by Rina Kent
My eyes sting and my lungs burn with the unhealthy amount of air I’ve inhaled in such a short time. But none of that matters, because all I can focus on is the man standing beside me.
The man who’s turned my life upside down so many times but still holds it in balance.
“I have the entire scene recorded, so prepare to pay a hefty settlement when she sues for assault.”
I stare up at him, at Knox, the man who’s not even supposed to be here, but he’s holding me by the shoulders and speaking on my behalf.
And just like that, the tears I held in for so long gather in my lids.
“Knox?” I whisper.
“Don’t worry, beautiful.” He winks down at me. “I’ll protect you.”
14
KNOX
I’ve had people look at me in different ways.
Some have pitied me, others have had expectations of me, and even those closest to me, such as my family, have had questions in their eyes about me. Sometimes it’s worry. Other times, curiosity.
But no one has ever looked at me the way Anastasia is right now. As if she were falling down a bottomless well and I pulled her out.
As if she were choking and I gave her back her air.
She’s wheezing, a full-body shudder gripping her. Her shoulders tremble beneath my hand and her lips are twitching. I don’t have to see the look in her eyes beneath the glasses to know she’s falling into a loop.
That she’s out of her element and way out of her comfort zone.
When Christoph mentioned that he’d be having lunch at this restaurant, I guessed that he’d be accompanied by Gwen and Anastasia—or Jane, as they know her. The three of them have become close over the last couple of weeks, almost inseparable.
So whenever I want information about her, all I have to do is drop ambiguous questions to Christoph and he happily answers them all. Though I’m a bit annoyed that she spends more time with him than me.
Fine, not annoyed. It’s way more than that.
The game Anastasia and I started to play was supposed to make me get over her, remove her from my system and allow me to finally move on, but it’s only made the fire burn hotter, stronger.
Instead of purging her, I’ve been engraving her in, searching for every moment I can catch a glimpse of her. Even if she’s only passing by.
It’s that unhealthy obsession again, the lack of control I’ve been fighting all my life.
And I did plan to continue fighting it, to reject it and keep this fucked-up fixation under wraps.
But that was before.
Before I stepped into the restaurant and saw her heading to the bathroom, only for her to take a long time to come out.
And that’s when I followed her and witnessed a fucking arsehole grabbing her by the throat and suffocating her. I lied about filming the whole thing, because the moment I saw someone hurting her, my first thought was to release her and punch the two fuckers who are currently glaring at me.
One of them is taller and broader and wears a tailored suit and black-framed glasses. He’s the silent one who didn’t talk or take action during the whole ordeal.
The other one is much smaller, leaner, but still strong, because he effortlessly lifted Anastasia by the collar of her shirt.
He’s also the bloody wanker who has me thinking about the best way to murder. No one touches Anastasia and gets away with it.
No one.
“Who are you?” the leaner one asks with a tinge of an accent. Russian? Eastern European?
“Her attorney.” I tighten my hold on Anastasia, who’s shaking even worse than a few seconds ago. “You just committed physical assault, and not only will I have you arrested for it…”
“This little…” He storms toward me, his face tight with the intention of violence. I swiftly push Anastasia behind me, ready for the impact of his clenched fist.
One more assault to drag this bastard down with.
But before he can reach me, the other man grabs him by the arm and the leaner one immediately comes to a halt. He’s breathing heavily, his fists still clenched, and his glare alone is about to cut me open.
The groomed man with glasses shakes his head at the other one. No words are spoken as he stares at me, then at the hint of Anastasia behind me. I don’t know why I feel the need to hide her from their watchful gaze.
It’s an instinctive feeling that I have no control over, but it turns my whole body rigid. If they want a fight, that’s exactly what they’ll will get.
But the man adjusts his glasses, turns, and leaves.
“Consider yourself lucky.” The leaner man tells me before he follows the other one. His jacket flies behind him and I catch a glimpse of something metallic tucked in his pants.
A gun.
I narrow my eyes on their backs as they disappear down the hall. There’s something about them. What, I don’t know.
Anastasia must’ve felt it, too, when she was cornered by them, because even now that they’re gone, her fingers are digging into my jacket and she’s still behind me, trembling uncontrollably.
I turn around and the scene that greets me makes me pause.
Tears stream down her cheeks, fogging her glasses, and she appears so helpless, so scared and small that I want to find those two men and shoot them with their own guns.
“They’re gone,” I say in a cool voice, trying to make her feel at ease.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Only moisture cascades silently down her cheeks as she stands there like a statue.
“Anastasia…”
“Don’t…don’t…please…please don’t call me that, please, I’m begging you…I’ll do anything…just…just…”
“Hey, relax. It’s fine.”
She stares up at me then, her tears sliding to her chin and neck with the motion. “It’s not…it will not be. Nothing is fine. They’re watching me…that lady from the restaurant was watching me and now, they’re here and it’s never going to be fine.”
