I think of all the lonely people. Where do they come from? Where do they go?

I'm running with no brakes, tears falling with my pain. I came to the woods to seek refuge from my chaos, running to clear my head, and to help me move on. Suddenly, my running loses its rhythm, and I topple, sinking to my knees in defeat. The soil squelches beneath me as my hands and knees sink deeper into the sodden ground. I kneel back, holding my head in my hands as the burden of my loneliness weighs me down. I cry, realising I'm a ghost of my dreams.

As I look up, honeyed light pierces the oak canopy. The rain’s steady tapping slows to a gentle drip on the leaves. I slowly inhale and savour the fragrance of the rain on the earth, which steadies me. As I exhale, I think, how loving can hurt.

Six months have passed since I severed my love. After all these years, I realised I was a fool to believe his empty pledges, promises that kept my legs splayed and my desire burning. Caught in a trap, I knew I needed to walk away, yet my heart and body howled for an injection of passion, the unstoppable rush that transforms life from mundane.

Yet lust was a pleasure purchased with pain, and withdrawal has been a brutal detox from hell. I endured the cravings and compulsions, and the vacuum left by my addiction is momentarily filled by the dopamine rush of running. What I truly yearn for now is someone to hold.

I’m cold.

My clothes cling damply to my skin. I’ve been running along a chartless trail, completely lost. I check my phone, and there’s no signal. Hours have slipped by, but in the solitude of my life, it won’t cause alarm.

I wander aimlessly, disoriented, spiraling as my circles narrow and fear mounts. Panic rises up, and I unleash a cry, a raw, desperate explosion that rips through the trees. My roar reverberates from one oak to the next before finally fading. Exhausted, I slump against the trunk of a great oak, slide down the knotty bark until I’m curled up, head buried in my knees, wondering: How the fuck do I get out of here?

Light has drained from the sky. I listen to the distant trill of an owl; its melody soothes my panic. In the darkness, I silently implore this companion, this sacred guardian, for wisdom and guidance.

The sound of hope interrupts the owl's solo. A faint bark, then the scrabble of paws on leaves. Suddenly, I'm not alone. A dog leaps from the dark, tail wagging, and jumps onto me, covering my face with eager licks. I sink my fingers into its damp fur with relief. The dog whimpers in excitement, ears pricked, then spins toward a rustling in the woods.

“Duke, here, boy.” A low, gravelly voice sounds from the trees. The dog squeals and spins in triumph as its master steps from the oaks, silhouetted by the torchlight.

“What the fuck? That scream sounded like someone was being murdered. What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” His tone rose in disbelief.

“I’m lost,” I sputter, my voice cracking as I struggle to speak and hold back my tears.

“Jesus, you fucking tourists, there is a big storm coming in. We gotta get out of here,” he barks, continuing to scold me.

“I… I’m not a tourist,” I protest as he holds out his hand, but my legs feel weighted as I struggle to stand. Impatient, he thrusts out his hand, and I grasp his rough palm as he hauls me to my feet. He never lets his gaze meet mine.

I sit in his truck, head bowed like a trespasser in his sacred realm. His scent is potent, earthy, and leathery, conjuring an image of an untamed man. His fragrance slithers around me, conspiring sinful thoughts. I quickly wind down the window to let in fresh air, hoping to calm my unbidden desire.

His maturity is defined by fine lines on his face and silver highlights in his hair and beard. Weather-beaten hands grip the steering wheel tightly. My breath is uneven as my eyes trace his body; his worn jeans hug muscular thighs, and an open shirt collar reveals stray chest hairs. Desire stirs as I imagine threading my fingers through his coarse chest hair.

Who is this stranger whose presence stirs reckless thoughts? He radiates raw wisdom, like the oaks we drive past. I wonder what thoughts he might be marinating as I shift in my seat, trying to ease the tension of my unexpected arousal. The truck lurches as the tyres tear over the dirt track, drawing me from my illicit thoughts as he speaks.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks with a hint of irritation.

“I needed to run… to clear my head,” I mumble pathetically.

“Well, you did just that. Must have run for miles.” He softens, a trace of concern replacing irritation.

“It’s late. Haven’t you seen the news? There’s a storm coming any minute now,” he repeats the weather forecast as if he can’t believe I didn’t already know it.

“You’ll have to shelter at my place until this blows over,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. I nod in embarrassed silence.

“Do you have a phone so you can let someone know where you are?”

“Um… yes, but there's no signal,” I reply, my head sinking lower.

“Well, there’s a shit signal out here, and it's gonna be a rough night.”

ooOOoo

The cottage is snug, worn but cosy, with a blazing fire in the corner.

“Put on some dry clothes before you catch your death. I’ve left some on my bed,” he says, gesturing toward the stairs. “If you’d like a bath, there’s hot water. I’ll make something to eat.”

