by Rina Kent
She seems to be wearing some makeup, too, even though she still has those thick glasses on.
My dick instantly twitches to life and I have to adjust the sorry fuck with teenage fantasies.
Or maybe they’re not teenage-level, after all, because the only thought running through my head is to rip that dress off her and fuck her on its shreds. With those heels on.
I don’t really care what she looks like, but this appearance is eerily similar to the first time I saw her in that bar.
Though she’s not a blonde and she doesn’t have those enchanting blue eyes, the aura is similar.
And for some reason, that Anastasia seems more real than the Jane persona she’s hiding behind.
A straw hangs in her mouth as she drinks from a sparkly blue glass and frantically checks her surroundings.
She looks a little bit lost, unfocused, almost like all the external stimuli are about to crush her in their clutches. I can taste her anxiety in the air with every step I take toward her.
Not only is she gripping her drink tight, but she also adjusts her glasses every second and lowers her head whenever she makes random eye contact with someone.
Inexplicably, that makes me want to reach out to people’s eyeballs and blind them for causing her to feel such distress.
For being the cause of her discomfort.
And that’s wrong, isn’t it?
I’m not supposed to be on the verge of losing it only because she’s staring at people and hates it. I’m not supposed to be this worked up about a girl who’s so secretive about who she is that it drives me bloody insane sometimes.
Upon seeing me approaching, her posture stiffens and she’s about to stand up, but before she does, I sit beside her and grab her by the thigh. “Where do you think you’re going, beautiful?”
“To find Gwen and the others.”
“Why? To parade this new look of yours? I thought Jane doesn’t like dressing up.”
“I…don’t. Gwen made me do it.”
“Hmm. But you went along with it anyway. Maybe you do like it.” My voice is too calm, despite the unhinged emotions going on inside me at the same time.
She lifts her chin. “Maybe I do.”
“What did you just say?”
“I said, maybe I do like it.”
“What exactly? Dressing up in a low-cut dress or coming to clubs to show it off? Or maybe it’s dancing with boys and having them look at what that dress hides. Maybe you want them to imagine what’s underneath it.” My fingers latch onto the fallen strap and I lift it up her shoulder, enjoying her shudder. “Maybe you like being a little fucking tease.”
“Maybe…I do.”
“Is that so?” I snap the strap back in place, my voice battling to keep its cool, but my touch is sure and firm as I sneak my other hand that’s on her thigh underneath her dress. “Do you want them to feel what it’s like between your thighs, beautiful?”
She places her drink on the table, hands trembling when my fingers meet the edge of her underwear. “No…”
“No…what? You don’t want them to feel how soaking wet you are, my little liar?” I glide my fingers against her folds, then twirl her clit, and she slouches forward, her shoulder brushing against my arm.
“Oh, God…”
“You still didn’t answer my question, Anastasia. Do you like it when they see you like this, all done up and beautiful?”
“I…I do.”
I pinch her clit and she whimpers, the sound so erotic that my dick responds immediately, tenting in my trousers.
“Do you fantasize about them touching you here? Playing with your clit and thrusting their fingers in your soaking little cunt?”
She stares at me then, and even though the club is dimly lit, I can see the mixture of emotions in her eyes. The hurt and the determination. The pain and the promise for retribution.
It’s something about her. Even when she’s down and overwhelmed, she never acts like a weakling or a pushover.
She definitely feels more and more like a princess, since her dignity always comes first.
“Maybe you do,” she whispers.
“What?”
“Maybe you like imagining them touching me, thrusting their fingers and dicks inside me while you watch.”
I grab her by the cunt harshly and she hisses in a breath. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
I pull her panties aside and thrust two fingers inside her in one go. She moans, snuggling into my side and gripping my hand over her dress.
But it’s pointless because I’m pounding inside her now and adding a third finger until she whimpers. Until she’s holding on to me and staring at me with frantic eyes as I touch her savagely.
As I touch her with the intent to make her come as hard as possible.
I want her to detonate here and now, for the world to see who the fuck she belongs to.
My fingers drive deep into her pussy, needing to purge those fucking thoughts out of her, needing her to only see and think about me.
To only be with me.
Her short nails dig into my arm as she trembles violently and then she hides her face in my neck, biting down on the flesh of my pulse as she shakes violently.
The shattering force of her orgasm swallows my fingers, but I don’t release her, keeping them deep inside her.
She’s breathing harshly against my neck, panting as she releases my flesh.
“You think I want anyone to feel you like this? Or that I would let them fucking touch you?”
“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Daniel said you share with him.”
“You talked to Daniel?”
“Yeah.”
I’m going to fucking kill him.
“Was he lying?” she asks slowly, painfully even.
“He wasn’t. We did share, but that doesn’t apply to you. I won’t share you with Daniel or anyone else.”
