LOST

by Lane Parker

  He looked at me like he wanted to believe me. “How do you know?”

  I shrugged. “Instinct. I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You know,” he began, his voice husky, “my sister and I were all we had. And then I lost her. I don’t know if I can get back to that place, but… if you think I’ve changed… maybe she has, too.”

  My chest was pounding hard as I looked at him. “It’s a risk,” I advised. “She may not have changed, and you’ll need to move on.”

  He shrugged. “Then I guess I’ll have to close that relationship. But at least I’ll know. Better than wondering, I guess.”

  Wow. That was a shift. And it was a welcome one. “Maybe you should look for her. Maybe she’s been looking for you. You’re not all that easy to find.” I tried to sound gentle, but I thought it was something he needed to hear. He’d isolated himself to the point where nobody could find him.

  He nodded, and slowly collected the postcards back into a messy stack, placing them back on the shelf. Then he turned to me. “Do something for me. Would you?”

  His neck was flushed, and his lips were parted. He stared at me, and that look was back—it smoldered and blazed right through me. I didn’t know what he wanted, but I found myself hoping for a few things. I saw his nostrils flare as he waited for my answer.

  “Depends on what,” I said. My voice shook.

  His mouth curled up in a wry half-smile. “Cut my hair.”

  Really? I had to choke back a surprised laugh. His request definitely wasn’t what I’d expected. I must have looked at him like he was crazy, because he laughed and shook his head.

  “It’s getting annoying,” he explained. “I just want it all cut off so I can work without it hanging in my eyes. And it’s the one thing I have trouble doing for myself.”

  “Oh, just that one thing?” The sarcasm came out before I could stop it.

  He snorted. “Okay, that’s fair. Still, though.” That half-smile was still there, and it was irresistible. “Could you do it?”

  I walked up to him and stood close—close enough to grab onto his flannel collar and pull him down for a full, wet kiss… if I wanted to. Something told me he wouldn’t really mind that. He looked down at me, looking genuinely amused for the first time.

  “Are you sure? Your hair looks really good long.”

  His eyes searched my face. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice low.

  I nodded. “Then get the stuff to do it.”

  Despite the heat in my cheeks and the butterflies in my stomach, I felt a twinge of pain in my leg, so I sat down on the edge of the mattress while he dug the things out of his bathroom cabinet. When he brought the scissors, a comb, and a towel to me, I knew James was deadly serious about losing his hair.

  He stood back and unbuttoned the flannel. He looked at me the whole time. Watching him reveal that ripped, masculine body was intense, and my mouth went dry just watching him strip. Underneath, he wore a grey T-shirt, and he peeled that off, too.

  Oh. My. God.

  Shirtless, he was magnificent. The thick muscles in his arms and stomach tensed. My pulse throbbed in my neck…and lower.

  I realized he wasn’t teasing me, even though it felt like he was. James didn’t have a clue how sexy he was at all. Unfortunately, for me, that made him even more attractive.

  He walked up to me, and then he sat on the floor between my legs, his back against the bed. He wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

  “Here?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Here’s good. You need to be somewhere that doesn’t make your leg hurt.”

  There it was again, that concerned, rough voice that made my heart melt. James had trained himself not to give a fuck about anything except his art, but it had never completely worked because he did care. His heart had never changed. He’d just buried his emotions incredibly well.

  And here goes nothing. I didn’t think I’d ever cut anyone’s hair before, except my own, and those were just trims and bangs. This was different. I figured cutting it all off couldn’t be that hard. After all, he didn’t exactly seem to care how it came off as long as it was out of his face.

  I can do that.

  I had a feeling that James wanted more than just a convenient haircut. Somehow, I felt like the action was symbolic. A small but important gesture that said he was getting ready to join civilization again someday.

  I tried to keep my hands steady. For some reason, doing this simple task for him seemed more intimate than rolling around in bed satisfying our bodies.

