by Rina Kent
But not tonight.
Tonight is different.
“Like making you squirm.” The whisper of his words makes me shudder. It’s a full-body one that I can’t suppress, despite my attempts.
I don’t know where I get the courage to ask, “That’s all?”
“Oh, I can do so much more.” He licks the shell of my ear and I bite my tongue to suppress a moan.
Holy shit. It’s like I’m on an aphrodisiac. One touch and I melt. One touch and I’m wiggling and clenching my thighs in search of something. What, I have no clue.
Due to being hidden my whole life, everything feels heightened and unreal. As if I left my own body and I’m existing in a different reality.
Just like I planned for this night to be.
“How old are you?” His question is sensual, low-pitched, and makes me shudder again.
“Twenty-three,” I lie, because he looks to be in his early thirties and I don’t want to appear too young.
“Hmm.” There’s a vibration in his voice as his tongue lowers to the hollow of my throat. And holy hell, it’s like he licked my pussy, because it’s wet now. My pussy, not my neck.
Okay, maybe my neck, too, but it’s my core that’s throbbing for more.
As if knowing exactly what that does to me, he flicks his tongue across the same spot and bites down.
Oh, fuck.
I jam my legs shut, afraid that he’ll see how desperate I am for this. How much I need it before I disappear.
It’s my “fuck you” to the people who intended to use this part of me to marry me off to the first influential man who comes knocking on our door.
He continues his assault on my throat and his hand skims to my back, my bare back. His skin is similar to fire. A scorching one and he’s about to melt me with it, maybe scathe me, maybe drag me to the pits of hell.
“W-what about you?” I ask, assuming that’s what’s expected in these types of conversations.
Though this can hardly be called a conversation now that his fingers are toying with my butterfly pendant and my flesh at the same time.
“Twenty-eight.”
A shudder zips down my spine and it has less to do with his age and more to do with his touch and his voice. Seriously, no voice should be as sinfully attractive as his.
It’s like the devil’s—whispering and lulling me to my damnation.
“What’s your name?” His hot breaths against my throat and his possessive hold on my back send sparks through my whole body.
I’m tingling, throbbing, and aching for something I’ve never experienced.
Something I never thought was possible in my life.
“No…names,” I manage to say in an airy voice I didn’t think I was capable of.
“Why?” He bites down on a spot on my neck and it’s hard enough that I wince. It’s hard enough that I’m clenching my soaked thighs.
“Because anonymity is thrilling.”
I expect him to argue, to demand that he know my name, and I have a fake one for that, just in case, but he does something entirely different.
Something that makes my toes curl and my heart hammer.
He laughs, the sound low and sinister and so damn delicious against my neck. When he pulls back, his intense eyes have darkened. They’re amused now. Or maybe it’s sadism that I’m staring at.
Usually, I can’t maintain eye contact for more than a second, but I’m trapped in his.
I can’t look away.
I won’t.
Because there are words and phrases in that gaze. A book, maybe, and while I’m not able to delve into all of its pages and decrypt its code, I can at least try.
Trying is the first phase of anything.
But I can’t figure out the reason behind his reaction, so I ask, “Why are you laughing?”
“Because I just made a decision, beautiful.”
“Which is?”
“I’m going to fuck you.”
2
ANASTASIA
When I was young, I lived in a house surrounded by a forest where no one could enter or leave. It was far from other houses and I had to take trips through that forest with its tall trees and haunting sounds.
With time, I stopped thinking of the trees as ominous and embraced them. I embraced the forest and made it mystical, just like I embraced hiding in narrow places when Mom told me to.
I didn’t really like hiding, partially because I knew what would come after, but mostly because it suffocated me. However, I loved the forest. I loved having my white, witchlike hair in braids, wearing my pink dress dusted with glitter, and running throughout the green heaven.
I spoke to the trees and rocks because I thought I was in a fairy tale.
I thought I was like Wendy from Peter Pan and no one could find me, catch me, or hurt me.
It was my world and mine alone. I was hidden in Neverland and no one could touch me.
I was invincible.
Until I wasn’t.
Until the pirates found me and took me away, and Mom couldn’t come along.
That’s where I’ve been living for the past fifteen years, with the pirates, and tonight is the first time I’ve been able to escape.
Sure, I didn’t find my Peter Pan. Hell, he might as well be a devious version of Captain Hook. Sure, he probably won’t let me keep my fairy dust and will throw me back to where I came from, but at least I’m free.
I’m me.
Even if it’s for only one night.
And he said he’d fuck me. He decided it earlier when we were at the Black Moon bar. We’re not there now. We’re in a hotel, right beside the bar. It’s called Black Diamond.
That’s the most precious type of diamond and the men I live with deal in it, all around the globe. Not only is it profitable, but it also makes many others bow down in front of them.
I wonder if this British stranger would bow, too. If he’d dirty his Armani suit and mess up his perfect hair and lose his luxurious watch to the men in my life. Or maybe he’ll fight them.
