20. Anna
ANNA
PRESENT
I had heard his voice. I knew it. I swore to it.
But once again, Sebastian had played me.
With the ringing in my ears, I believed the tinny distortion was just a result of my trauma, but after the police confirmed Sebastian had an alibi during the time of the attack, I quickly realized what had happened.
That son of a bitch hired someone to attack me and gave him a recording of his voice, ensuring I would appear delusional, paranoid.
The police couldn’t claim I had been lying about being attacked, but Sebastian had been at a benefit across town, surrounded by hundreds of people.
There was no way he could have done it. Yet, his psychotic ex kept crying wolf.
It landed me in a psychiatric facility upon my release from the hospital.
As my body slowly recovered, I was subjected to mandatory tests and therapy sessions, all designed to cement my insanity status.
You’d think there would be a conflict of interest, submitting a patient to a facility that is gifted with generous donations by her “alleged” attacker’s family, but who am I to say?
Unfortunately for them, I was savvy to their motives, having recognized Bellevue as the recipient of a fundraiser Sebastian had taken me to the year prior. I played nice and made sure to tell them everything the police and courts wanted to hear.
“ I was mistaken.”
“ I must have heard wrong.”
“ I was under attack. It happened all so fast. I couldn ’ t be sure of anything.”
Much to their disappointment, they had to release me after the required month.
And then my ex-manager from the restaurant reached out.
He knew someone who specialized in domestic violence cases and got me in contact with her.
Considering Sebastian’s resources, I imagined it wouldn’t do any good, but Carmela wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill caseworker.
She knew her shit. It would be expensive, but she could get me under the radar, if I was willing to leave my life behind.
When she said this, I almost laughed.
What life?
I was terrified to leave the apartment, and the suffocating presence of four roommates suddenly wasn’t enough. I couldn’t stand to be by myself, conjuring up scenario upon scenario of another hired bruiser breaking into the apartment and finishing what his friend started.
I told everyone I knew I would be staying with an old family friend back in my hometown before leaving in the middle of the night.
After driving for several hours, I pulled into the designated gas station Carmela marked on my map.
There was no way of knowing if Sebastian had people following me at that very moment, so she had a body double waiting to swap out with me in the bathroom.
The woman was a little thinner than me and wore a wig to match my dark hair, but it was convincing enough, especially after we changed into each other’s clothes.
My oversized hoodie easily disguised the fact that she wasn’t as busty as me, and tugging the brim of my baseball hat as low as it could go, she shielded enough of her face that even I would be fooled.
My body double took off in my car, continuing on what was supposed to be my road trip to West Virginia as I remained in the corner stall of the bathroom for the next two hours.
Only once my alarm went off did I slip on the shoulder-length pink wig I was given and venture out into the parking lot to meet my pick-up driver.
I don’t know how Carmela was able to move all of my belongings without detection.
Still, after taking the most roundabout way to get to Kansas, I arrived to find everything already waiting for me in storage units.
From there, it was just a matter of keeping my profile low until the order of protection ran out.
This way, I wouldn’t have to register with the courts and announce my presence when I was eventually able to change my name.
But being off the radar for nearly six months drained my funds, forcing me to start selling off all of the shit Sebastian bought me throughout our relationship.
Initially, the idea of resorting to this made me sick.
It felt like I was dependent on him again.
Even now, it’s not an easy pill to swallow, but what other choice do I have?
Weight settles down on my upper thigh, but it doesn’t elicit the panic it should.
I remained lying on my stomach as I let all of it spill out of me, recounting every detail of what happened from the fallout over the breakup to how I got here, and now that I’m done talking, I feel his bare skin against mine.
My stalker has stripped himself entirely of clothes, including his mask, and I know better than to look over my shoulder at him.
Even if I don’t see his face, I know he has tattoos.
Darcy told me as much, and they can only help me identify him.
And after what he’s just told me in return for my confession, I don’t want to look at him.
Because he wasn’t lying. He does have a plan, and for the first time in a year, I dare to breathe. To hope.
And he feels me relaxing beneath him. “That’s it, baby.”
Fingers work their way over the back of my head, but he doesn’t fist my hair.
No, he begins massaging my scalp. The technique is enough to turn me pliant as I prepare to melt into the mattress, but his lips settle onto my upper back, kissing their way down my spine and then along the side of my rib cage.
His hand moves from my hair to my breast, and the way he kneads it as his breath heats my skin all the way into my bones has me arching into his touch.
Only once his lips move up to the side of my face do I realize what he’s doing.
His weight on my thighs shifts. He moves down, giving himself the space he needs to bring his mouth to the middle of my back, over my scar.
His lips retrace over every one of my injuries, as if he can kiss the pain—the memory—away. Maybe he can.
His touch is somehow gentle and firm all at once, and his weight on me, letting me feel his skin against mine, is a remedy unto itself. I’ve been robbed of human connection for so long. Feeling flesh upon flesh again both soothes and excites me.
I don’t mean to, but a small whimper escapes me when he repositions himself and that pressure disappears. I need this. I need him. And he knows it.
He orders me to lift my hips off the bed, and I’m all too compliant, feeling his fingers hook onto the waistband of my underwear and sleep shorts. He slides them off, and just as I hear them hit the floor, he’s working my shirt over my head.
Before I can even settle back onto the mattress, his fingers slide over my entrance. It’s barely a whisper of a touch, but I still jerk at the sensation, my whimper turning into something much more needy.
Because he’s being too gentle.
