by Rina Kent
“O-okay…” Her voice is barely a whisper, or maybe it’s a whimper, but it’s all the confirmation I need.
Releasing one of her nipples, I pluck off the glasses and throw them away. Her eyes, her fake brown eyes are drooped and barely open. But she’s looking at me. Like in the office earlier, she’s only looking at me. As if I’m the only one who exists in the world.
As if I’m the only one she can look at.
Part of me wants to reach out and bring out her actual eyes, the real ones that I have memorized deep in my soul. But the most logical part wins, the part that shouldn’t care which eyes are genuine. I don’t like them in the first place.
Eyes.
They’re the part of the face that hold the most contempt. They’re what T and I tried to escape and still couldn’t, not even after we ran away.
So I grab Anastasia by the hip and flip her onto her stomach. She gasps, the sound echoing in the small flat as her head lifts, probably to look at me, but I grab her by the nape and pin her to the ground. “Stay like that.”
Her harsh breathing is audible and I feel her stiffening beneath me, but soon after, she relaxes, her cheek resting on the floor.
As if my callous, violent treatment is normal and she accepts it.
As if…she trusts me.
Bloody hell.
Why the fuck would she trust me when I promised to hurt her? I sensed that she was a masochist that first night, but is this even still under that category?
Despite myself, though, a small nook inside me rejoices at that fact, at how she trusts me enough to let go when she’s not the type to.
When she’s clearly hiding so much shit and being a little liar.
My fingers latch onto her underwear, pulling them down, and she opens her legs, letting me settle between them as if I always belonged here. Between her fucking legs.
I throw the underwear away and my hand finds her soaking folds. “Hmm. So fucking wet. Did the promise of rough sex turn you on, beautiful?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I get my answer when her juices coat my fingers and drip between her thighs.
“Tell me you got on some sort of birth control today.”
“I’m on the shot.”
“Thank fuck.”
“You’re not…going to use a condom?” She tries to twist her head back, but I hold it forward.
“Now that I’ve felt your cunt bare, I’m not going back to using a barrier.”
I grab her wrists and lock them at the small of her back, then use them and my hold on her nape as leverage as I thrust into her tight heat in one ruthless go.
Fuck.
I came here with the promise of violence, revenge even, but the moment her walls clench around me, it’s like I’ve reached a different level of existence.
One where only the two of us exist.
She moans, the sound shattered when I pull out to the crown, then drive in harder this time, as violently as my shadows.
My fingers tighten on her neck and I thrust in and out of her cunt with a speed even I didn’t know I was capable of. The sloppy sounds of her arousal keep me going on and on as the slaps of flesh against flesh reverberate around us.
I fuck her like a madman with no cure, like this is the last fuck of my life, like she’s my prize and I have to have her one final time.
Sex never felt this raw to me, this…fucking primal. Yes, I’ve always loved it rough, but never to the point where I didn’t want to stop.
Where I wanted to be inside a woman forever.
The thought gives me pause, but only for a second before I’m pounding in her again.
Faster, wilder, until she’s sliding on the floor and my hold is the only thing keeping her in place.
“You’re so fucking tight, my little liar. This hole is made for me, isn’t it?”
She releases an unintelligible sound, so I repeat, “This hole is mine, isn’t it?”
“N-no…”
The pads of my fingers dig into her nape. “Did you just say no?”
“You…don’t…own me…”
“Is that fucking right?” I up my pace, ramming into her the fastest I ever have until her whimpers and moans break. Until her small body is completely at my mercy—or lack thereof.
“Here’s the thing, my little liar. I do own you, I own this hole and every other hole you have to offer. The longer you deny it, the harder I’ll fuck it in you.”
“Oh, fuck…” she curses, her walls tightening around me. “Knox…Knox…oh, shit…I…can’t take it…”
“Then admit it. Admit that your cunt is mine to own and fuck.”
“Oooh…”
“That’s not the word.”
“Just…just let me come…”
“Not until you say that your cunt is mine.”
“It’s…it’s yours…” Her voice is barely above a murmur, but I hear it.
I hear it so loud and clear that the inexplicable possessiveness veering on madness takes hold of me.
“Good girl.” I rotate my hips until I hit deeper, and that makes her moans louder and sharper. “Do you like that?”
“Yes…yes…there…please…”
I roll my hips again, driving deeper instead of harder, then repeat it a few more times until I feel her shattering around me. “Here?”
“Yes!!” she screams, spluttering and murmuring my name like a chant as she comes undone.
I feel her clamping around me, swallowing me inside and milking my dick as if she can’t come alone and is inviting me along for the ride.
My pace turns frantic, fueled by her pleasure. It’s something only she is capable of, making me so attuned to her orgasms and the tremors in her body that I can’t help the need to follow her.
To be with her.
To fucking own her.