  My knees touched his shoulders when I leaned forward. I tentatively brushed through his hair with my fingers, the dark curls separating around them, and I felt what sounded like a low growl of satisfaction hum quietly through his body. I didn’t even think he meant to make a sound. But he was obviously enjoying my touch.

  It struck me that even if he’d been with other women, maybe no one had touched him like this in a long time. No one had simply caressed his hair or placed a hand on his arm softly. Gestures of affection and comfort rather than carnal and sexual actions.

  Had anyone ever cared enough about James to just…touch him? For no reason other than affection? His sister obviously had, but it had been a long time.

  It was only then I thought about how lonely he must have been. He’d been out here in the woods alone for eight years.

  Even though he was truly alone here, and I was in a crowded city, with friends and coworkers, surrounded by people—I was lonely, too.

  I’d wanted some elusive…something. Or maybe I’d needed…someone.

  Shaking off those thoughts, I worked quickly. I cut off the long strands, and they fell onto the towel, and down to the floor. Part of me was truly sad to see them go, but… there was something so intimate about this. I felt the heat of his scalp against my fingers, his body against my legs, and his hands on the floor near my bare feet.

  When his hair was short enough, I began to trim. In a few minutes, his long curls were gone. All that was left was short dark waves.

  I brushed the stray hairs from his neck, and he removed the towel.

  He turned to face me. “How does it look?”

  Fucking… amazing.

  He had been beautiful before, and that hadn’t changed. But the deep sapphire of his eyes, and his flushed tanned skin were so clear without all that hair.

  “Do you want to look in a mirror?” I managed to say.

  He looked into my eyes and shook his head. “I trust you. If you like it, that’s all that matters.”

  It kind of amazed me that a guy as smoking hot as James had no real vanity about his looks.

  I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out and stroking the short, soft hair. I scratched his scalp. His eyes drifted shut when I touched him. He took my hand in his and kissed it softly.

  He was a guy of few words most of the time, so I knew it was his way of thanking me.

  My breath caught in my throat. I wanted him, and he wanted me, that much was clear, but… I was caught off guard by how gentle he was. By how his dark blue eyes looked up at me, questioning.

  He leaned forward and stroked my legs. His rough hands felt so good against my skin. I shivered at his touch and bit my lip.

  He came closer, and his lips met my leg, grazing my knee, kissing just inside my thigh. The coarse hair of his beard brushed my skin, and it felt so good.

  “I’ve wanted to do this, Keeley,” he whispered against my skin in a low, sexy tone. “When I first had you here, I—” a soft kiss upon my thigh, a short groan— “I wanted to kiss you. I wanted to taste your skin.”

  My legs opened wider. It felt like an instinct. His hands found the outside of my thighs, and he gripped them in his large hands.

  “Do you want this?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “Tell me you want this.”

  My breath quickened when his hands moved up toward my hips, and his fingers dug into the waistband of my shorts.

  Do I?

  Chapter Eleven


  James

  If she said no, I don’t know what I would have done.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she pulled closer to me, her thighs surrounding my head. It wasn’t a bad place to be. She ran her soft hands over my shoulders, and I savored the touch.

  “You know I do.” Throaty and low, her voice was so fucking sexy that I looked up at her. Keeley’s dark brown eyes glittered in the dim light.

  I had said I wanted her, but that was a lie. I fucking needed her.

  I had to find a way to stake my claim or I was going to lose it.

  I wanted to own this woman, body and soul, which was probably a little bit creepy, but I couldn’t help the desperate pain in my gut to possess her. Completely.

  Keeley had heard what I had done, and she hadn’t run away. There hadn’t been even a flash of censure or distaste on her face. She listened, and told me she understood, that she’d been through something similar.

  And…she fucking trusted me.

  For the first time in a long while, I felt human. I felt like a man again instead of just an artist. She made me feel that way. Keeley made me hunger for something…more.