She pulls back, moisture shining in her eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re fucking mine, beautiful. No one gets to look at you or touch you. And if they make that mistake, I will end their miserable lives.”
“Even Daniel?”
“Especially Daniel. His name is at the top of my shit list.”
She smiles a little and it’s bright and fucking innocent. “I told him no, anyway.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. He’s not really my type.”
My chest expands with a strange warmth that I hadn’t felt in…forever. This is the first time anyone ever said Daniel isn’t their type—he’s everyone’s type—and the fact that she, from all people, is saying it does shit to me.
It takes all myself control to ask, “And I am?”
“Maybe.”
“Hmm. I have to make that a “certainly.” I pull my fingers out of her and she releases a small erotic sound that makes me rock-hard.
I stand up and pull her by the hand. She stumbles before landing against me.
“Where are we going?” Her voice is so breathy, I want to fuck her right here and now.
But that means an audience and I’m not a fan of that.
“Home.”
“But…I came with Gwen and Chris and their friend…I have to tell them.”
“Forget them.”
“I can’t leave Gwen alone. She’s drunk.”
I grunt as I keep dragging her behind me. I should’ve known Gwen’s drunken state would cause a problem.
Luckily, I know the right person for this situation.
Tightening my hold on Anastasia, I dial Nate.
Let him take care of his best friend’s drunk daughter so that I can focus on Anastasia.
My Anastasia.
24
ANASTASIA
“You’re married?” I stare dumbfounded at Gwen and she takes a long slurp of her milkshake.
I was ready to be told off about the way I disappeared on them last night. As a gesture of apology, I invited them over to the IT department for a coffee
break and I bought her favorite vanilla milkshake and Chris an iced coffee.
But he pushed his drink aside and said in an overly hyperactive voice, “Where the hell were you last night, Jane? You missed the epic moment when Nate announced that Gwen is his wife.”
My friend groans, then stares down before meeting our expectant gazes. “Let me explain.”
“Hell yeah, you’ll explain.” Chris nudges her. “I’ve been in suspense all night long, waiting for morning, despite being drunk as fuck.”
“You couldn’t have been as drunk as I was. I have the worst hangover in human history today.” Gwen massages her temples.
“That doesn’t give you the right to escape answering to what the hell is going on.” Chris lowers his voice. “You’re really married to the managing partner of W&S, who happens to be your dad’s closest friend, WHILE your father is in a coma?”
She grimaces. “Sort of.”
“What does “sort of” mean? No?”
“We are married, but it’s not what you think. I just…it’s just for convenience.”
“But isn’t he twice your age?”
“He’s not twice my age, he’s only eighteen years older than me.”
“Which is two years away from being twice your age, Gwen.”
She shifts, her gaze getting somber, and the colors in her eyes clash into an undecipherable mix.
“Are you happy?” I ask.
“That’s not what you should be asking her, Jane. You should make her explain.”
“Why would she? They’re both adults and Nathaniel doesn’t seem like the type who’d make impulsive decisions, so it must’ve been for a good reason.”
“It was.” Gwen’s voice trembles. “Do you think this is all okay? Me married to Nate, I mean. His mother dropped by yesterday and she made me feel shitty by bringing up the outside world. Why can’t it be just me and him? And yeah, I know he’s Dad’s best friend-slash-partner and almost twice my age, and when I was eighteen and kissed him, he was twice my age, but—”
“Wait,” Chris interrupts. “You kissed him when you were eighteen?”
“I did and I don’t regret it, okay?” She focuses back on me as if I’m her safe haven. “Do you think my feelings for him are weird?
“I don’t really have the right to judge and neither does Chris.” I glare at him, then smile at her. “It’s your life so live it as you wish.”
“Thanks.” She abandons her tight hold on the milkshake and takes my hand in hers. “I’m so glad you at least understand.”
“But I don’t.” Chris rolls his eyes. “You have to admit the whole thing is off. I can’t imagine you married to Nate.”
“Why not?” She purses her lips.
“Because he’s so strict and no-nonsense and you’re…well…talkative and active and many other things that he isn’t.”
“I also think it’s a very unlikely pairing.”
“Jane.” She releases my hand and hits my shoulder. “I thought you were on my side.”
“Even Jane can’t ignore the facts,” Chris teases. “Do you drive him insane with all the talking?”
“Screw you, okay? He’s never complained about that.”
“He probably will soon.”
I laugh as they go at each other’s throats and bicker. It feels light, nice, normal.
And I have no clue why that makes my stomach drop with each passing second.
In the back of my mind, I know people like me aren’t allowed to have this kind of ordinary life, or happiness, or anything that doesn’t include a conflict.
Yes, I ran away, but that doesn’t mean they won’t chase me. Hurt me—or Babushka.
Or the people I’ve started to care about despite vowing to stay alone. Despite my efforts and the walls I’ve built around me.
