by Rina Kent
“Why would you care?” There’s no accusation in his tone. In fact, it sounds a bit vulnerable, as if he wants me to care but is scared that I don’t.
“Why wouldn’t I? I don’t want you in pain.” I stroke my fingers over his cheeks and he leans into it.
He often does when I touch him lately, whether I’m reading fantasy books to him or we’re watching movies or bingeing on some crime show. As per his rules, he always gets to touch me until even I can’t concentrate on what I’m reading, but it feels more intimate now.
We’ve fallen into a peaceful rhythm that scares the shit out of me sometimes. It feels too real and too different from the no-strings-attached arrangement we started with.
There are so many strings attached now that I can’t count them.
“I’m fine,” he says coolly, seeming to be more in control of himself.
“You’re obviously not. Tell me, Knox. What is it?”
“If I do, if I bare myself to you, will you do the same?”
I gulp, my fingers freezing on his face. “I can’t talk about my past. It’s dangerous.”
“Maybe mine is, too. So I guess we’ll both leave it at that.”
He starts to release me, but I wrap my legs around his waist to stop him from getting up. “It doesn’t matter.”
Knox gives me a questioning glance but remains in his position.
“It’s okay if our pasts remain in the past. We can just focus on the present for now.”
“For now?”
“My mom once told me we can’t escape our pasts forever. There will be a day when we’ll have to face it.” I brush my lips against his briefly, letting myself taste him on my tongue. “But that day isn’t today.”
He remains silent for a long second, staring, unblinking.
Shit. Did I say something wrong?
I’m about to backpedal or pull away, but he captures my mouth in a long, passionate kiss that steals my breath away.
Then we fall back asleep with his heartbeat against mine.
22
ANASTASIA
When Knox said he’s not close to being done with me, he absolutely meant it.
It’s been three weeks since he ambushed me in my apartment and there hasn’t been a day that he hasn’t shown up at my door.
He basically lives here now, brings groceries, and helps me cook. Oh, and he’s totally in control of cleaning my place, keeping it spotless. The other day, he bought wallpaper and furniture, then remodeled the whole thing, hiding the smoke marks and asymmetrical stars.
But no matter how much he cleans my place, he makes it dirty again with all the sex. He doesn’t get enough, ever. Whether it’s in the kitchen, the shower, or even when I’m sitting peacefully trying to create systems, he just swoops in and fucks me like he hasn’t touched me in decades.
His presence in my living space feels weirdly domesticated, and I’ve been trying not to get used to the company, to keep reminding myself that I’m on my own.
That at the end of whatever fucked-up fixation he has on me, I’ll be alone again.
But it gets harder every day, especially since the little bonding moment we had after his nightmare. We feel closer now, more in tune with each other than ever before.
His presence is like a potent chemical reaction—impossible to ignore and leaves me craving more.
And it’s not only about sex.
It’s about how I’ve converted him to being a fantasy novel fan and how he dedicates time to watching movies with me. Not only that, but Knox is also a fun conversationalist with a dark sense of humor that I relate to. With him, I get to be nerdy and talk about the latest technology without him judging me. If anything, he listens to me talk as if my words are the most sacred things to ever exist.
However, since he’s here most of the time, I have to call Babushka during work or before he gets here. I also check on the people from my previous life when he’s sleeping so that he doesn’t get a glimpse of them.
If it were up to me, I’d keep them and Knox worlds apart, but that’s wishful thinking, especially since they’re affiliated with Matt Bell—the man Knox is trying to defeat.
Sandra had a panic attack at the civil case pretrial hearing. I was on the verge of one as well from being in the midst of all those people, even though I hid outside.
The media’s attention to the case is insane, like absolutely atrocious, and all their questions to Sandra were vicious. Not only do they hunt her down every chance they get, but they also asked if she faked the panic attack to play on the judge’s sympathy.
Although I remained in the background most of the time, it was almost as if eyes were on me, as if my worst nightmare was coming true and everything would end.
I was more paranoid than usual and I nearly gave into the irrational fear, but I didn’t, because Sandra needed me. So I had to be there for her, even if my skin was crawling.
Even if I contemplated running away again and never coming back.
However, I don’t think that’s possible anymore, not when I’ve established roots I don’t like to admit having.
And most of those have to do with the man who sets my body and soul on fire and doesn’t shy away from being caught in the flames.
I wish I had his confidence or straightforwardness. I wish I was as assertive or as otherworldly as he is. Although I admit to being attached to him, I can’t admit that it could be more than mere attachment or simply a way to drive away the loneliness.
It’s becoming so much more, and it’s eating me up from the inside out to consider the hidden meaning.
As a direct impact of that thought, I can’t help the tinge of emptiness that grabs hold of me whenever he’s done fucking me.
Like now.
We’re in the supply room. He takes his time putting my clothes back on—and feeling me up in the process—after he fucked me fast and raw against the door. I’m barely standing, my limbs shaking and my pussy still throbbing. Knox does that to me all the time. The power of his thrusts often makes me delirious for a long while after.