A few passers-by watch us questioningly and though I’m not sure if she’s focused on them, I can tell that she’s well and truly on the path of having a breakdown. Otherwise, she wouldn’t let people see her in this state.
So I grab her by the arm and drag her behind me. She doesn’t protest as I guide her out through the restaurant’s back exit and release her against the wall.
We’re in a small alleyway that’s hidden from sight. It’s not so bright and there aren’t people watching her every move.
But she’s still crying silently, her body stiff.
I reach out for her glasses and remove them. She tries to fight me, to keep them in place, because they’re her camouflage from the world. Something she can hide behind and hope no one will see her.
“Give them back,” she whispers.
“So you can return to your bubble?”
She glares at me. “What’s wrong with bubbles? They’re safe and no one hurts you when you’re in them.”
“They’re a delusion that will disappear sooner or later. All you’ll be left with is more suffering.”
“I’ll deal with that when it happens.”
“Or you can deal with it now instead of hiding.”
“I’m not hiding. I’m fine.”
I retrieve my phone, open the camera, then place it in front of her face. “Does that look like someone who’s fine?”
Her lips part and tremble and a fresh wave of tears gather in her fake eyes. I hate that she changed the color, that I can barely see a glimpse of the ethereal blue I stared into that first time I met her.
The blue that tells a mystic story without her having to say a word.
She pushes the phone away and stares to the side. When she speaks, her voice is so low, it’s almost unintelligible. “Sometimes, hiding is the only option people like me have. So let me be.”
I drop her glasses in my pocket and place one hand on the wall by her head, then grab her by the throat with the other one and lean into
her. “See, that’s the problem. I can’t.”
Her breath hitches as my chest is glued to hers until we’re both feeling the booming of heartbeats and the skyrocketing pulse.
Until we’re both trapped in the present moment.
“What are you doing—”
Her words are cut off when I lower my head and lick her tears. I drink the salty taste and her anguish, fear, and anxiety. I take it all, my tongue sucking at her scorching hot cheeks, then her nose and her chin, and I finish with her mouth.
My lips brush against hers and I lick them, nibble on them, reveling in each of her shudders, tremors, and small moans, and then I’m thrusting my tongue into her mouth.
The same tongue that tasted her tears is now making her drink them, too, feed on them from me.
My hold tightens on her throat as I kiss her slow at first, then hard and fast and so out of control that she’s gasping in my mouth.
She’s wheezing for air, her fingers holding on to my jacket with everything in her might, and when I open my eyes to stare into hers, they’re closed.
Her head is tilted back and she’s letting me ravish her, my tongue feasting on hers and my teeth biting and nibbling and sending tiny sparks of pain through her.
That’s what I do, after all. I’m a master of pain. Pleasure can’t happen without it; there needs to be a balance between the good and the bad.
The pretty and the ugly.
And Anastasia doesn’t seem to mind it, the bites between the licks, the nibbles between the sucks. If anything, she’s getting lost in it as deeply as I am.
The need that explodes in my groin is unmistakable. I’m so hard that it’s painful, so painful that my trousers can’t contain it. She must feel my erection against her soft belly, because her eyes open wide, even though my tongue is playing with hers, even though she’s still shuddering like when I licked away her tears.
And the way she looks at me?
Fuck.
It’s like she wants me to repeat it all over again. She wants me to be the only one who makes her tears stop and lick them away.
She wants to cry for me so I’ll confiscate those tears and have them for my own.
And that’s not something I should wish for or want. It’s not even something I should be thinking about.
Yet, deep down, in the dark corners that I spent decades trying to squash, there’s a part of me that wants exactly that.
Worse, that part might want something even more nefarious. Something that I’ll probably regret once this whole thing is over.
But that time isn’t today. So I don’t allow myself to think as I pull away from her mouth. Her lips release mine slowly, leaving a trail of saliva between us and sticking to her lower lip.
So I lick it, darting my tongue out to get all of it.
“Knox…” she whispers, her breath hitching as my tongue leaves her lips.
“Shhh.” I turn her around so she’s facing the wall and keep my hold on her throat. “I’m going to need you to be real quiet for me when I fuck you, beautiful.”
15
ANASTASIA
I think there’s something wrong with me.
With him.
With us.
Otherwise, why the hell am I so hot and bothered like never before?
And it didn’t start just now, no. This overstimulation started when he pinned me against the wall, grabbed me by the throat, and licked away my tears. He darted his tongue out and licked them all away. I should’ve been repulsed, should’ve flinched away or attempted to stop him.
But something much worse happened.
I liked it.
Every lash of his tongue was as if he was lapping at my pussy, parting my legs to get more access.
And when he thrust his tongue inside my mouth, I could almost feel his cock driving deep into my channel.
I still feel it now, the uncontrollable need, and I’m not sure if it’s his or mine.
Or maybe it’s a combination of both.
His larger body pins me against the wall and I can’t breathe, not because he’s crushing me, but because of everything else.