I thought maybe that’s what I wanted, but it just feels like he’s teasing me. The ache building in my core is too deep, too much to be satiated by him being tender. I push myself back against his hand, praying it offers some kind of pressure to my clit.
Only, he draws his fingers back.
Are you fucking kidding me? It takes everything in me not to scream, and he can sense my frustration.
A hand slides over the side of my hip, and he lowers himself further down the bed to scrape his teeth over the curve of my ass.
“Tell me what you want, baby.” His fingers skim over me in a featherlight touch.
“Do you want me teasing you, stimulating you so thoroughly that even my breath against your clit will have you coming?” His grip tightens, kneading my ass.
“Or do you want me fucking you into oblivion until you can’t even remember your own name? ”
It’s not a choice. Not for me. There’s only one answer, and it’s very much the one he wants to hear too. My stalker doesn’t move off the bed or make a move to grab his pants off the floor, yet I hear the very distinct sound of a foil wrapper.
Given that he’s not wearing his mask and I’m not blindfolded, there’s only one direction this can really go. My experience with this particular position has only ever been with Sebastian, who always insisted I be on all fours…
But when I make a move to pull myself up, my stalker’s weight comes back down on me, pinning me to the bed.
I refuse to look behind me to see what he’s doing, but I still catch sight of his hand reaching past me to grab one of my pillows.
He lifts both our hips off the mattress just enough so he can slide the pillow under me.
I’m not familiar with the technique, but I find out rather quickly how effective it is, because oh my god!
In one deep thrust, he sinks into me farther than I’ve ever felt before, and I swear to God I can’t breathe.
Not when I’m choking on a cry. I mean, shit, the man hasn’t even started moving yet, giving me a chance to adjust, and I already feel like I’m going to lose it. Like I’m going to unravel in his arms.
And feeling him slide out of me just makes it worse. My pussy clamps around what should be him, but it finds nothing . I’m vaguely aware I’m saying something, likely cursing him, and I’m rewarded with a sound that I’ll no doubt be playing in my head every time I touch myself from here on out.
“Don’t you worry yourself, love. I’m a man of my word.” He wedges another pillow under me, drawing my hips up so that my ass is in the air. Then, without warning, he thrusts into me again, the new angle allowing him to stroke my G-spot.
And he doesn’t stop.
Whatever part of him that was gentle with me a moment ago has been replaced by a beast, his hips slamming against my ass with every thrust. It’s unrelenting, so fast and so hard that I do exactly as I feared. I unravel.
This man has officially branded his name inside of me, and I don’t even know what it says.
I’m already tight, and my pussy clamping around his length isn’t helping.
But he doesn’t miss a beat, spreading my thighs further apart. It allows him to sink deeper, sending me into my first orgasm.
He curses, no doubt trying to fight his own release, but it’s imminent. My stalker grips my right leg and lifts it to slide his own underneath.
Holy fucking shit!
He may as well be hitting the back of my throat for how deep he goes. The position is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and all I can do is cling to the post of the headboard as I spiral into the second wave of my orgasm.
“Fuck, Anna!” His pace grows more erratic, mindless. Primal.
I’ve never been much for hair pulling, but he fists the locks in the back of my head, forcing me up and into the senseless rhythm of his thrusts. The act arches my spine, igniting an aftershock to course through me all the way down to my toes just as he comes.
If someone bothered to call the police before, they’re probably going to be making an update to report a double homicide if the sounds that escape us are any indication.
Thankfully, nobody does come—well, except for us—and my stalker all but collapses on top of me, my pussy still spasming around his length, trying to draw out the last residuals of the orgasm.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but as I shift my ass, I can feel him hardening inside of me once more. And I need it. I need to feel that again. I need to chase that high.
I push my ass up, grinding into him, but he goes painfully still.
“Fuck.” This time, his expletive doesn’t sound like the prayer it was when he said it with my name. No, it’s nothing but pure frustration.
“What?” I ask.
“I don’t have another condom.”
“There’s a full box in the drawer.” I’m glad he can’t see my face, because I’m beat red.
No, of course I didn’t buy them after the warehouse. I didn’t want to do that again. And again. And again.
Nope, they were there from the last tenant…despite them having a fresh expiration date…and there’s a receipt also in the drawer with the timestamp from yesterday.
I have to bury my face in one of my pillows that isn’t wedged under my hip at the low laugh that accompanies his investigation.
Yep, he sees exactly where my head is at. Instead of teasing me, however, he begins trailing kisses up to my neck. “These all better be for me.”
I nod, more than a little sheepish when he asks me what I’d like to do next.
An image immediately comes to mind, but I’m too embarrassed to suggest it.
I’ve never tried it before, and from what I’ve heard over the years from friends, some guys get turned off if not completely freaked out by the idea.
He must be a mind reader, because he recognizes my hesitation to answer isn’t from discomfort.
I can feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin, his low laugh sensuous and every bit laced with mischief.
“Don’t hold back on me now, canary. I’m a team player.
Whatever position you want me to take, just say so. ”
But I can’t. I don’t trust my mouth right now.
Instead, I take hold of the hand he’s using to knead my breast, moving it up past my collarbone and up to my throat.
I place his fingers along the front of it and apply pressure, anticipating his reaction.
Instead of freezing up or outright pulling away from me, he hardens, in more ways than one.
“Are you sure?”
I nod again, my anticipation spiking as he’s all too eager to roll on a fresh condom, bracing his hand around my throat once he’s situated.
“As you wish.”