Kidnapped by the Mountain Man

  He’s on the hunt …

  Jasmine has to walk through the woods every day to get home from school. She feels like she's being watched. And followed. She hopes it’s just her imagination.

  It's not.

  One day she’s kidnapped by a mountain man who has secretly been stalking and coveting her for weeks, since the very first moment he saw her.

  The mountain man is huge, gruff and inhumanly strong. He takes Jasmine to a remote mountain cabin and keeps her as his captive, for his own twisted pleasure. And hers.

  When Jasmine finally finds a chance to escape … will she take it? Or has she become too addicted to the things her mountain man can do?

  **This book is totally taboo and extremely dirty. It contains explicit forbidden love scenes, adult language and possible triggers. For readers who enjoy very naughty OTT forced-pleasure romance and insanely possessive alphas, here’s a fun quickie guaranteed to ignite your kindle. 18+

  Copyright © 2019 by Indie LaRue

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, printing, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. For permission requests, email the author at indielarue@gmail.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, companies, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  Chapter One: Naughty Daddy

  Coming Soon: Pleasure Island

  “See you later, Jasmine,” my friend Emily says, walking away with her brother. Emily’s lucky to have an older brother. Someone to protect and her and look out for her when the big bad wolves come knocking.

  Not that I have big bad wolves knocking. But I sometimes feel like someone’s watching me. I have to walk a mile through the woods every day to get to school, and a mile home again. At this time of the year, it’s getting dark by the time I get home, and today I’m running late. Daylight is already dimming and the sky is overcast.

  My friend Paige is lucky. Her parents bought her a car. Sometimes she gives me a ride to the end of my road, but it’s out of her way, and today she has band practice.

  I start walking towards my path through the woods.

  It feels eerie, like it always does. Lately, my walk has felt even spookier than usual. Every day for the past week, I’ve had that prickly feeling I’m being watched.

  I told myself I was imagining things, that it was just my fear getting the better of me. I never hear anyone. And I’ve never seen anyone.

  But, still, more and more often, I’ve had the feeling that someone is hiding.

  But I have no choice. I either have to walk through the woods or camp out at school tonight. My dad will already be half-drunk by this time of the late afternoon and my mom will be at bingo, probably. Or a bar.

  I’m an only child. An afterthought, or not even a thought at all. I don’t have one of those families that people would envy. I can’t wait until I finish high school so I can get the hell out of Dodge. I’m going to travel the world, and live by the beach, maybe, so I don’t ever have to walk through the woods again as long as I live.

  I walk deeper into the dark forest. I’m used to how spooky it is. It never gets less spooky. I try to hurry, but it’s dark and I don’t want to trip.

  I’m about halfway when I get that feeling again.

  The prickling awareness that someone is following me.

  I look behind me, but I can’t see anyone. The darkness is murky.

  But then I hear the snap of a twig.

  My instincts reel with panic.

  Someone’s here.

  Someone’s getting closer.

  I try to run, but before I can get very far, I trip over a root and fall to the ground.

  And then, someone is on me. I feel the vice-grip of inhumanly strong arms, like a hug. I try to struggle but he’s far too forceful. I can smell him. Woodsmoke and autumn leaves and a hint of whiskey.

  I want to scream but a damp cloth clamps over my mouth and nose. It smells like alcohol, or something similar.

  If only I could cry for help!

  But it’s too late.

  He’s taking me.

  And the world, all of a sudden, goes dark.

  My eyelids feel impossibly heavy.

  Immediately I know something isn’t right.

  It takes effort, but I open my eyes. It’s dark.

  I try to move but I can’t.

  My wrists are bound.

  And my ankles are tied!

  I thrash around but the ties won’t budge.

  Where am I?

  I might be laying on a bed. It’s soft.

  “Hello?” I call out. “Hello? Help me! Please! Help me!”

  I immediately sense movement and every tiny hair on my body stands on end.

  “That dose, in hindsight, was a little too strong,” a deep voice says. I freeze with terror. His voice is low, edged with a smoky huskiness. “You’ve been out for six hours.”

  “Who … are you?” I’m so scared, my question comes out as a hushed whisper.

  “I think we both know I can’t tell you who I am, Jasmine.”

  “You know my name?”

  “Yes. I’ve been watching you. I know where you live and I know you spend most of your time alone.”

  I wish I could say I’m surprised by this, but I’m not. The whole time, I felt his presence.

  “We’re in a remote cabin. High up in the mountains.” His voice has a gravelly edge to it. It’s very deep, and gruff.

  Oh my God.

  My eyes have adjusted enough so that I can see a dark shape, his silhouette. I can’t see much, but I tell that he’s … huge. Tall with broad shoulders. Which also doesn’t surprise me. I remember how strong he was when he … took me.

  “Please don’t hurt me.” Tears spill, trailing warm lines into my hair.

