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.
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.