The thought of him in a fight makes me shudder with a different type of arousal. I’ve been in a constant lusty haze since he sucked on my ears and neck and whispered in that hotter-than-sin voice of his.
Oh, and his accent. That’s the icing on the cake. It’s why I’m sure he’s in a different category than the men in my life. Their accent is different to his. Less sophisticated and more dangerous.
Though he might be dangerous, too, since he’s managed to do what none of the men I’ve lived around have even dreamed of.
He’s managed to have me.
Or he will soon.
The moment we step into the room, I take a deep breath to tell him this is a one-time thing, that like the no-names rule, it’ll be more thrilling if we never see each other again.
One fuck.
One moment.
And then it’s over.
But I don’t have the chance to utter any sound except for a gasp. Because the second the door closes, he whirls me around and his body pins me against it. His chest ripples against my spine and there’s something hard poking against the small of my back. Not something. It’s his erection, massive and ready, and holy shit, did it just twitch?
My breasts heave against the door and my breaths come fast and uncoordinated as I lay my heated cheek on the surface.
As if that’s not enough to send me into hyperawareness, he tangles his fingers in my hair and pushes the long strands to the side, baring my back and neck, then wraps his hand around my nape.
He grabs it in a steel-like hold, leaving me no room to move, and the knowledge of that? The fact that I’m completely at his mercy draws a shudder from deep within me. It’s long and consuming and leaves me in a daze.
I’m not supposed to surrender to this, right? To the knowledge that I might not be able to escape his clutches, even if I wished to.
It’s not in my good-girl genes to want this, but I can’t help the subconscious tremors rushi
ng through me.
His teeth find my earlobe and he bites down. I’m drunk on the scent of his cologne, the discreet yet mystic quality to it, just like that forest from my childhood.
Logically, I should’ve stayed away from it and him, but I can’t.
I won’t.
I’m held hostage by his relentless grip and savage beauty. The type of beauty I didn’t know I was attracted to until tonight.
He’s still licking my earlobe, nibbling, assaulting it with his tongue, when he whispers, “Now, tell me, beautiful. Do you believe it’s a good idea to come with a complete stranger into a hotel room and not ask for his name?”
Shit.
Please don’t tell me he actually knows my family? Is this an attempt to lure me into a trap and expose me?
I put a halt to those thoughts before they occupy me. I’m just being paranoid.
That’s it. Paranoia and my inability to cope with it.
So I whisper, “I like it.”
“What do you like?”
“The no-strings-attached part.”
“I like that, too, but do you know what I like about it the most?”
“What?” My voice is too breathy and it has everything to do with his hold on me, with the way his thumb grazes my pulse point and pushes down as if emphasizing it.
“That I can do whatever I want.” His voice becomes raspy and it’s grabbing me in a chokehold, or maybe it’s his words.
Maybe it’s a combination of both.
Either way, I’m trapped in a state I’ve never experienced, and for the life of me, I can’t decide whether that’s good or bad.
All I know is that not knowing his name and deciding this is a one-time thing makes me lose all my inhibitions.
“You’ll let me, won’t you, beautiful?”
“Yeah…” I trail off because I wasn’t thinking when I agreed. Or maybe I haven’t been thinking during this whole night. I want to blame it on the alcohol, but who am I kidding? It’s not the vodka that’s flowing through my veins right now. It’s him.
Everything about him.
“Good.” He laps his tongue on the shell of my ear. “Now, tell me, are you a virgin?”
The sudden question freezes my limbs and causes my pulse to roar and throb in my veins, right beneath his hold.
“Why are you asking?” I speak so low, I’m surprised he can hear me.
“I don’t do virgins.”
“Why not?”
“They’re a hassle I don’t care for. Answer the question. Are you?”
“No,” I whisper and hope he takes it as if I’m too overwhelmed with sensations, not something else.
I think it works, because he’s pushing his knee between my thighs. “Open your legs.”
It’s nearly impossible to do so with his presence at my back, possessing me, holding me hostage, but I manage to shuffle my legs a little.
Still holding my nape with one hand, his other one reaches under my dress and I release a gasp when he cups my needy core.
“Fuck. You came ready.”
My nerve endings pulse at the arousal in his tone, at how absolutely sinful he sounds when he’s taken off guard.
And he’s right, I did come ready and he’s touching my bare pussy right now. When I made the decision to forgo panties, I thought I would have a quickie and go home. That’s still the plan.
But something tells me he won’t honor my plan. He’ll bulldoze through it, shred it apart, and feed it to me, won’t he? It’s that intensity of his that I feel with every brush of his skin on mine.
Intensity can’t be planned. Which is why I shouldn’t have chosen him. But I did, and I couldn’t stop this even if I wanted to.
And a deep part of me rejects that option anyway.
“Are you perhaps an escort?” He slides his fingers against my wet folds, making them wetter and more sensitive. “But you would’ve said that if you were, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe I’m doing pro bono work tonight.”
I meant it as a jab, but he chuckles again. It’s unnerving, how charming he can get, even though he has sharp edges. It’s not supposed to be like this. Charming people don’t have the intensity of the men I’ve known my entire life.