  “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t bring you here to hurt you.”

  “Then … why did you bring me here?”

  “I’ll get to that soon enough.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, then he says, “Then again, we may as well get started.”

  “S-started? Started what?” Holy fuck!

  “Just relax. As I said, I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “No.” He sounds offended by my question.

  “Are you going to …” God! I can’t even say it! But I need to know. “… force me?”

  “No.”

  “No?” Thank God, I guess. This is insane!

  “It’s not forcing you if you beg for it.”

  What the hell? He’s a psycho! “W-what do you mean? Why would I beg?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “HELP ME!” I scream.

  “No one can hear you. We’re at least sixty miles from the nearest house.”

  “You’re a monster! Let me go right the fuck now!”

  “Watch your language,” he growls.

  “Watch my language? How about you watch your tendency to kidnap people?”

  “Not people,” he corrects me patiently. “One person. I’ve never kidnapped anyone before today.”

  “Then … why me?”

  “I first saw you at the corner store. In town. It was Friday afternoon. Exactly three weeks ago today.” I know the store he means.
It’s a general store that’s been there forever. It sells milkshakes and old fashioned candy. It’s the kind of place you go to grab a few things between weekly shops at the supermarket, which is a fifteen minute drive. “You bought a chocolate bar, a Coke and pink lip gloss.”

  How does he know that? Who is he? What’s he going to do? “Please,” I plead. “Please let me go.”

  I ignores this. “You gave the cashier a ten dollar bill. You told her to keep the change.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Even though you live in that dingy little house with a drunk father and a half blind mother, you told that woman to keep the change. It was sweet.”

  “Please.” Silent tears draw hot lines down my face.

  “I saw you standing there, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d never seen anyone more perfect in my life.”

  Perfect?

  “You’re beautiful, Jasmine.”

  I don’t remember being watched. It had been just another Friday afternoon. I often stop at the store on my way home from school on Fridays. I can’t remember anything out of the ordinary.

  “You looked so innocent, so sweet. So alone. So vulnerable. I knew right then that I was going to take you.”

  “Why?”

  “I could have tried to talk to you, but people would have noticed that. I’m eight years older than you are. I could have taken you later that day, as you were walking home through the woods, but I knew I needed a plan. A place to bring you that couldn’t be found. Supplies and so on. A warning system in case people get close.”

  He’s a beast! I’m crying again. “How could you do this?”

  “Will they miss you?”

  More hot tears pool and fall. I’m scared. And I’m also sad. “No,” I say honestly.

  My parents care about me the way most people care about a plant they occasionally water then one day notice it’s brown and dead. My father’s a drunk who’s too lazy to be mean. My mother’s legally blind and has mental health issues that basically mean if she’s not praying, she’s crying, sleeping or too depressed to get out of bed. I’ve been making my own meals since I was six years old. They’re completely and totally indifferent to me.

  They’ll notice I’m gone, of course, at first. They might report it to the police. But they’d never search for me. They’ll retreat into their sad, small worlds of drunkenness, daytime television and downtrodden despair. More than likely, the police will think I’ve run away. It’s something I have thought about doing, of course. A lot. But I figured finishing high school first would be best, and I only have a few months left.

  “I watched your house. Followed you. Learned your schedule. You have a few friends but you don’t invite them home.”

  “My house is awful.”

  “It wouldn’t have stopped me either way,” he says, “but it makes things easier. For you to disappear.”

  I’m sobbing now. He’s right. “Why? What are you going to do to me?”

  “Maybe I should begin to show you.”

  I stop crying, only because my fear has turned to terror. “What’s your name?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Let me go. Please.”

  “I can’t do that, either.”

  “You can!”

  There’s a quiet sound. It might be low, soft laughter. “Okay, I can. But I won’t. Not yet, at least. Even if did let you go, which I have no intention of doing, you’d probably get lost and die of hypothermia before you could reach civilization. We’re way off the beaten track. There’s one road and it’s gravel and very windy.”

  I almost die from fear when I hear a sharp, scraping noise in the darkness.

  It’s a match.

  He’s lighting a candle.

  I can see the flickering outline of his silhouette now. He’s tall with huge shoulders. He’s not wearing a shirt. Is he … ? Jesus! But no. I can see he’s wearing rough-made suede-like pants, like he made them himself, out of animal hide or something. His bare, muscular shoulders are huge. His hair is longish. It’s unruly. From the flicker of the candle, I can see that his hair is dark with lighter glints of gold lit by the tiny flame.

  But I can’t make out the details of his face.

  “Please,” I say again. “W-what are you going to do?”

  “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

  “How can you say that? You’ve kidnapped me! I’m tied up!”

  “Quiet,” he growls, stepping closer. And I do. Because I can see another flicker of light. Of a blade.

  I scream like my life depends on it.