I head upstairs, take off my running kit, and run a hot bath. The bathroom is basic, but I welcome letting my body unclench and my muscles relax as I submerge in its warmth. I listen to the storm scream outside, just like my own emotions scream inside me. I dry off and pull on his oversized jumper and jeans. My thoughts stray to my unexpected host.

A savory smell draws me downstairs. He’s already poured a glass of red wine for me. I cradle the glass and surreptitiously glance at him over the rim. There is something about the way he stands at the stove that is assured yet relaxed. A kind of subtle confidence that makes my stomach flutter and makes me feel strangely secure.

“What’s your name?” His question surprises me.

“Um… Ellie. Short for Elowen,” I say, looking up from my wine.

“I’m Arthen… Arty, for short,” he grumbles, finally letting me meet his gaze.

In the fire’s glow, his hazel eyes gleam like warm whiskey. Seeing them makes me shiver.

“Here, eat something. The worst of the storm is still a few hours away,” he says, his tone grim as he slides a plate of steaming food toward me.

Satiated after the meal, legs heavy from running, I curl up on his worn sofa, letting the fire’s soothing warmth and a second glass of red enfold me.

“Deep in thought?” he enquires from his armchair. I look up from my glass to find him sitting there, evaluating me.

“It’s OK. You don’t have to explain. I’m not stupid.” My eyes prick with tears at his words.

“I can see your sorrow in those big eyes… a lover lost?” And just like that, his words slay open my heart. My throat clenches, and I lose the battle against the fragile dam holding back my tears.

ooOOoo

The storm arrives violently. Duke’s ears flatten as he steadfastly stays by his master’s side.

"Sorry for making you cry. We’ve all been there. You might not realise it yet, but pain is positive," he says, as if declaring a fact.

“You think?” I quip sarcastically, then immediately regret my cold retort.

“Yes, it is. Truth has a way of showing through your pain; it will help you understand. The trouble is, it's our resistance to accepting reality that causes our suffering.” I frown, then look at him coyly.

He fixes his gaze on me, holding my attention. “Pain isn’t meant to punish; it's a force to help you transform. It's also your medicine.” As he pours my third glass, the wine feels like a remedy, hope whirling in each mouthful.

The wine is deep and smooth. My cheeks flush as I succumb to its slow seduction, and I’m compelled to lock eyes with him. As I swirl the ruby elixir, I watch his every move; his allure intensifies, and my inhibitions melt away.

The room is blurry, and in the subdued light, the space between us vanishes. Warmth and wetness bloom between my thighs as carnal longing rises. In that millisecond, my mind shifts, and I deliberately hold his gaze, signaling my guilty attraction. No words are needed; sexual tension hangs in the air as his gaze intensifies, and a wordless agreement passes between us about what is ahead.

Outside, the storm screams like a tormented spirit. One violent gust plunges the cottage into darkness, only to be replaced by the candle's shadowy glow. The odour of sulphur lingers as he lights more candles to illuminate the room. His gaze locks with mine as he approaches, a ghostly shadow cast by the shielded flame. Each step is deliberate and calm, and I quake underneath my forced stillness.

The air is suffused with his scent, my skin flushes, and my breath falters. In my heady rush, the roar of the gale fades as my sexual craving flares. As he intertwines his fingers with mine, my desire sweeps past the point of no return. With a tender squeeze of his hand, he guides me upstairs.

ooOOoo

In the gold light, his gaze holds me frozen to the spot, quietening the noise outside. I’m jarred by the expectation of a kiss that never comes as he settles into a chair.

“Take off your clothes,” he says with calm, measured precision. His command sends a shudder, tension knotting in my belly. My heart rate accelerates, adrenaline pumping. This was not the romantic seduction I was expecting.

My self-consciousness rises as I undress slowly. With each piece of clothing I remove, my vulnerability mounts. I study his face for any trace of reaction, but I only see his eyes devouring every inch of me as my nakedness is revealed.

I pull the jumper over my head, bare my breasts, my nipples already hard and erect. My heart drums as I slip my fingers beneath the waistband of my knickers. I'm desperate for his approval, realising I'm deeply aroused by his instructions. Just as I’m about to completely bare all, a sudden interruption shatters the charged silence.

“Stop. Part your legs... slide your knickers to your knees,” he says, leaving me no room to hesitate.

A sharp gasp escapes as adrenaline takes command, heat pulsing between my thighs. I hover breathlessly on the cliff edge of pleasure and fear, every nerve straining for his touch.

Exposed for his enjoyment, I ache as I have never ached before. I imagine his fingers probing my slick folds, anything to quench the desperate, throbbing need building inside me. My legs tremble, barely able to support me under the weight of anticipation.