And I’m glad he’s the one who puts my clothes in order, because I can hardly move, let alone function.
Finally, he places the glasses on my nose. He never fucks me with them on or allows me to wear them in my apartment, but he does respect my need to remain hidden in public. He doesn’t push me to answer his questions about my real identity either, even though he continues to ask them.
His lips brush against mine and I shudder, my heart lurching in my chest.
It’s such a light contact, a brush of lips and not even a kiss, definitely not as raw and passionate as before he fucks me.
But as much as I love his primal kisses, I’m addicted to his soft after-sex kisses, completely attuned to them and unable to get enough.
Because he doesn’t have to give me them, not when we’re well aware of the status of our relationship, but he still claims my lips.
He still kisses me as if he can’t get enough.
As if, like me, he could be feeling so much more than sex.
I internally shake my head, trying to push back that thought. If I get caught up in it and trick my brain into believing it, things will decline for the worst.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he whispers in that sensually sinful accent of his and pushes a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“Are you going to cook?”
“If you’d like.”
“Of course I do.” I don’t really enjoy cooking. Before he came along, most of my meals were takeout or some burned dish I tried to follow the recipe for online.
I’m not ashamed to admit he’s much better at it than me, and he seems to enjoy it, too.
He pinches my cheek playfully, “You’re such a princess.”
“I’m not a princess.”
“You hate cooking, cleaning, and any house chores, basically.”
“It’s not that I hate them. I’m just not good at them.”
“Because you
’re a princess.” He smiles. “But don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
And with that, he steps out of the supply room, leaving me absolutely helpless and confused and maybe a little bit lightheaded, too, because I keep licking my lips for the remnants of his taste.
I’m really hopeless.
It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. Though there aren’t usually people on this part of the floor, I’ll have to explain to Chris and Gwen why I disappeared during the lunch we were supposed to have together.
Knox texted me to meet him in the supply room earlier, and when I ignored it, he barged into the IT department, kicked Gwen and Chris out, then said, “Now, you have nothing stopping you.”
I asked him not to do that again, but I don’t have much hope in him following through with it. He’s too headstrong for that.
But even he should know that my friends will be suspicious at some point.
I smile at that as I leave the supply room.
Friends.
I never thought I would ever use that word or actually have the opportunity to make friends.
When I was little, I was lonely, which is why I became the fairy of the forest and had trees and stones for friends. And after I moved in with Papa, the idea of friends became impossible.
People like me aren’t allowed such a luxury.
“So, it’s you.”
I freeze, my stomach dropping at the sound of the accented voice coming from my right. It’s British, too, and while it’s calm and collected, it’s not Knox’s.
If anything, it’s even more sinister.
I whirl around to find Daniel leaning against the wall, arms and ankles crossed and a look of pure contempt darkening his cobalt blue eyes.
Holy shit.
Was he there all along? Wait, no. Knox would’ve seen him if he was and he would’ve told me and—
“I was becoming suspicious with his frequent visits to the fourth floor so I decided to start my own private investigation and followed him. I had to wait until he was out to find out who he was coming here for.” He stares at his watch. “Twenty minutes is a record for him. He usually gets bored and finishes quicker than that.”
My skin heats and crawls, and I wish I could somehow vanish into thin air as if I never existed.
Daniel watches me intently, as if he can comb through my thoughts and my deepest, darkest desires.
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I attempt to play dumb, but my unsteady voice doesn’t cooperate.
“Really now? Do you mind telling me what you did in that supply room all this time?”
“Work.”
“Is that a new word for sex?” His expression and tone don’t change. They’re actually more composed, as if he’s completely in his element.
I’ve heard a lot of things about Daniel, mostly that he’s a player and easygoing, but no one mentioned his threatening, sinister side, because that’s what it feels like right now.
Being threatened.
Watched.
Desiccated.
He pushes off the wall, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and run. Because I know, I just know that it would encourage him to come after me even stronger.
Daniel circles me and the hairs on my nape stand on end as he stops in front of me. “You’re not his usual type, so now, I’m wondering what made him interested in you. Do you care to shed some light on the mystery?”
“How will I do that?”
“Simple. Let’s fuck.”
“W-what?”
“Tonight?”
“No!”
“Why not? Oh, not a good time?”
“Not a good pairing. Why would you think I would ever want to have sex with you?”
He appears genuinely baffled. “Why not? Knox and I go three-way with no problem.”
“Huh?”
“We fuck the same women, often at the same time.”
My stomach lurches and I think I’m going to throw up the cupcakes Gwen gave me earlier.
Did Daniel say he and Knox fuck the same women at the same time?
Yes, I think he did.
But that’s not what’s bothering me. What’s bothering me is the fact that Knox could and would share me with his friend.
The thought causes my stomach to cramp and my heart to shrink in its ribcage.
