14. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Anastasia
H e lures me into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind me, the soft snick of the lock sending a shiver down my spine.
The room is clean, meticulously arranged, old books lining the shelves, the pristine space a stark contrast to the man who inhabits it.
I let my fingers skim over the sheets, my voice laced with sarcasm.
"Should I be worried?"
My words are light, teasing.
But my throat tightens the second my gaze drops to the thick, straining outline of his cock pressing against his pants.
Noah watches me, hunts me, with darkened eyes.
"Maybe, Anastasia," he growls. "Maybe you should be very fucking worried."
He approaches slowly, deliberately, peeling off his shirt as he moves.
My breath catches.
The tie remains loosely draped around his neck; the only fabric left on his upper body.
I can’t help myself.
My hands lift, my fingertips trailing down his chest, feeling the firm ridges of muscle, the smooth planes of his stomach. My touch wanders lower, tracing the deep lines of his waist, lingering where the veins tease above his waistband-
And then I feel them.
Scars.
"That’s enough exploring," he snaps, voice sharp. "Time to give you something else to focus on."
Before I can react, he yanks the tie from around his neck and grabs my wrists in one swift movement.
My pulse spikes.
He moves with ease, with practice, binding my wrists together with a perfectly executed knot. He leaves just enough slack to tighten, or pull, at his command.
His grip is firm as he forces my arms above my head, securing them against the headboard.
"Noah, my arms-"
"You won’t be needing them," he whispers.
His tone is final.
The vulnerability sinks in immediately, a deep, electric awareness flooding through me as he steps back to admire his work, my wrists pulling against the fabric.
No give.
No escape.
And from the look in his eyes, he likes it that way.
"The women who have lain in this bed before you never knew my name."
His voice is low, steady, filled with something raw. "Their nights with me were fleeting. No expectations, no lingering attachments. One time, no repeats. That’s how it’s always been."
His eyes darken as they trace my body. "But you…"
A muscle tics in his jaw.
"You have become so fucking curious about why I want you, Anastasia." His smirk is gone now, replaced with something dangerously close to frustration. "And the truth?" He exhales, voice turning ragged, "I don’t fucking know."
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering as he steps closer.
"You’ve taken up my mind." His fingers ghost along my jaw, his touch barely there. "The taste of you is like a goddamn drug."
His grip tightens, his tone darkening. "I don’t know what’s happening, but God help me if you think I’ll let anyone else lay a hand on you but me."
My heart pounds so violently I swear he can hear it.
Defiance sparks in my chest, my lips parting before I can stop myself.
"And if I let you have me, Noah?" My voice is even, but my body betrays me, heat pooling under his heavy gaze. "What happens after that?"
A smirk tugs at his lips. Slow. Dangerous.
He steps even closer, his breath fanning across my face.
"What do you think I want?" he murmurs.
I hold his stare, refusing to back down.
"Do you think I just want sex?" His voice sharpens, frustration curling at the edges, "Do you think anything I do to women is something anyone would consider loving?"
The room crackles with something electric, something lethal.
His fingers press into my chin, forcing me to really look at him.
"After tonight, Ana, if you think what I did to you was love?" He shakes his head, his smirk fading into something grim. "Then you’re as fucked up as me."
The words send a thrill down my spine, colliding with something deep inside me I don’t want to name.
His thumb grazes my lower lip, teasing, taunting. "And if you crave this touch again?" His voice dips lower, almost a whisper now, "Then I fear what that means for both of us."
A shiver rolls through me, but I meet his gaze, unblinking.
"And if I tell you to stop?" I ask, my tone laced with both challenge and anticipation.
His smirk returns, but this time, it’s darker.
"That only adds to my fun."
Noah drags me down the bed with ease, pulling until my arms strain against the restraints, the pressure sending a thrill through my body.
The fabric of my dress is no match for him.
He pushes it up in one swift motion, yanking the front down until my breasts spill free, my lace underwear left as the only barrier between me and his touch.
His palm presses against my eager warmth, the heat of his hand soaking through the delicate fabric as he begins a slow, deliberate stroke along my folds.
My body reacts, a small, helpless moan slipping past my lips before I can stop it.
"So wet for me, hmm?" Noah chuckles.
His head dips down, his lips brushing over one of my hardened nipples.
Then, his teeth.