“Turn around, then take off your knickers.” My eyes fly open in disbelief. I remove my knickers, powerless, caught in the exquisite tension between begging for him to stop and aching for more.

“Bend over,” he commands; his words propel me to the edge of my limits. I draw an unsteady breath, hesitation warring in anticipation. Deep inside, a fire flares.

“Bend over,” he repeats. I vibrate at his command. My mind blanks as I obey, automatically bowing to his will and exposing myself fully. Slick arousal trickles down my thighs, my desire unmistakable and impossible to ignore.  

Tension tightens across my back and neck as he keeps me waiting; each second stretches into eternity. Locked in a posture both mortifying and electrifying, I feel the burden of my independence surrender, only to be replaced by an unexpected feeling of liberation.

"Well done," he says in a possessive tone, a reward I never expected. His words spark a rush of dopamine. How can two simple words make me feel so wanted? His approval anchors my surrender, drawing me more deeply into him.

He rises from his chair and circles behind me. I flinch as I feel a finger trace lightly along my buttocks and the cleft of my arse. My heart beats dangerously, my desire drips from me like the sap of a ripe fruit, filling the air with the sweetness of arousal. I catch my breath as he stands directly in front of me, confident and imposing. Holding my gaze, he gathers my slickness with his fingers. My legs threaten to give way as I watch him lick the sap of my desire, the longing for climax now rising uncontrollably.

He pauses.

I am rooted in every single physical sensation he conjures, my nerves tightly strung, anticipating and desperately waiting for his next move. I feel him breathe softly on me as he bends down and starts flicking and circling his tongue on my hard nipples. He sucks, twists, then bites each nipple, biting until I whimper, testing my threshold for pain. Sharp sparks of pleasure shoot along my nerve pathways, converging in my brain and signaling my clit to contract. I gasp, pleasure radiating throughout me as I fight to keep still.

The pain between my legs burns like a raging fever. He leans in, his breath heated against my ear, and he whispers words that make me shiver with intense want.

"Lie down." His breathy command floods my nervous system with a cocktail of chemicals, hurling me into a dizzy state of agonising desire.

I sink onto the bed, tension in my jaw. I stare at the candlelight dancing across the ceiling, like a silhouette of uncertainty. The high-pitched squeak of a drawer opening slices through the hush. I see his long shadow stretch across me, promising danger and the unexpected.

The sensation of silk sends a shudder as it glides over my nipples, caressing my face, and slipping across my eyes. The blindfold is tied with exquisite care, sending me into obscurity. He leans in, his lips barely skimming my ear.

"There's nothing you can do to stop this now," he whispers with steady promise.

"Let yourself go. Enjoy it," he murmurs, guiding my hands above my head. The rope's rough fibres bite against my wrists as he cinches it tight, securing me to the bed frame, unyielding, inescapable, and electrifying.

"Spread your legs," he says, my mind scrambling as I yield to his command. I feel the rough bite of the rope around each ankle tighten as he hitches it to the foot frame. The sensation of confinement is meditative, heightening my senses with every shallow breath. His breath is hot upon my skin before his teeth close around my nipples. In my darkness, the pain is heightened as he bites, tugs, and releases. Each sensation, flashing like lightning through my body, stoking the fire between my thighs.

Sensing I am on the verge of orgasm, he stops.

I listen, every sense straining in the black dark. Suddenly, his fingers roll heat vigorously through my nipples, followed by a sharp, searing bite, as metal clamps snap into place. I recoil, as a gasp escapes my lips, followed by a long, involuntary moan, raw with pain. Endorphins flood my body, agony shifting to a hum as my mind processes pain, giving way to pleasure.

"Well done," he murmurs like a velvet caress as my mind reels, suspended between pain and bliss. In my floaty haze, I cling to his voice; his praise sends a euphoric wave throughout me. Wetness oozes from me as my body strains against the ropes, my mind crazy, filled with filthy thoughts, begging to feel the friction of penetration.

With every teasing moment he orchestrates, the tightness in my pelvis becomes heavier. His warm breath grazes over my inner thighs, along the plumpness of my lips, stimulating every nerve that he touches. I can hardly bear the burning as his tongue circles my clit with maddening precision. As he parts my wet folds, a visceral moan escapes me. One finger, then two, then three, slide into me, stretching and filling me. His fingers bury deep inside, swirling across the silky gateway of my cervix. The need for him to claim me obliterates all thought; I ride the edge, torn between longing and release, desperate to finally surrender.

"Oh fuck," I gasp as pleasure overtakes me and I cross over the edge, orgasm now inevitable. My body arches against the ropes, orgasm ripping fiercely throughout me. My perineum pulses in sharp, rhythmic bursts, my entire pelvic floor contracting and trembling, unsure if the intensity will ever fade. I collapse into the bed, tension dissipating with every breath.

