Lost for Him [possessive billionaire romance updated Saturday and Sunday]

ELEVEN

A week past and he stopped tying me up, and even took me to a natural spring for a wash. Guess I started to stink up his home cave. My cold had gotten worse at the start – all the sneezing and sniffling, though it had gotten better in the last couple of days, I think the spring had helped.

Another week past and he gave me a gift, actually it felt like a praise of "good girl, you haven't tried to run away again yet", which was the fur of the cat whose paw I had stabbed that he had turned into a coat like thing where the cut in the paw was a section to thread the other paw through to keep the "coat" closed.

By the third week, I figured that I had to start trying to eat the raw meat if I wanted protein as no birds around here seemed to lay eggs like chickens or ducks.

It was also in the third week that I had taken to try and teach him my name – Morgan – which he could nearly say, so far we had gotten to "Mor-an". He had also started to let me out of the home cave without snarling at me, though he did always drop what ever he was doing and stalk my every move which concerned me, but then, I was able to walk outside and after the first week I'd had, complaining about him following me was the last thing I did. The animals here seemed to know that he was the boss around here, so they kept clear.

"No, come on, say it again, Mor-G-Gan," I tried as we walked, well, I walked, he stalked, through the forest. "Don't forget the 'G'."

"Mor-g-an," he tried. "Yes?"

That was another thing, he seemed to understand English, better than I had thought, though he struggled with speaking, which made me wonder where he was actually from, especially since I had found men's clothes from "my period" – as I had started to call it. Had he killed someone, or had he got lost out here too and been unable to get back? If that was what had happened, how long had he been here to forget how to speak? To learn how to hunt? Who was he?

Turning to look at him, I sent him a grin. "Yeah, that's it, just try to make it sound smoother, like this 'Morgan'."

He took to repeating my name until he finally said it right, which made me sigh in relief, now I wouldn't have to respond to "Moan" "Moran" or just "Mo".

"What's your name?" I asked in curiosity.

He frowned at me and didn't respond.

"What? I can't call 'Dude' or 'Man' whenever I need to call you. What if I'm by myself–" he snarled "–what then?"

"Alone. No," he stated plain as day.

Sighing, I didn't bother correcting him, over the past few weeks I'd learnt one thing about him, he didn't budge once his mind was set on something. So as we continued trekking through the forest my mind came up with names to call him, finally setting on 'Tom' because he reminded me of a cat, so tomcat to Tom it was. Although, I don't think he appreciated the new name.