At that thought, the one about owning her, my cum spurts inside her with a wrecking force I’ve never felt before.
As if with a vengeance.
As if I want her every pore to be stuffed with my seed.
I slowly pull out of her, my gaze following the trickling of my cum out of her pussy, smearing her thighs and pooling on the floor.
The shadows slowly dissipate to the background when a raging sense of possessiveness bulldozes to the forefront, tearing through my flesh and smashing straight into my bones.
I’ve always hidden my tendencies of obsession—the need to be number one, to be Dad’s favorite, and even to be T’s only support. And I’ve been trying to get rid of those bad habits since after secondary school.
This is the first time I’ve felt a blinding possessiveness for someone I fucked. It’s close to being a dark obsession.
A dangerous one, where my shadows will come out and play.
And yet, I can’t stop staring at the evidence of my ownership dripping out of her.
I can’t let her go, even though we’re both panting and perspiration covers our skin.
It’s a primal thing that I have no control over. A raw feeling that holds me hostage and refuses to let go.
A soft whimper rips from her and the sound shakes me out of my trance. I slowly release her, then stagger to my feet, tucking in my semi-hard dick.
Yes, I just emptied inside her, but the view of my cum pouring out of her cunt is taunting my dick for another round.
But it’s not about that.
I didn’t come here for multiple rounds or even to fuck at all. I’m here so Anastasia will stop looking at me, so she’ll stop being attuned to me when she has no business to.
She turns around and slowly gets into a kneeling position, then stares up at me. My cock twitches at the view of her completely naked. There are a few red marks on her pale skin from when I gripped her—around her neck, on her wrists, and on the creamy flesh of her breasts. Her nipples have become red and puffy from my assault. Her lips, too. They’re swollen, plump, and tempting me to shove my dick between them.
But what really gets me is the look in her eyes, the
satisfaction in them, the fucking pleasure that she’s not ashamed to show.
Because we’re compatible, she and I. Other women wouldn’t appreciate the roughness and dirty sex, but my Anastasia gets off on it.
Wait. My?
Since fucking when did I start thinking of her that way in my mind?
I need to go home and erase these cancerous thoughts from my head.
This is fucking.
Only fucking.
I haven’t taken even one step when she asks, “Do you want to grab something to eat?”
I should turn and leave. Should ignore that fuck-me look in her eyes or the hope in them. If it were any other situation, I would personally crush that hope.
But I don’t.
I go against my principles one more time and stay.
And the shadows have no say in it this time.
19
ANASTASIA
I think I did something wrong.
Because the tension that’s been floating in the air for the past half hour is suffocating.
Even more than when he fucked me on the floor, face down, and made me come the strongest I ever have.
Without a condom.
Again.
But for some reason, that doesn’t make me mad. Deep down, I liked the sensation of his hot cum inside me and the friction of his skin against mine.
In fact, I liked it so much, I might be a little bit obsessed with it. And his rough dominance.
And devious fucking.
And everything about him, really.
But that’s wrong. I shouldn’t be so tangled up with him that I can’t escape his trap.
Even now, I can’t stop staring at him, at his broad shoulders that are stretching his shirt. But that’s not the only thing straining against his shirt; there’s also his bulging biceps, his pectoral muscles, and even his abdomen.
A wave of heat slaughters the fairies in my stomach and I clench my thighs together to trap whatever sensation is trying to escape.
I pulled on my hoodie earlier, but I couldn’t locate my panties, so I’m bare and that feels so revealing. Vulnerable, even.
My breathing is harsh and I’m glad I put on my “Oldies” playlist when we sat down so he can’t hear the loud inhales and exhales or how much I’m crossing and uncrossing my legs.
Besides, even on a low volume, my playlist gives me peace and a sense of courage. It’s even stronger than liquor in that department.
We’re sitting across from each other at the coffee table, eating the pizza I ordered. Or, I’m nibbling; he’s studying my small place with a critical eye. From his point of view, this must look so subpar. There are smoke lines on the cracked ceiling that is decorated by some star drawings the previous tenant left behind.
My furniture is sparse to none. Since this is a studio apartment, I only have a sofa that can be turned into a bed and a table—the one we’re sitting around. On the floor.
But he’s not looking at those, his attention is on the clothes scattered everywhere and the dishes piled up in the sink.
“I was going to clean them,” I blurt.
He focuses back on me with a small smirk. “Did I say anything?”
“I can tell you were going to.”
“You can tell how?”
“Well, people like you don’t appreciate the chaos.”
“People like me?”
“Prim and proper.”
“Liking things organized doesn’t have anything to do with being prim and proper.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No. You’re living proof of that.”
“How is that?”
“You’re prim and proper yourself, but you’re not organized.”
“I’m…not prim and proper.”
“Wearing lace panties, drinking water with a straw, and always keeping your nails clean and trimmed says otherwise. Besides, your manner of speech is calm and measured, as if you were taught by private tutors to speak a certain way.”
