4. Aspen
CHAPTER FOUR
ASPEN
W hen lightning brightens the inky sky, I scream, partially to alert anyone who may be in the area I need help, but mostly because I’m scared shitless of dying. Hypothermia from severe weather exposure or being electrocuted from lightning are realistic possibility.
Knowing my luck, I’ll suffer both.
This can’t be my ending. I’ve so much more life to live, so much more to give this world. Most of my life I’ve done the right thing, playing it safe. The one time I let my guard down and trust an idiot, I get sentenced to death?
No way. I refuse to go out this way, helpless and scared.
Come hell or high water, I’m going to get out of this. And when I do, I’m going to use this chain to strangle my ex. I’m done with the Gary’s of the world.
With the storm picking up speed, I say a silent prayer.
Dear Universe, I’m not ready to leave. I want to love and have someone love me in return. Please, don’t take me out of this world until I at least experience a love that would move mountains.
With all my might, I use the last of my remaining strength to scream for help and fight my restraints. The logical part of me realizes it’s a lost cause, but a small part of me still has hope of rescue.
When I sense I’m fading into unconsciousness, I force my eyes open.
A giant man stands over me, covered in rain gear. His face shadowed from his hood, aside from his reddish beard and striking gray eyes. I’ve never seen eyes his color before.
I’m either hallucinating or he’s real. Only one way to find out.
Ignoring the rawness in my throat, I sob. “Help.”
What happens next is a blur. The heavy chain around me disappears. Strong arms encircle me, lifting me off my feet. The wind whips around me, swooshing against my ears and making it seem like I’m flying.
I glance upward, seeing nothing but the rain and this massive man watching over me.
“I’ve got you, darlin’. Stay with me.”
His voice is deep and rough, rich with reassurance. He called me darlin’—SWOON!
Wait a second. No guy has ever used a term of endearment when addressing me, especially one with the voice of a Greek God.
Well, crap. I’m dead, aren’t I? That or I’m dying. The giant must be an angel or something alike, come to take me to the afterlife and giving me one last kindness with sweet words before I leave this earth.
Lightning streaks across the sky, filling my vision with white before thunder clatters like a deafening drum line.
Jackknifing upright, I gasp awake. Thunder rumbles overhead, but I’m no longer freezing nor am I drenched. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the low light before taking in my surroundings. I’m in a room I’ve never seen before.
Stripped thick pine logs line the walls—a cabin, I guess. The room is dark aside from the roaring fire crackling away in the fireplace beside me. Its heat permeates my bones, settling my nerves a tad. I sit on a plush leather couch, burrito rolled in a buffalo check down comforter.
Looking down at the surrounding blanket, I notice I’m dressed in only a white Henley shirt three sizes too big—definitely not mine.
Where the hell are my clothes? And where the hell am I?
My head whips around as I look for anything to tell me where I am or where my clothes, especially my underwear, might be. I spy a glass of ice water set on the end table beside me. Its condensation dripping down the sides tempts me, reminding me of the rawness of my dry throat.
My hand reaches out for it before I hesitate. What if it’s poisoned?
Why would someone go to great lengths to rescue me from the mountain, bring me somewhere safe from the storm, and do everything to make me warm again if their intention was to kill me? They would have to be a twisted individual to harm me now. Most people wouldn’t waste their energy for nothing, right?
Considering I have no idea where I am and I’m at the mercy of a stranger, I need to believe they only have good intentions, if only to calm my own rattling nerves.
Shaking my head at my ridiculousness, I reach for the glass. I bring it to my lips and gulp the ice liquid, easing the ache in my sore throat.
Swallowing my nerves, I manage a weak, “Hello?”
Not a peep aside from the raging storm outside, ramming against the cabin’s exterior.
Still uneasy, I slowly kick off the blanket and stand on shaky legs as I take in my new surroundings. Definitely a cabin—a spacious, newer cabin—and I’m in what appears to be the living room.
For a rustic residence, the space is quite stunning. Leather chairs and couches, hard oak mission style furniture, and Tiffany-style stain glass lamps fill the space. A large TV is in one corner of the room, while the other corner has a rustic cabinet displaying some carved decoy sculptures. And the most impressive river stone fireplace runs from floor to ceiling.
Judging from the animal pelt lying on the floor like a rug, the taxidermy deer heads mounted on the walls, and the lack of anything feminine, I’m guessing a man lives here.
Assuming the shirt I’m wearing belongs to the homeowner, a very LARGE man lives here. And I’m in this strange man’s home wearing his clothes and no underwear.
Okay. Don’t panic. Maybe I’m still dreaming. Or maybe I’m dead and this masculine cabin is my version of heaven?
Not likely.
“Oooh.” I wrap my arms around my middle, suddenly extremely anxious. Before I lose my head, I decide to look around for the owner of this cabin. I’ll feel better once I know who I am dealing with—I hope.
As quiet as a mouse, I pad barefoot to the open concept kitchen. All oak cabinets, soap stone counters, and shiny appliances. For a bachelor pad, this place is nice and clean. Not even a dish in the sink or a crumb on the counter.
Something spicy captures my nose’s attention. I move to the stove, smelling what I guess is chili. My stomach growls with approval. If I’m being held hostage, at least I’m in a clean place with good food.
Creeping back into the living room, I move to the front of the cabin where the open stairwell leads upstairs or downstairs. I bite the inside of my cheek, unsure if I should venture further.
Looking down the stairs, I see only blackness. Investigating further will be a no without a light source. Looking upward from the foot of the stairs, all I see is a dark hallway leading to what I presume are bedrooms. I’ve seen enough horror movies in my life to know you don’t do stairs unless you have a death wish.
