but the heat from his body and that wall of muscle behind me is driving me crazy.

I feel him awaken. It must be a change in his breathing pattern, or maybe his limbs are less heavy. I can’t see him, but I can tell. He doesn’t remove his hand from my thigh, and I keep my eyes closed. Unlike yesterday, this time I’m one-hundred-percent awake. Today, I’m faking sleep.

I tell myself it’s because I’m frightened of him. He was so ferocious last night, like an animal sprung out of its cage. That’s what I tell myself.

But the real reason I’m holding still is I’m listening to a naughty voice in my head whispering, “Don’t you want to see what he does?” This may be my only chance. I don’t know what’s coming next. Mobsters are supposedly looking for us. Or I might escape.

Deep down, the truth is that I want to steal a moment with him, here in this cabin in the woods where no one will know. He moves his hand slowly, so slowly. It’s warm, rough, and big against my skin. I force myself to keep my breathing regular. I don’t want to break the spell.

The feel of his palm sliding up my thigh drives me crazy. I want him to move faster, race to the finish. I want to part my legs and let him know where I need him to touch. But he stays slow, caressing my thigh, drawing lazy circles.

I should stop him. I should scream and kick. I should leap away and tell him to keep his hands off me.

I don’t. I want him to keep going. It feels too good. I don’t know where this is leading, but I know I don’t want him to stop.