My mouth falls open and the slice of pizza remains suspended mid-air. How and when the hell did he even notice those things?
Hell, even I don’t pay attention to half of them.
I should’ve known he’d be a danger to me. I should’ve pushed him away harder when I could’ve.
But that’s not possible now, is it?
Not when I’ve become inexplicably addicted to him, to his ethereal face and that delicious accent in his deep voice.
Not when seeing him brings a sense of peace I’ve never experienced before.
He leans back on his hand, the gleam in his eyes so similar to a predator who’s enjoying toying with his prey. “Tell me, what made you prim and proper, Anastasia?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take a bite of my pizza.
“Let me guess. It has something to do with your real identity, which is why you changed it. Was it suffocating where you came from? Is that why you left?”
My ears heat, but instead of playing into his hands, I strike back. “How about you?”
“What about me?”
“How did you become prim and proper?”
“Again, I’m not prim and proper, but I did have a cool foster father who saved me and my twin sister from the slums. It’s because of him that I changed from an ugly duckling to a beautiful swan.” He winks, but there’s no playfulness behind it. If anything, it seems like a camouflage for something dark and sinister trying to peek through.
“How about your parents?” Usually, I wouldn’t ask. I don’t really get curious about people in general, because I’d rather not get involved, but I am curious about him.
About the reason behind the darkening in his golden eyes.
He takes a bite of the pizza, chews slowly, as if he has all the time in the world. “Never knew my father, and my mother was a whore, who was as clueless as us about the identity of the man who impregnated her. When she got mad at us when we were six, she said we were the product of a gang bang from which she received her stash of drugs for the month, and the only reason she kept us was because many of her clients had pregnancy and lactation kinks.”
I gulp the mouthful of food, but that has less to do with the information and more to do with his tone when he talked about his mother.
In all my life among monsters, I’ve never heard someone speak with so much venom and pure hatred about their parent. It’s as if he wishes she were on the edge of a cliff so that he could push her off and watch as she meets her demise.
Knox leans back on his palm again and tilts his head to the side. “Now that the boring information is out of the way, why don’t you tell me about your parents?”
“What about them?”
“You mentioned your mum was abused and since you spoke about her in the past tense, I assume she’s no longer alive?”
The food gets stuck in my throat and it takes me a few swallows before I can push past the clog that’s built up there. “She’s not.”
“How about your father?”
“He’s around…”
“And?”
“What?”
“Are you close?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“Do you not want to be around him?”
“No.”
“And why is that?”
I tighten my hold on the slice of pizza until it’s almost crushed. “Because.”
“I see. Is he the reason behind the identity change?”
My head jerks and I realize my mistake when he smiles in that predatory way.
“So he is.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Then what do you want to talk about? How about how suspicious you are or…” he trails off when the opening of “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica echoes from my phone. “You get a small pass for having good taste in music.”
My eyes bug out. “You like Metallica, too?”
“Like? Their music has been running in my veins since I knew what music is
all about. Attending their concerts is always the highlight of my year.”
“Do you by any chance have a collection of their merch?” I always wished to own music-themed merchandise, but that was forbidden in my house.
“I collected a lot of T-shirts, jackets, hoodies, and other Metallica-themed merch in my teenage years. I even had a pair of headphones with the name of the band engraved on it. I kind of dropped endless hints about wanting it so Dad could get it for my birthday. They’re back in England and my sister always threatens to destroy them when I don’t do things her way.”
I can’t help the smile that curves my lips at how carefree he speaks about Metallica and his sister. It’s the first time I’ve witnessed this easygoing part of him.
He’s always been intense in some way or another, but now, it’s dulled down.
“Your sister seems fun.”
“No, she’s usually a pain in the arse. Headstrong and has a no-nonsense personality.”
“I get along with that type. My cousin is that way and we’re close…” I trail off as a tendril of sadness splashes inside me. “Were close.”
“I assume you left her behind, too?”
“I didn’t leave her behind. We’re just…on different sides of the battle.”
“Battle. Interesting terminology.”
I clear my throat, needing to derail his attention. He’s like a cat with a mouse, once he sees a chance to strike, he won’t hesitate to use it. “Do you listen to anything aside from Metallica?”
“I used to listen to Slipknot, Megadeth, and Iron Maiden when I was a teenager. Dad used to be fussy because I went to sleep and woke up with loud metal music in my ears.”
“You don’t do that anymore?”
“Not really.”
“Why not?”
“In law school, I didn’t really listen to much music and it just extended to after I passed the bar and started working.”
“I don’t understand how someone can move on from music. It’s what helps me concentrate better.”
“I know that.”
“You do?”
“You usually have earbuds in when you’re working. I also know you listen to vintage music.”
“Are you a stalker?”
“I prefer professional watcher, just like you.”