Like his breath on the side of my face and the sharp tingles it provokes.
Or the scent of his cologne that envelops me whole as he did in front of Kirill and Aleksander.
But most of all, it’s his warmth, the sense of safety I’ve never allowed myself to feel, not even with my father.
Because he didn’t say that, my father, he never said he’d protect me. That’s why I left, that’s why I wore contact lenses and glasses and changed my hair color.
That’s why I stole from him.
But Knox said it in front of those two dangerous men. He didn’t care that they were dangerous or that they could snap his neck with a motion from Kirill’s hand.
That’s exactly what would’ve happened if there weren’t people around. Kirill would’ve given Aleksander a sign and his guard would’ve stabbed Knox to death, then buried him on some construction site.
But Knox didn’t give a fuck about any of that.
He said he’d protect me.
And maybe that’s why I’m melting against the wall. I’m breathing so harshly, so gutturally, I think I’m hyperventilating.
However, Knox’s hold on my neck keeps me anchored in the moment and to him. And even though I have no clue where he’s taking this, a part of me, the rebellious spiky part that decided to steal and leave, doesn’t care.
Knox doesn’t care either, because his cock is nuzzling against my ass cheeks, hard and thick and hot. So hot that I catch fire.
All the tension I’ve been feeling since that day he walked out of the supply room returns with a vengeance. The onslaught of emotions wrap around my throat, matching his grip. He has his index finger against my jaw, forbidding me from attempting to move.
But that’s not the only thing wrapped around me. His other hand loops around my waist and reaches for the zipper of my pants, undoing it, then pulling the cloth down to beneath my ass.
A gust of air hits my skin and my eyes widen. “Knox…?”
“Shh. I told you to stay quiet.”
“Oh my God, you can’t be serious?”
“I perfectly am. What did you think “I’ll fuck you” means, my little liar?”
That’s the thing, I didn’t think. Or maybe I thought he was joking, but that’s obviously not the case.
“Here?” I murmur, my voice shaking, but it’s not out of trepidation.
“Here.” It’s one word, one single word, but he whispers it in that deep, sensual voice of his and it feels like a thrust into my starving core.
“But…but we’re in public.”
“So?”
“Anyone can see.”
“And?”
“That’s not right.”
“All the best things aren’t, beautiful.”
I can’t think of a reply, because he’s cupping me through my panties and their soaked with so much arousal, it’s strange and exciting at the same time.
“Hmm. You’re wet at the thought of being fucked in public.”
“No…”
“No? Your cunt that’s dripping due to the promise alone would argue otherwise. Do you like the thought of someone showing up and watching?”
“I don’t…”
“Good. Do you know why?” He pulls down my panties, so that they join my pants, and exposes my pussy; however, I still think he’ll back down and end the madness.
But I should’ve known better.
Knox and madness go hand in hand.
Sometimes, he is the madness.
He’s that piece of insanity that makes the most sense.
The foolishness in the midst of logic.
That’s how it feels now. So right and wrong at the same time.
The only right thing in the wrong.
The sound of his own zipper echoes in the air in the small nook behind the restaurant where anyone could pass by. Where any staff member could st
ep out the door to throw something away or take a smoke break.
And I think he’s right. The possibility alone makes me wetter, stickier, messier.
He’s the reason why I’m this way. I was always a goody two shoes. A wallflower. Boring and mild.
Hell, I thought I would only like sex with the lights off and on scheduled days.
And no, those fantasies I had about being held down and fucked don’t count.
But he proved that they do. Very much so.
Ever since that first time, he’s provoked that part of me I reserved for nightmares. He’s taught me that I want more than mild and boring. That sex without lights and on Saturdays isn’t enough.
That sex isn’t enough.
I prefer fucking. Primal, rough, and out of control.
I prefer relinquishing all control and not thinking, even though we’re in public.
Even though this isn’t how my second time is supposed to be.
His lips meet my ear as he whispers, “I won’t let them see. They can wish, they can imagine, but they’ll never have you like I do, beautiful. They won’t even dream about seeing this pussy, let alone fucking it.”
And with that, he thrusts inside me from behind. The motion is so deep and raw that I get on my tiptoes.
Holy shit.
Is it possible to come from penetration alone? Because I think I’m there. The orgasm isn’t as hard as the other time, but it’s shaking me, it’s gripping and dragging and filling me to the brim.
“You like this, don’t you, my little liar?” He’s still whispering in my ear, one hand on my hip and the other holding me by the throat. “You like the threat of being found out, of being seen while surrendering to the most carnal part of you.”
“Oh…” I trail off because he’s pounding into me now, hard and fast and unrestrained. I’m bumping against the wall, my legs shaking and my heart about to spill to the ground.
My nails scratch on the wall for balance, but it’s impossible with his pace. His mad, harsh, and savage pace that’s building a hurricane inside me.
“Say you like it, Anastasia.” He slows to low, deep thrusts that make my toes curl.
“Like w-what?”