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.