And the combination of both is dangerous, terrifying even.
But my body doesn’t seem to care about that fact, because the moment he thrusts a finger inside me, I go on my tiptoes, stifling a moan.
“You have a mouth on you,” he rasps, driving his finger deeper.
“Yeah, and I’m not afraid to use it.” Not really, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Does that mean you’ll choke on my dick and let me come down that pretty throat?”
I choke, but it’s on my barely existent drool. I’m thinking of a comeback when he thrusts an additional finger and tightens his hold on my nape.
I go still, afraid to move or even breathe. Holy fucking shit. It’s full, so full that I think I’ll burst with the sensation. I’ve done this to myself before, but it’s never felt this…overwhelming.
It’s only two fingers.
His fingers that are as hard and sharp as the man himself. But what makes my arousal worse is how he grabs my neck as if he has every right to, how he presses on my pulse point, controlling my shaky, chopped breathing.
“Here’s a tip, I don’t like talkers,” he says casually as he pounds his fingers into me, scissoring and crisscrossing them in rhythm with my shaky inhales and exhales.
“T-too bad; you…g-got one…”
“Looks like I’m not doing it hard enough if you’re still able to speak.” He drives another finger inside and I shriek, the sound piercing the deafening silence of the hotel room.
If I thought I was full before, I’m bursting right now. And that sensation, the thought that he’s so deep inside me that I’m about to explode with him, is enough to make me orgasm.
It’s savage and merciless, just like him, like that expression in his eyes that I can’t look into, because I’m broken and can’t make eye contact.
But I don’t have to look to feel the pleasurable wave, to bask in every second of it, in every minuscule detail and every long, deep thrust of his fingers. They’re still driving into me, elongating the orgasm, making it ten times wilder.
It’s like I’ve never had an orgasm before. As if my body has been preparing for this type of orgasm, one that shatters my paper-like expectations and blows away my fairy tale dreams.
“You’re not talking now, are you, beautiful?” There’s a smirk in his voice and it should piss me off, but I’m too drunk on the pleasure to focus on that.
“I…can…”
“Hmm.” His fingers slip out of me and before I can make any sound, he grips me by the nape and wrenches me from the door. I gasp when he pushes me to my knees in front of him.
I stare at him for a second. It’s only a second, but it’s enough to see the dark lust in his hazel eyes. That’s their color, I now realize. Instead of being green like the mystic forest from my childhood, they’re a mixture of the color of the trees and earth.
I’m distracted from them, though, because he’s unzipping his pants and freeing his cock. That’s where my wild gaze is focused on right now.
His thick, veiny, and very hard cock. It’s so hard that it’s changed color, becoming a shade of purple.
A twinge of apprehension zaps through me at the size. He couldn’t just have a tiny cock, could he?
I was ready for this not to be satisfying. After all, it’s only a mission, and I didn’t let my hopes soar high. But just the sight of his dick is enough to make me tingly again. I just had an orgasm, but my body still demands more of him.
Of that.
“Do you know what will happen now, beautiful?” There’s a tightness in his sharp jaw and his hand flexes around his length as if he’s conjuring some form of patience.
I shake my head, still staring at his massive erection. How could it get this hard?
�
��You’re going to make that mouth useful and suck my cock.”
My thighs clench together at the image and I lick my lips and then bite my tongue to stop whatever is about to come out.
I’m a good girl and good girls don’t make embarrassing sounds.
Good girls don’t have one-night stands either, but this is an exception. My last indulgence before everything changes.
The British stranger digs his fingers into the back of my hair and directs his dick at my parted lips. “Open.”
Instead of doing as he asks, I wrap my lips around his crown and lick the precum. He groans at that, which means he likes it, so I inch up on my knees and take more of him inside, hollowing my cheeks so I don’t graze him with my teeth.
I’ve never been told how to do this, but I’m good at mixing the little knowledge I’ve gained through watching porn with the heat of the moment. That’s what I do right now, hoping to hell he doesn’t realize that I’m figuring this out as I go.
Using his hold on my hair, he pushes me down on his cock and all my doubts vanish. He’s deep-throating me, I think, and I can’t help my gag reflex when his dick hits the back of my throat.
I splutter, choking on his cock, and even with that, I’m unable to take him all in, unable to fit him into my mouth. I try, though. Instead of letting my gag reflex rule me, I relax my jaw, letting him thrust in a few times before I lick and suck.
Yes, I might not be as experienced as he is, but he’s not the only one who gets to wield power over someone else.
I want that, too.
I want to deepen those grunts of pleasure he releases each time he drives his cock deep in my throat, using my tongue for friction. I want to roughen them and turn him into a mess.
So I act on pure instinct and continue loosening my jaw the farthest possible and make that dreaded eye contact. But now, it’s not only about the meeting of gazes or exchanging vulnerabilities, it’s a challenge.
His lids drop as he slows the rhythm of rocking his hips. “Stop looking at me like that unless you want me to fuck your throat.”
I stop moving my mouth altogether and maintain eye contact.