  Because it does.

  Even though I know no one can hear me.

  In his hand he’s holding a knife.

  The Beast ties a gag over my mouth, muffling my screams. I keep screaming into my gag and thrashing against my ties, but it makes no difference.

  “When you’re done,” he says, “I’ll take off the gag.”

  I stop screaming. I stop struggling.

  He waits for me to calm. Then he takes off my gag.

  “I told you not to be afraid,” he says gruffly. “I’m not going to cut you.”

  “Then why are you holding a knife? What are you going to do?” My voice sounds hysterical and my terror tastes bitter on my tongue.

  “I want to see you.”

  “No. Please.” Fresh tears wet my face.

  He ignores my pleas. He tugs at the fabric of my top. I realize then that my jacket has already been removed. And my shoes.

  My captor begins to slice the thin layer of my shirt with his knife, easily, like he really knows how to handle a knife. My shredded shirt falls off.

  “Please don’t,” I beg him.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says again, which does nothing to ease my terror.

  But with the moonlight feebly shining in now through a window, I can see his shadowed face. He’s severely masculine, like a Dothraki warrior. If I wasn’t so scared, I could admit that his features are … beautiful. In a very rugged, mountain man kind of way.

  Look what he’s doing to you! My terror makes the details of him blur.

  Under my sweater I’m wearing a thin white cotton tank top with a built-in bralette that’s too small for me. My breasts have grown a lot this year. In fact I’ve gotten curvier everywhere. We don’t have the money for expensive clothes—or many clothes at all—so I make do with what I have. But most days I wear a bulky jacket, so boys don’t stare at me because my clothes are way too tight.

  Slowly, carefully, the Beast slices a clean line right down the front of my tank top.

  I whimper. The noise sounds like an animal and it scares me.

  He peels open the shreds of fabric, revealing my full breasts, which bounce free of their constraints. It’s not cold in here—in fact it’s very warm—but the sudden starkness of the air makes my nipples tighten into taut, sensitive buds.

  He exhales a hissing sound. Then he swears under his breath. “I knew you’d be beautiful. I didn’t know you’d be this fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, which only reignites the inferno of my fear.

  His fingertips graze the skin of my stomach and they’re rough. Not just in the way they move, but they scratch me lightly. He pulls on the waistband of my jeans.

  “No,” I gasp.

  “Quiet,” he says gruffly.

  I obey him. I’m terrified, but I don’t want to make him angry.

  He slices through my jeans.

  Shit, that knife must be sharp.

  Until my jeans are just shreds of limp denim that he pushes off the bed.

  All that’s left is my panties.

  Which don’t stand a chance. With a flick of his knife, he cuts the tiny shred of cotton loose and tosses it onto the floor.

  I’m breathing hard. My heartbeat feels like it’s taken over my entire body, pumping wildly.

  I’m tied up, naked and vulnerable, with my wrists an
d ankles secured at the corners of the bed.

  It’s dark, but there’s enough dim light from the flickering candle for him to see … everything. Why the hell did I try that $3.99 waxing home kit just a few days ago, that was surprisingly effective? As it is, I’m completely bare.

  “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.” It almost seems like he’s breathing harder, too. It might be a full minute before he continues. “I bought this cabin under an alias. I made the necessary arrangements. It has plenty of dry firewood and enough supplies here to keep us well-stocked until spring.”

  “Spring?” It’s early November.

  “I left your backpack fifty miles in the other direction.”

  “You—?” He is going to kill me! “Please, Beast. Please don’t kill me.” I’m sobbing.

  “Beast?”

  “Yes. You’re absolutely a beast! For bringing me here.”

  “I guess it has a certain ring to it.” He doesn’t sound displeased. “I already told you I’m not going to kill you, Jasmine. I brought you here for a different reason.”

  “What reason?”

  “To make you mine.”

  “But you said you weren’t going to force me!”

  “I’m not going to force you. You’re going to beg me to do everything I do.”

  “No!”

  He laughs and the sound is low, a gritty chuckle. “I’m going to give you pleasure like you’ve never experienced it.”

  “Pleasure? What kind of pleasure?” It’s a stupid question. “I don’t want pleasure!”

  “Sure you do. Now relax.”

  Relax?

  “Drink some whiskey.”

  “I don’t want whiskey.”

  “Open your mouth.” It’s a low but very direct order. I don’t dare disobey him.

  I stare at him, too terrified to protest further. I open my mouth and he holds a flask of whiskey to my lips. I take a sip.

  I can see his face a little more clearly now. He’s handsome. Very handsome. He’s definitely got shades of Khal Drogo, with dark eyelashes and brutal, severely beautiful features. His neck is thick and corded and his broad chest is covered in a light pelt of dark hair. His shoulders are ridiculously built and his arms have tattoos inked across their bulging muscles.