  My fingers drifted along her waist, and I shuddered. Touching her was like tasting a decadent dessert—the more I had, the more I wanted.

  I wanted to thank her for seeing me, but words seemed foolish. But this, the way I needed her—it wasn’t a thank you. It was a release. It was a statement. I would show her everything I felt, even if I couldn’t say it. I could find the shape of how I felt in her body, and in her pleasure.

  Standing on my knees, I stretched up to kiss her. Her warm lips met mine, and she pulled and sucked at me like she was as famished as I was, like she needed to taste me, just like I needed to devour her.

  My fingers found the button on her shorts and yanked it open. I knew I couldn’t be gentle with her, and that she didn’t want it right now. The desire was too fierce, too intense. I felt her trembling against me as I pulled down the zipper. I gripped the waistband of her shorts and her panties and pulled.

  She broke the kiss and raised her hips. I eased the clothes down, careful of her bandage, and over her feet. I tossed them behind me, my eyes on her golden legs, and the soft, dark shadow between them.

  Fuck. I licked my lips, and then looked into her eyes. They were heavy-lidded, drunk only with lust and wanting. She opened her legs further to me without me having to ask.

  I bent down and kissed up her thigh, licking her smooth skin. Her scent was sweet and musky, and it pulled me closer.

  My tongue found her sweet pussy, and I drank it in. Like honey, I had told her, and I had guessed right. Fuck, it was too good. My head was spinning, and her little whines and moans made the blood rush to my cock, making it impossibly harder.

  Don’t care about my cock right now. Need to make her come.

  My breath sawed in and out of my lungs as I kept licking at her, squeezing her soft thighs in my hands. Feeling her folds against my flicking tongue.

  Her breath was quick, coming in short, sharp gasps. I looked up at her, and saw her head thrown back, the sweat on her neck glistening in the dim light of the lamp.

  Her fingers clawed at my shoulders, and found their way up my neck, to my scalp. Even her scratches felt like a sweet relief.

  I leaned in further and pressed my tongue inside her. She let out a filthy groan. “James,” she called out, her voice full of dirty lust.

  Oh, fuck me. There was something unbearably hot about the way my name sounded coming from her, between her moans of pleasure. I pulled away. “Say it again,” I ordered, my voice harsh and deep, shaking with want. “Say my name.”

  She gasped and grunted when my tongue entered her again. “James! Oh, God, James!”

  At that moment, I knew I was fucking lost.

  It took everything I had not to pull my aching cock out then… but I was concentrating on her. I wanted her to feel this, feel me. I wanted to satisfy her like no other even could, now, or in the future. The only guy I ever wanted her to think about when she was in this kind of lustful state was…me.

  I circled her clit slowly. She bucked against my mouth and I held her steady, pushing her thighs down to the bed to open her wider. Then I sucked at it, pulling and nipping. Her moans broke in her throat, and I felt her legs tense and twitch.

  Somehow, I jerked myself away, my breath hard and hot, and I knew she could feel it on her hot, wet pussy. “Keeley…” I lapped at her, wanting her taste again. “Come for me,” I demanded. I had to watch her. I had to see it.

  I fucking craved being the guy who made her come apart.

  She fell back against the bed with a tormented moan, and pulled at my head, bringing me closer to her. Demanding I come closer.

  I fucking loved it because she coveted my touch. Needed it. Wanted it so bad that it was making her crazy.

  I sucked her swollen clit into my mouth again, rolling it against my tongue. Then she broke, her body arching under my hands. She cried out desperately, and her fists gripped the bedsheets.

  I kept on and on, my tongue swirling madly against her to break her further. I wanted her to remember this for the rest of her life. I wanted her to think of me for months, for years, like I would think of her.

  I wanted her to imagine that if she never would have left me, I would eat her sweet pussy every night until she screamed, just like this.

  So many wild thoughts, half-formed, ran through my mind while she moaned and thrust herself against my mouth.

  They were things I didn’t think I wanted until they came to me.