My legs tremble as I sink into the mattress. His warm breath brushes over my chest as he unfastens each clamp. I flinch at their slow release, sharp tingles blooming as blood rushes back into my compressed nipples. He soothes each one with a reverent kiss, wordlessly praising me.

One by one, each wrist and ankle is gently massaged and kissed as the rope restraints are undone. When the blindfold is lifted, I blink against the amber light and ease myself up. He sits at the edge of the bed, watching me, his lips curved in silent praise. His eyes are gentle, tender, marveling at me with quiet, unspoken appreciation. As the euphoric haze lifts, a quiet tenderness settles between us, a moment of unguarded intimacy that bears my absolute trust in him. I am entirely under his spell.

ooOOoo

I lean in, desperate to taste his lips. Our kiss lingers and deepens, drawing my breath. He rises and undresses unhurriedly. In the candlelight, his skin glows like amber. His chest is broad, tapering gently at the waist. I stand up to meet him, then I sink to my knees. My hands grip his hips to draw him closer. As my thumb meanders along the length of his cock, I admire the way he thickens and hardens like granite below my fingertips. He gasps as my lips wrap around him, tongue swirling, consuming him eagerly to give him every ounce of pleasure that he has given me.

Longing burns in me. I climb onto the bed on all fours, my position beckoning to him. He reads my cue, grabs my hips, and kisses my arse with tantalising slowness. Each soft kiss leaves a trail of goosebumps. He gently probes his cock along my slick folds, teasing, pausing at my entrance, then slowly parts me open. When he finally plunges into me, my gasp is desperate. Raw relief escapes from me as he fills me deep and hard. All I want is to be taken, over and over, my hunger mounting with every thrust.

I glance back, locking eyes with him, a silent challenge exchanged between us. Pressing against him in sync with every thrust, I arch my back, pushing my arse higher, begging him to go deeper. My face buries in the bed, arms stretched out, fingers twisting in the sheets as I struggle for control. I gasp every time he drives into me. The thickness of his girth stretches me tight. I shudder as he slows, teasing, making me beg with every thrust of his hips. My anticipation winds tighter, every nerve ending raw. When orgasm finally rises, I pulse around him, quaking, milking his rhythm, the intensity almost unbearable.

"I want to cum," I gasp, desperate with need. My hands claw at the sheets as I beg him to grab my hips, to take me harder, deeper—desperate to chase release together. Every thrust draws out a whimper, every nerve raw and charged with want. I shudder and spasm, helpless as I ride each exquisite, shattering wave. His moan fills my ears, his release hot and overwhelming, flooding me like warm milk.

ooOOoo

The storm howls outside as we collapse together, skin to skin. Our breathing slows, every breath we exhale, weaving raw passion into a loving intimacy. My soul is laid open, yet I feel completely safe, held in his arms. My fingers trace slow sweeping arcs across his chest, mapping the contours of his body.

"What is this tattoo?" I murmur, tracing the symbol inked into his skin.

“It’s a sacred symbol. The symbol of Awen,” he says, guiding my hand to trace the three rays, each tipped with a dot.

"It’s a mark of my ancestors. The drops represent insight or inspiration, and the three rays, they’re sacred symbols of love, wisdom, and truth," he says with pride.

“But who are you, out here all alone?” I whisper as I try to anchor myself in the moment.

“I am many things: a teacher, a guardian of ancient knowledge, a seer. My knowledge has been passed down from father to son for many generations,” he replies, with enchantment.

My head floats with wine, the afterglow of sex sprinkled like stardust over me. My thoughts dissolve as sleep gently claims me.

ooOOoo

"Ellie, Ellie, wake up!" A woman's urgent voice pierces my sleepy daze as I jolt awake, the shrill of beeping from machines surrounding me. Pain throbs in my head as I squint against the white lights, dazed and confused.

"Where am I?" I croak, holding my aching head, my world a confused blur.

"You're in the hospital. You’ve suffered a head injury," she replies.

"What!" I ask in disbelief.

"You were out running in the woods. You’re lucky to be alive after that storm hit." I glance at her crisp white uniform, attempting to piece together what happened.

"Do you remember anything?" she asks gently as she adjusts the IV drip in my arm. "You were found unconscious inside a derelict cottage; a fallen ceiling beam must have knocked you out."

"What... how did I get here?" I ask, struggling to connect with my surroundings.

"A man found you and called for help," she says softly, reaching into the drawer beside my bed.

"He insisted you had this when you woke up," she says as she drops a small metal object into my hand.

I stare at the stark, unfamiliar room, my mind scrambling to recall what happened. My gaze drops to my open palm. Eyes growing wider, I slump against the bed, transfixed by a metal pendant glinting in the light. I can't believe it. It's the sacred symbol of Awen.

I sigh. He helped me surrender my pain, a gentle harbour amid my storm.