And because I’ve been having these small bursts of anxiety since this morning, I’ve been manically checking on Babushka and making sure she’s okay.
It’s probably a play of my imagination, a trick of my brain, which is rejecting how alive I’ve been lately.
So absolutely alive.
My phone vibrates and I hide it from Gwen and Chris as I check the text.
Knox: My office. Now.
I type discreetly, even though they’re both still bickering.
Me: Not the supply room?
Knox: I know your pussy misses me, but this is about work.
Despite the tinge of disappointment, I stand, clearing my throat. “They need me on the partners’ floor.”
A frown appears between Gwen’s brows. “Now?”
“Yeah, I’ll catch up with you later.”
I grab my laptop case and leave before either of them can say anything. I know it’s about work, but if I can see his face, that’s fine.
No clue when seeing Knox became this vital, and I think I have an unhealthy fixation, but it’s there and it’s impossible to get rid of it.
And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.
When he came to find me at the club yesterday, my chest squeezed the hardest it ever has, and everything that followed made it even tighter and narrower until I couldn’t breathe.
Or maybe I breathed way past my capacity until I had no air left besides what his mouth fed me when he kissed me senseless in the car.
I’m practically jogging to his office and when I reach it, I stop to catch my breath and fix my hair. Before, I never felt the need to be beautiful for anyone, but now, I keep thinking about being in my best shape, just so I can deepen that gleam in his eyes.
But that means becoming Anastasia again. That means being a wallflower whose life is dictated for her, and I refuse to do that.
Inhaling deeply, I tap on Knox’s office door and his gruff “Come in” makes me clench my thighs.
Get a grip, Ana.
I slip inside and find him sitting majestically behind his desk, reading from a file. He’s so beautiful, it’s a little painful, especially when he’s concentrating on his task, his thick brows knit together and his strong hands flipping through the pages.
Why am I not those measly pieces of paper?
As if reading my thoughts, he lifts his head and a sly smirk tilts his lips. “You’re here.”
“You said you needed me.”
“Needed you?”
“For work.”
“If you keep staring at me with those come-and-fuck-me eyes, that plan will change.”
I gulp, looking at the floor.
“No, Anastasia. You never break eye contact with me, not for any reason.”
I slowly lift my head and take in a few steadying breaths. “What do you want me to work on?”
“I’m forming an offensive strategy for Sandra’s case. I emailed you a list of leads that I want you to go through.”
“So it’s about gathering intel?”
“In a not-so-legal way. Are you up for it?”
“I’ll be happy to help.”
“If Nate or anyone else finds out about this, they’ll fire you.”
“And they’ll probably call a disciplinary board meeting for you.”
He smiles. “You’re worried about me, beautiful?”
“No, I’m…not.”
“As you shouldn’t be. They can’t hurt me for this.”
“But what if the opposing lawyers find out? You could lose your license, right?”
“This is between you and me, so unless you betray me, no one will find out.”
“Only…the two of us know?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because of all the complications that could arise from it.”
My nails dig into the strap of the laptop case and I try not to be disappointed that he didn’t say the words I didn’t know I wanted to hear, but now, I do.
I wanted him to say he trusted me.
But that’s stupid. Why would he trust me when my background is a mystery and he’s well aware that I’ve adopted a different identity than my own?
And maybe he wants to hide a piece of himself, too, because he’s never fucked me while looking at me.
Like me, he has high walls and prefers to keep them that way.
I should be fine with that. After all, this arrangement suits me the best, but that’s not the case.
So instead of focusing on those somber thoughts, I sit on the sofa and get lost in work, typing away at my computer.
I’m at it for some time, not sure how long, since I kind of forget about my surroundings when I’m creating systems or breaking through firewalls.
“You’re fucking hot when you’re in your nerdy zone, beautiful.”
I stare up at that, my breath catching in my throat, and my cheeks burn bright. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” His voice drops as he glides his finger on the edge of the paper. “Telling you how hot you are?”
“Distracting me.”
“You’re distracting me, too, so it’s only fair that you suffer with me.”
“But I’m not doing anything.”
“Still distracting as fuck.”
“Maybe I should work from the IT department.”
“Fuck no. I finally found an excuse to get you here.”
“I thought this was for the case.”
“That, too.” He tilts his head in my direction. “But why do you think I have the blinds down?”
“I…don’t know.”
“So you can flash me those gorgeous tits anytime you please.”
“I won’t do that.”
“But you can. Anytime, beautiful.”
“Pervert.”
“I won’t deny the charge.”
“The harassment charge, you mean?”
“I beg to differ.”
“Well, isn’t that how harassment in the workplace happens? A higher-up bullies an employee to do their sexual bidding.”
“But does said employee wait for their boss in a dark room while only wearing lace panties and dripping in them with the anticipation of being fucked?”