If he’s so used to that, why wouldn’t he do it now? After all, our relationship is all about sex.
“So?” Daniel asks. “What do you think?”
“About?”
“Fucking me. For the record, everyone prefers me since I’m obviously more charming.” He accentuates his words with a grin that showcases his dimples.
And I can see it, his charm, the reason why many women would prefer him. Daniel is the type that oozes sex appeal and can effortlessly grab anyone’s attention. He has a striking kind of beauty that glows from afar and blinds once you get close.
But he doesn’t have Knox’s intensity and he certainly doesn’t make me feel like I’ll jump out of my skin due to his presence alone.
“No,” I say simply, easily, and with so much assertiveness, it makes him pause.
“You don’t have to answer now. Think about it.”
“I don’t need to.”
“This is interesting.” He circles me again before stopping in front of me. “Is it because of Knox? He wouldn’t care.”
Well, I would. But I don’t say that, because I don’t have the voice to. So I just shrug, even though my heart is bleeding.
It’s not supposed to, but it’s metaphorically dripping all over the ground.
It’s funny that I left my family to avoid being hurt and used, but it feels as if I’ve landed in something much deeper and more painful.
And I need to distance myself from it.
From him.
The source of the shattering pain in my chest.
23
KNOX
Something’s changed.
I can’t quite pinpoint it, but it’s there in Anastasia’s stiff movements and silence.
Last night, when I fucked her against the kitchen counter, she was oddly quiet, then she curled up on the sofa and fell asleep
Usually, we have dinner together and talk about the case, or anything, actually. She talks nerdy to me about some new software or coding, her eyes brightening the more I listen. I’m not really interested in all that stuff, but the fact that she talks to me with that hyper tone of hers is an accomplishment. It’s the only time she leaves the prim and proper side of herself in the background.
In return, I find myself telling her about the friends and family I left in London or my antics with Dad, Ronan, and everyone else.
It’s so easy to talk to her, so easy to spend hours in her company without having to do anything.
It’s even better when she’s the one who talks about herself. Sometimes, she slips and mentions her cousin, her father, and her family. It’s in passing, though, and whenever she mentions them, her shoulders hunch and she changes the subject.
She talks more about Gwen, Chris, and Sandra than her actual past, and sometimes, it feels like she’s stuck in the middle.
Not fully Jane and not fully Anastasia either.
I’m along for the ride, enjoying every bit of her contradictions and letting it seep beneath my skin.
Not last night or this morning, though.
It’s like a barrier has materialized between us. The fact that I have no clue where it came from has been driving me bloody insane.
She’s also been busy today and can’t go to the supply room. I call bullshit on that, because she’s the most efficient member of the IT department and often finishes her tasks in the first half of the workday.
Stepping out of my car, I stare at the text message she sent me a few hours ago when I asked her what she wanted for dinner.
Anastasia: I’m going out with Gwen and Chris, so I won’t be home for dinner.
If there’s anything I�
�ve learned about her, it’s that she dislikes being in public, so going out is not the norm for her.
Either Gwen is corrupting her—and I wouldn’t be surprised if that were to be the case—or more logically, she’s avoiding me.
Which I will not have.
So I called Chris and made him tell me where they are.
“We’re at a club!” he shouted over the music, then texted me the address.
That’s where I am right now. At the fucking club.
Loud music nearly punctures my eardrums as I make my way through the crowd of writhing bodies. Blue light flashes in sync with trendy music and people go crazy when the beat drops.
Usually, this is my scene.
I live for the rush of adrenaline, alcohol, and sex. It’s what distracts me from my head and keeps my shadows at bay.
But that stopped being the norm ever since I met her. Ever since I owned her and inserted myself in her life as deeply as she invaded mine.
It’s been several weeks since the last time I was in a place like this, despite Dan’s constant bitching and the group chat’s eternal teasing.
The club feels a bit foreign now.
Maybe because my idea of fun has strangely switched from a loud nightclub to a small, quiet flat.
At first, I spot Gwen and Chris because they’re loud as fuck. Both of them are chugging drinks while dancing sporadically. Another guy, about their age, moves with them, and the three laugh in unison.
Gwen is barely staying on her feet, but that’s not my job to worry about.
I scan their surroundings, knowing Anastasia can’t be far if she came with them. Sure enough, I find her sitting alone at a secluded booth.
In my head, I’m forging ahead and grabbing her by the throat, but my feet don’t move. I’m stunned and rooted in place by her appearance.
Anastasia owns three types of clothes—baggy trousers, oversized shirts, and hoodies. Oh, and sexy-as-fuck lace panties.
Those are the only things in her closet.
So where the fuck did she get that dress from?
A tight black one that reveals her curves in silhouette form. Its straps might as well be nonexistent; not only are they thin and barely cover anything, but one of them also falls down her shoulder constantly. Although the dress isn’t too short, it reveals her pale legs and fuck-me heels. She’s also released her black hair, letting it fall in waves to her shoulders.