Silas had made the Appalachian mountains his hermitage for a year, a man of the written word living in a solitude as profound as the silence of the snow. He was an author known for his sharp intellect and complex characters, yet in the quiet of these woods, he had stripped away all social layers, leaving only the raw, desperate need to create. He hadn’t seen a woman in over a year, not even a fleeting encounter in the city. His skin was craving contact, an itch that his solitude had failed to soothe.
It was on a morning walk that he found her. She lay unconscious in a clearing, a porcelain doll stranded in a forest of thorns and ferns. It looked as though she had been there all night. Her skin was cool, her breathing shallow. Silas knelt beside her, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. The shock of her soft skin under his calloused fingers sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cold air. He scooped her up, his arms wrapping around her body. She felt impossibly light, fragile, like a bird he was terrified of crushing. He carried her back to the cabin, his mind racing. It was a long walk, but he didn't mind; his body had adapted to chopping wood and carrying heavy loads. As he walked, his mind pondered the strange, magnetic attraction pulling him toward her. It was a question that pricked at his writer’s mind—was this the visceral truth behind the love-at-first-sight trope he so frequently wove into his prose?
The cabin was quiet, the fire crackling in the hearth. He laid her on the quilted bed and covered her with a heavy wool blanket. He sat in the chair opposite the fire, watching her sleep, feeling the ache in his body intensify. He had been working on his novel for months, but now his focus had shifted. The memory of removing her wet clothes all the way down to her black lace panties was burned into his mind like a photograph. He thought about her waking up, confused and frightened. He imagined her reaching out for him, her soft hands gripping his shirt. He thought about the way her body would arch under his touch. He imagined tracing the line of her jaw, feeling the heat of her skin, and the way her breath would hitch. He wanted to taste her, to hear her moan his name.
Her eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy with confusion. She gasped, sitting up slightly and clutching the blanket to her chest. "Where... where am I?"
"You're safe," Silas said, his voice low and steady. He stood, towering over her, his tall, muscular frame casting a long shadow. He walked to the bed, his presence imposing. "You're at my cabin. I found you in the woods."
She looked at him, her eyes darting over his face, taking in the intelligence in his gaze, the sharp angles of his jaw, the rough stubble that darkened his chin. She was trembling, a mix of fear and something else—a faint memory. Suddenly, the dark woods flooded back, the face of the man who had been chasing her. Her eyes widened in panic, and she threw off the covers, stumbling toward the door.
"Don't go out there!" Silas called out, moving faster than she expected. He reached out, his hand closing around her arm just as her fingers grasped the doorknob. He yanked her backward, pulling her flush against his chest. The sudden impact threw her off balance, and she stumbled back, her body colliding with his.
"Don't go out there, there is no other cabin for miles and the wolves will make a meal out of you," he growled. "Stay with me. I'll protect you. No one can hurt you here." His arm tightened around her waist, pinning her against him.
She struggled against him, trying to break free, but he held her fast. As she writhed, the soft curve of her ass rubbed against his groin. The friction was electric. He was hard, a thick, heavy pole straining against the denim of his jeans. The sensation of her rubbing against him sent a groan rumbling deep in his chest. He felt her trembling, her heart hammering against her ribs, and the friction only increased, driving him wild with need.
Her struggles were weakening, her body softening against his, but he didn't let go. He grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him harder, grinding his erection against her. A soft moan escaped her lips, her head falling back against his shoulder. The desperation in her eyes was undeniable.
"I haven't touched a woman in over a year," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, his hand sliding up her side to cup her breast. "You're going to be my muse tonight."
Eyes locked on his, she nodded her consent.
He lifted her, carrying her back to the bed, laying her down gently. He climbed on top of her, his hands framing her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "You're beautiful," he whispered, leaning down to kiss her. The kiss was deep and hungry, tasting of desperation and desire. He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with intensity. "I've been thinking about this, wanting this, for hours," he said, his hand sliding down her body, his fingers tracing the edge of her panties.
She arched her back, a cry escaping her lips as his fingers brushed against her clit. He smiled, a dark, confident smile, and then he pulled her panties aside, his fingers sliding deep inside her. She was wet, her body ready for him, her muscles clamping around his fingers. He knew she was his. He needed to be inside her.
He stood up, kicking off his trousers, his erection springing free, thick and heavy, pulsing with need. He climbed back onto the bed, his body hovering over hers. He positioned himself at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers. "Look at me," he commanded.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her body trembling with anticipation. He thrust forward, burying himself deep inside her in one smooth stroke. She screamed, her back arching off the bed, her nails digging into his shoulders. He began to move, slow and deep, then faster, harder. The bed shook with their passion, the headboard banging against the wall. He watched her face, her eyes rolling back, her mouth open in a silent scream. He gripped her hips, his fingers bruising her soft skin, and pounded into her, driving her to the brink of ecstasy. He felt her walls spasm around him, clamping down like a vice. That was all it took. He roared, his own climax hitting him like a freight train. He emptied himself into her, filling her up.
He collapsed on top of her, his heart hammering against his ribs. He held her close, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin. She was his. He had found his muse, and he wasn't letting her go.
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