  Her body and breath slowed, and her moans quieted. She pushed my head away gently, like she couldn’t take anymore. I sat back on my heels, my heart thundering against the wall of my chest.

  I knew I would be thinking of her after she left. But did I really want her to think of me the same way?

  Hell, yes, I did.

  Did I honestly want her to never leave me? Had that thought come from somewhere deep within me, a desire that I wasn’t even conscious of until now?

  I didn’t know what to think. My mind was a fog of lust and need. There was a beautiful, half-naked woman on my bed, and I had made her scream with desire and tasted all her pleasure. She was peeling off her shirt, and then her bra, and it was hard to think of anything but my heavy, hard cock as I became mesmerized while I watched her get completely naked.

  So beautiful, and so fucking…mine.

  My every instinct was hammering at me to make sure she belonged only to me. If that made me a greedy bastard…so be it.

  I climbed onto the bed beside her, and she pulled me close. I kissed her, licked at her throat, and she gave a shaky sigh. Her arms wrapped around me, and I felt the heat of her body against mine, and her cool, plump lips kissing my fevered skin.

  My body was throbbing with need.

  But something in my mind held me back.

  I trust you.

  I remembered saying that to her before. I had said it about the haircut, but that’s not what I had meant. Not really. It hadn’t been said for simply hacking off my hair.

  I had trusted her with my story, with the most painful, tormenting part of my life. I trusted what she said to me about her own experience.

  And now, my mind was telling me I wanted even more from her—that I wanted her in my life, in one way or another. I wanted her to need me the way I fucking needed her.

  That thought terrified the hell out of me.

  I was the guy who just wanted to be alone.

  But she was touching me, and the last damn thing I wanted was to be alone again. Her hands were massaging my chest and stomach. She inched farther down and found my hard cock through my pants. She squeezed and gripped me, and I couldn’t help but let out a low groan. She eased me out of my jeans and held me in both her hands.

  Fuck. It suddenly didn’t matter how terrified I was. I didn’t want her to stop.

  She stroked me, slowly, her body moving against min
e in time with her hands. Her soft, small hands on my cock, and her gentle pressure—it was maddening. I grunted and thrust into her hands. “Faster,” I growled.

  She did what I said. Her pace quickened, and the pressure built in me, hot and urgent. She leaned into the crook of my neck, and her quickening breaths were sultry on my skin.

  Then she licked my neck, and her teeth sharply grazed the skin. It was too damn much. My body shook, my thighs twitched. I let out a sharp groan. I came suddenly, and spilled heavily onto her hands, and on my stomach. It seemed to go on so long, and she kept stroking me, like she wanted me to find the end of my pleasure, to feel it fully.

  I finally placed a hand on her arm to signal her to stop. I turned my head to look at her.

  She lay there, head on my pillow, her dark eyes hazy, with a soft, crooked smile on her face.

  I couldn’t help myself. I took her face in my hands and kissed her. My hands wound into her silky hair, and I felt her sighing.

  Jesus! Sexual gratification had never been like this before. Not when I was younger, and not in the years since I had lived here in the woods. Getting off was always a quick thing, a physical thing—in someone’s tiny apartment, or a hotel room I couldn’t wait to get out of.

  It was never here, in my bed. There was never passion, or intimacy. No connection.

  This… this was different. I felt something. Whether it was fear, or something sweeter, or a strange combination of both… I felt it strongly.

  It was something like what I felt when I was carving. There’s an intensity there, and a purpose.

  But this was better, because I could share it with someone else. With her.

  I grimaced because I’d spilled myself like a damn teenager, without the chance to even get inside her body.

  Luckily, she didn’t even seem like she cared.

  I grinned when I looked at her and saw that she was already in a deep sleep with a sweet smile on her face.

  Chapter Twelve

  Keeley

  The bed was warm when I woke up. Sunlight streamed in through the half-curtained window. There was a hand resting on my naked hip.