True Love Lost

By: Morgan Kelley


And so begins Desdemona’s story and the new journey of Callen Whitefox…



Dedication:



To all those that believe in love at first sight.



To all those that have loved and lost.



To all those that were driven mad by love.



To all those that have yet to risk their hearts for their

‘one true love’.



And to all those who never gave up and searched for

that true love despite the odds.



To my mom and dad; a shining example of love never

getting lost.



To my girlfriends who let me bounce ideas off them at all

Times of the day, and put up with my craziness in the

Pursuit of writing this book.

Wine is on me!



Prologue





Six Months Earlier



The mirror didn’t lie, as beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Indeed she was a lovely woman, taking pride in her appearance. The main reason was her true love. He always enjoyed that she took time to make herself look just right. As she brushed her long blonde hair, she ran her fingers over the long silkiness, a smile crossing her lips.

“Tonight will be so special,” she said, to no one in particular. “I can’t wait until we start our evening together, lover.”

It would be a night they’d never forget.

There was nothing like spending a quiet evening in with the love of her life. It made her giddy with excitement at the prospects of what was to come. “I wonder what color lipstick I should wear for you tonight,” she said, as she picked through the various colors in her makeup kit. “Perhaps a red would be perfect,” she whispered giddily, as she puckered up and smeared it on her lips and then inspected the outcome.

It should have taken little thought, but yet there was that doubt and fear pushing into her mind. Finally, she made the decision.

“No, I think not. My lover is right. I look too trashy. I know how you don’t like me to look like a whore. I guess I’ll pick a new color, lover,” she stated to the empty room. Gently she picked up a tissue and began blotting the color from her lips. When it left a red stain behind, she felt herself becoming angry, rubbing harder and with more force. “No! This won’t do,” she snapped, desperately trying to remove the offensive color from her lips. Red was for whores and sluts. Not women in a committed relationship, and she knew that!

The love of her life was very particular. There were a few things that she’d learned to avoid when he was around. The first being, he liked his woman to be a lady. Not some crass, vile, trash bag that had no manners. Women you brought home to marry weren’t gutter whores who acted like perverse tramps.

Once before she tried to play the sexy vixen and crossed the line, only to discover her lover’s temper. That was a night she wouldn’t ever forget, as it played back in her mind like a horrible nightmare. The anger from him was incredible and the strike to her face left a mark that took days to fade.

That mistake wouldn’t ever be made again.

She thought about that night not long ago, and her heart pounded furiously in her chest. So much effort went into that evening to impress him. The perfect dinner had been planned, as he came home from a demanding day at work. Making his favorite food was tricky, because if it was too hot or too cold then there would be anger. He liked to eat promptly at six p.m. and not a second later. As he walked into the house he wanted a cold beer, his woman looking perfect, a clean house, and a hot meal. After all it wasn’t too much for him to ask of her.

Rubbing her cheek, she remembered the moment it started to unravel. When she placed their dinner, a pan of lasagna in the oven, she inadvertently forgot to turn it on and the well timed dinner was going to be late. Maybe he’d forgive her and be in a good mood, or maybe he’d punish her and make her night hell.

Either way it was a craps shoot. Damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.

As she waited for him to arrive home, she had a brilliant idea. She would dress in something sexy, possibly distracting him with her body for thirty minutes before dinner. Then he wouldn’t even notice that the food was late coming to the table.

Men loved sex and food, and she was praying that the art of seduction would save her from getting hurt. If there was one thing she disliked, it was the quick snap of his temper when she did something horribly wrong.

It scared her.

NO! It terrified her.

Running around the house, cognizant of the clock on the wall and the alarm in her phone, she knew she only had so much time remaining before he’d arrive. Checking the details, she rushed into the living room just to assure herself that she wouldn’t screw anything else up.

The remote was on the arm of his chair ready for his use.

There were three cold beers in the fridge, ready for his consumption through the night.

Even the pillows were in just the right spots on the couch, fluffed and ready to impress him with their perfection.

Lastly, she checked off the final item. The mail was in a pile ready to be read and on the little table beside his chair.

If any of these things weren’t exact, there’d be anger and hell to pay. She knew that from experience, but that was her fault. He had rules and she needed to be obedient and observe them, because he was the man.

Now that the little details were handled, she could now manage the big issue at hand. The late dinner and why she’d screwed it up this badly. This would be her third warning, and the first one had been scary enough. Yet she didn’t learn her lesson. The screaming frightened her, but still she made the error again. The second time, punishment was she’d been struck. If he got to the final warning, she was unsure what would happen. There was a part of her that dreaded knowing what he would do to her on the third mistake when he found out.

Shaking her head, she pushed it out of her mind, praying her plan would work. As she checked the clock again she took a seat at her vanity. It had been a present from her true love, and he expected it to be used. No slovenly women were allowed in his house. Women were to be arm candy, making their men look good. It was her job in life. She was his concubine and his representation out in the world. Because he had chosen her there were benefits. He paid her bills, gave her a roof over her head, and loved her.

He really loved her…

As she hastily picked makeup out to impress him, she had that sinking feeling that the plan wasn’t going to work. A silent prayer was said, and a promise that this wouldn’t ever happen again, if she just survived this one mistake.

“Please God let me pull this off,” she whispered.

Just one more chance and she’d be the perfect woman for him. After all she was still learning.

Digging through her dresser drawer, she found the one slutty outfit she owned. It wasn’t one she ever wore with him before. Part of her was afraid of how he would react. There were times when they had sex, and he wanted her to be a filthy whore, making her do the vilest things, and other times where he couldn’t perform unless she appeared chaste and pretended to not enjoy it. Either way, he loved her and that’s all that mattered.

Crossing her fingers, she hoped she could distract him enough with her womanly wiles, and that he’d be in the mood for raunchy sex.

As she finished dressing, she slipped into a pair of heels that she owned before moving in with him. It was one of the rare pieces of her past that she’d kept. He didn’t like her remembering anything before him. The men, the fun, the sex…But she couldn’t resist the red shiny patent leather pumps. They were her secret happiness, and she just couldn’t leave them behind. Checking the garters and looking in the mirror she heard his truck pull up to the outside of the house.

It was now or never! The show was about to begin.

Grabbing a beer from the refrigerator, she leaned sexily against the counter, waiting for him to enter. The only thing she could hope was her face didn’t show the fear and terror that she was feeling inside if this didn’t work.

The lock clicked.

Her heart pounded.

“I’m home, baby,” he hollered, his back to her as he closed the door.

In her head she counted the steps through the mud room to the kitchen. Five, four, three, and she popped the beer tab and it made the hiss.

“I see you have my…” He stopped short and his mouth hung open at what was waiting for him in his kitchen. Surely he was in the wrong house.

“I thought we could have some fun before dinner,” she said sweetly, hoping the act was believable.

Silence.

“I’ll be the appetizer.” She tried again, hoping and praying it worked.

Then she knew that the line had been crossed. The handsome features twisted into a sick rage, as the keys to his truck were slammed viciously onto the kitchen counter. The ‘thunk’ made her jump in her heels, and she knew then it was going to be bad. “Baby, wait! I can explain,” she begged, holding out the beer in hopes it might calm him down. It wasn’t like she forgot everything he liked.

“Explain?” he roared. “You can explain why you’re dressed like some piece of trash and standing in my kitchen like this?” He motioned up and down her body with his hand.

She stuttered, “Ba-baby, I forgot to turn on the oven and dinner is going to be late tonight, and I didn’t want you to…”

There was no time given to explain. The beer went flying, as he knocked it out of her hand and stepped dangerously close to her body.