An involuntary shiver runs up my spine as I pull away from the stairs, moving toward the front door. With one look out the side panel windows, I can see the storm is nasty. Trees are bending at unnatural angles from the wind gusts and the rain is coming down in buckets.
It looks like leaving will not happen unless a man pops out with a chainsaw. Then I’ll run for my life—storm or not.
As I head back into the main living space, I notice a hallway on the other side of the room. This one differs from the one upstairs. At the end of the dark hall is a closed door with light coming out underneath it.
Yeah, that’s not creepy at all.
Obviously, I need to check it out, right? I mean, I want to know where I am and who brought me here. Someone with answers might be in that room.
My stomach twists with mounting tension. How the fuck did I find myself in two dangerous situations in one day?
Worried about confronting whoever is on the other side of the door, I arm myself with the first thing I can reach in the rustic cabinet beside me, clutching it close to my chest.
Here goes nothing.
I tiptoe down the hallway, coming to a stop outside the door. I stay quiet, straining my ears. When I hear nothing, I press my ear to the solid wood frame. I hear something indiscernible, muffled and deeper in the room.
Unsure what to do, I waver. Do I knock? Or should I take a quick peek in case there is a chainsaw murderer inside?
Already afraid for my life, I opt for the latter.
Holding my breath, I slowly turn the doorknob, doing everything I can to make as little sound as possible. Opening the door a crack, I peek inside.
It’s a bedroom—the master by the look of it. Similar to the rest of the cabin, the room is tidy and masculine in its decor. A king-size bed dominates the space, but I find no one inside.
Bracing myself, I open the door further and pop my entire head into the room. Not a soul to be found. The weird muffled sound I heard earlier is more distinct, more of a trickling noise. It sounds like water. Could it be runoff from the storm rolling down the roof?
Stepping into the room, I raise my weapon like one would a baseball bat. A quick look around reveals two other doors leading somewhere where the noise is coming from. The first doorway is open, showcasing an organized walk-in closet with more men’s clothing. The second has a light shining underneath, the water noise coming from the other side.
Hmm. Could it lead to an outdoor porch? It would explain the sound of water.
Oh! Maybe it’s a bathroom. It makes more sense. En suites are popular in a primary bedroom as fine as this one.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I rap my knuckles on the door. I wait for a response like, “Just a moment,” one would expect from someone occupying a bathroom. But a reply never comes. Perhaps the door leads to somewhere outside like I previously thought.
Suddenly, the dark sky outside the bedroom windows grows bright white when lightning touches down, somewhere not far. I jump with a startled yelp when the thunder crash follows, rattling the windows. The overhead lighting goes out, shrouding me in darkness.
Cheese and rice! Can my predicament get any worse?
I don’t really want to know the answer.
The overhead light comes back on, flickering unsteadily and reminding me it could go out in an instant. If there is someone here, I want to know before the lights go out again. Better to know if someone is on the other side than to be unsure and at a disadvantage.
Bracing myself, I swallow the lump of dread in my throat as I slowly open the door.
The room is thick with cloudy warm steam, impairing my eyesight. I timidly enter the space, straining my eyes to see.
It’s as I move deeper into what can only be a bathroom that the steam gives way to a dark river stone shower. Inside that open shower stall is a man with his naked backside facing me—a very toned and thick backside.
Sweet heavens! I really am dead. It’s the only place I could be. Where else would I see the fine ass of a god?
His thighs are as long and stocky as tree trunks, leading to the most beautiful set of thick buns I’ve laid eyes on. My eyes drift higher, tracing the intricate ink tattooed on his heavily muscled back. His head hangs forward, not giving any clue who he is.
The man is a giant—a gorgeous, naked, wet god.
If this is what I get to look at for the rest of eternity, I’m totally cool with being dead.
A small part of my brain screams at me I’ve intruded on a man showering in his bathroom, that I need to leave immediately and give this man his privacy. However, leaving seems impossible. Those tempting solid tushie muscles of his have hypnotized me into remaining in place.
The man groans, a guttural sound that stirs my lower belly with need. Aroused, I bite back a responding moan.
Without warning, the massive man turns to face me. His chin is tucked, still hiding his face from my view. His chest is chiseled, covered in ink similar to his back. Though wet and plastered to his head, his hair is a ruddy hue, matching the red in his thick beard.
As impressive a sight as he is, it’s what he’s doing to himself that captures my attention and has me gasping.
In his large hand, he works his very hard and very long cock, pumping his fist over himself in swift, measured strokes. He grunts, his head falling back as he loses himself in his pleasure.
Oh, my sweet heavens!
Shell-shocked, I remain frozen. Unable to look away, I let my eyes drink in their fill of him. He’s stunning, demonstrating his visceral ability.
With each of his grunts and shunts of his tapered hips, my sex clenches. My heart gallops, imagining what he must feel like. I’m desperate to feel something as big as him inside of me, stretching around his girth to accommodate his larger-than-life dick.
I don’t know how long I stand there watching him, mesmerized by his beauty, but it’s long enough to see him finish.
With one last deep groan, he thrusts his hips forward into his fist a final time. Cum spurts from his cock, coating his hand and dripping onto the river rock shower floor.
It’s at this moment, he opens his gray eyes—the same eyes I saw in my dream—meeting mine across the room.
Dismay, mortification, and possibly horror, flit across this handsomely rugged face. I’m sure my expression is no different. It’s not every day you get caught watching a person jack off in front of you.
As I feel the heat of my embarrassment rise to my cheeks, the handsome man steps out of the shower.
A naked giant with a still semi-hard dick and a furrowed brow is approaching me.
Did I mention he’s naked and looks pissed off?
Alarm bells aren’t going off. No, I have an alarm siren wailing at me to RUN .
Suddenly scared out of my mind, I react in the most unhelpful way possible—screaming bloody murder.