NEEDING HIM (An Obsessed Novella)
by Jeanne St. James
Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance, BDSM
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This is not just a love story, it's an obsession...
Grace:
The
same week every year he comes to my little resort in Maine for five days, then
disappears. His darkness, his demons, intrigue me and I need to know his story.
I hope he shows up again this year, because I’m
determined to talk to him, make him see me and not look through me like I don’t
exist. Make him realize I’m not just some anonymous person who hands him a key.
No, this year will be different.
I haven’t gotten laid in a long time. So, tag, he’s it.
Nick:
For
the past three years, I’ve come up to this remote area to forget, to bury my
grief. But this year, I don’t need a trip to this run-down resort, this little
cabin on the lake, to survive this week. However, there’s one thing I’ve left
behind each year when I head back to reality…
Her.
I’ve
found the right woman who’ll fill the emptiness deep inside of me, the hole
that’s lurked there for years. I can’t get her out of my head. Funny thing is,
I don’t even know her name. I never asked.
This
year that’s going to change. And I hope she’s willing because I’m taking
complete control.
Note: All books in the Obsessed series are
standalone novellas. They are intended for audiences over 18 years of age since
they include explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.
Chapter One
Grace:
Every year he shows up. He comes for five days and
then disappears. Same week, every year, for the past three years. Arrives on a
Sunday night and leaves Friday morning.
He hardly says a word to me. He picks up the keys
to his cabin with a couple grunts, then locks himself in for the duration. I
don’t know if he sleeps, eats or what. All I know is I’m not to disturb him in
any fashion. He made that perfectly clear in a surly manner the first year.
I’m just glad I have an occupant. He never quibbles
about the price of the cabin, never asks me for anything. Never complains.
The best part is, he comes during the off season when
it’s so slow I think I'll become destitute. Be homeless and starve.
But, I watch him. He intrigues me and I want to
know his story. Why this small town in Maine? Why this time of year?
Why?
And, last but not least, why is my tired little
lakeside resort his choice? Yes, the area is beautiful, but it’s remote. Though,
it’s not like he goes out hiking, or mountain biking, or even boating on the
large lake.
Maybe that’s what he needs. Quiet. Peace.
Me? I get too much peace and quiet. This town bores
me to death. Anyone with any ambition escapes as soon as they can.
Though, I can’t get myself to run away. I can’t
even walk away.
This was my father’s resort. When he died, he left
it to his only daughter. Hell, his only child. He took pride in this place, he
built it with his own hands. So, of course, I take pride in it, too.
Even though it bores the fuck out of me.
And the dating scene?
Non-existent. If I’m lucky, I get laid when
tourists come to moose watch in the summer. If I’m lucky, I get laid when the
snowmobilers blow into town and take over the frozen lake and the nearby
trails. If I’m lucky, I get laid when mountain bikers come and ride through the
woods when the leaves are changing colors.
But, let’s just say, I haven’t been very lucky
lately. Not in a long time. I swear I’ve converted back to a virgin, if that’s
even possible.
Fortunately, I’m not uptight and can take care of
my own needs. Though, that gets lonely and boring, too. Batteries and my
vibrators have become my best friends.
Honestly, I really just need to get the fuck out of
this town.
I sigh and look at my reservation book. Yes, book,
because even the Internet sucks up here. And cell towers? Yeah, right. You may
get a signal if you stand on your head and face North while singing Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Every cabin is still equipped with landline phones
and the only television comes from a satellite dish, which only works when it
isn’t cloudy, raining, snowing, or the birds aren’t chirping.
My heart races as I see his name written in my
unreadable scribble. But, I know it’s him. I’ve reserved his regular cabin.
Not that any of the other cabins are booked since
it’s the shoulder season. No one in their right mind is here. The leaves are
now brown and falling, the lake too cold to swim in, but too warm for winter activities.
He made his reservation for this year before he
left last year.
I hope he shows. Even at the deep discounted rate
I’ve given him for coming at this time of year, every penny counts.
That's not the only reason I hope he comes. No,
this year I’m determined to talk to him, make him see me, and not look completely
through me like I don’t exist. Make him realize I’m not just some anonymous
person who hands him a key and makes him sign a receipt.
No, this year it’s going to be different.
I haven’t gotten laid in a long time.
So, tag. He’s it.
****
Nick:
Once
again, I’m making this fucking long-assed trip to the middle of Nowhere, Maine.
And I have no idea why.
No,
I know. I just don’t want to completely admit it to myself. Or think about it
too hard.
I
don’t need this place anymore.
I’m
almost back to normal.
Whatever
that means.
For
the past three years, I’ve come up here to forget. To bury my grief. But, this
year, I’m sure I don’t need this trip, this run-down resort, this little cabin
on the lake, to survive this week.
Not
this year.
So,
that’s not the reason I’m taking this six-hour drive to a place that has shitty
TV service, no cell coverage or Wi-Fi, right?
Not
that I can’t use a break from my hectic schedule at work. I can. But, I could
do that somewhere better. Like Aruba, not Bumfuck, Maine, where it isn’t warm,
and the water is too cold to swim.
But,
there’s one thing I’ve left behind each year when I head back to reality.
Her.
And
she’s the reason I’m making this long trek again. Only a mere six hours from
the city, from my everyday life.
Though,
wouldn’t that just suck if she hooked up with one of the locals in the past
year? Got married, is barefoot and pregnant, gained fifty pounds, and now wears
a mu-mu and slippers around the place.
Damn.
If
so, I would turn around and drive another six hours home, repack my bag, and
jump on a flight to somewhere else.
Maybe
not Aruba, maybe South Beach. Where the women are bangin’ and I may get a
little banging myself.
It’s
been too long.
Way
too long.
And
I’m so ready.
But
I can’t get her out of my head.
And
I don’t know why.
Funny
thing is, I don’t even know her name. I never asked.
My
bad.
About the author:
JEANNE ST. JAMES is a bestselling erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages. Want to read a sample of her work? Download a sampler book here: BookHip.com/MTQQKK
To keep up with her busy release schedule check her website at www.jeannestjames.com or sign up for her newsletter: http://www.jeannestjames.com/newslettersignup
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