A sharp bite, followed by the soothing drag of his tongue as he sucks and nips, pushing me higher, forcing little gasps and whimpers from my mouth.
Pain. Pleasure.
A perfect, intoxicating mix.
"We’re not in my classroom anymore," he murmurs against my skin. "Let it all out."
His fingers hook into my panties, dragging them down my thighs.
My breath stutters as his hands roam, kneading my breasts, teasing my skin with calculated precision.
Then, lower.
His fingers ghost over my drenched folds, tracing, taunting.
Our eyes lock.
"Is this what you wanted, Ana?" His voice is smooth, mocking.
He forces my legs open, his grip rough as his hand leaves my chest.
"Did you want me all to yourself?"
I’m too far gone to hold back the defiance bubbling inside me.
"I d-don’t know, Noah," I hiss, my voice breathless, teasing. "Maybe you should stop running your mouth and make me cum."
The second the words leave my lips, I know I’ve fucked up.
His fingers dig into my thighs, his jaw tightening.
A wicked smirk spreads across his face.
"Right away," Noah hisses.
Tightening his grip, his head lowers, his final warning sending a shiver through me.
"Feel free to scream."
Forcing three fingers inside me without hesitation, he shoves them as deep as his hand allows.
A sharp gasp catches in my throat at the overwhelming stretch, pain and pleasure colliding in a dizzying mix.
His pace is immediate, rough, unrelenting. His fingers drive in and out, pushing slick, obscene sounds into the air between us, each movement deliberate, possessive.
"Look at your fucking pussy," he hisses, watching the mess I’ve made, the way my body responds to him. "So eager. So desperate. All fucking mine."
His fingers curl inside me, hitting that devastating spot with ruthless precision.
My body reacts instantly, legs shaking, heat curling deep in my core, the creeping presence of an impending climax threatening to consume me.
I can’t stop it.
I need it.
"No," Noah snaps, his voice sharp, unyielding. "Not yet, Ana."
I whimper, struggling against the pleasure.
"Look at me."
I try, but the sensation is too much.
My head tilts back, body arching, drowning in the feeling of him.
"I-I can’t-"
Pain.
His teeth sink into the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, hard enough to make me jolt, hard enough to draw blood.
A sharp cry escapes me, my head snapping up as my vision locks onto his.
Noah licks his lips clean, tasting the mark he left behind.
"Good girl."
His mouth inches closer to my aching, desperate heat.
Dragging his fingers out of me, he replaces the action with a tight grip, grasping my thighs and holding them open, keeping me open.
His eyes are dark, filled with something primal, something starving.
"I want you looking at me when you cum."
Noah watches me, devouring me with his eyes, as a slow trail of spit drips onto my slick folds, mixing with the unbearable heat already pulsing between my legs.
The moment his tongue meets my dripping core, a loud, helpless moan tumbles from my lips.
He feasts on me like a starved man, his mouth working up and down my folds, his tongue flicking, teasing, claiming.
His grip tightens.
He drags me closer, forcing my legs over his shoulders, pulling me so deep into his mouth that he kneels before me, completely immersed.
My hips are off the bed, held in place by his strong hands gripping my sides, fingers buried into my skin as he keeps me exactly where he wants.
The sight alone, the way he eagerly, hungrily worships me, is enough to make me insane.
I rock my hips into his face, my body desperate for more, for everything.
And then the words slip out, filthy, breathless, and untamed.
"Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you, Mr. Ackerman?" I hiss, my voice laced with lust and power.
Noah growls against me, the vibrations sending a shudder through my entire body.
"Fucking eating my pussy like a good boy, ready to lick up my cum," I moan, the words spilling from me as the pleasure builds to a dizzying high.
The second the praise leaves my lips, his tongue works even harder—faster, rougher, pushing me closer to the edge with ruthless precision.
"Good fucking boy," I gasp, panting. "Good fucking boy-"
My words dissolve into a broken moan as the climax crashes over me, the hot wave of release spilling onto his tongue.
Noah doesn’t stop.
If anything, he tightens his grip, pulling me impossibly closer, his mouth working up and down my folds, licking and sucking as if he never wants to come up for air.
Even as my moans turn to desperate, quivering cries. Even as the pleasure shifts into sharp, overstimulated pain.
He doesn’t stop.
His pace only grows, his tongue relentless, his hunger insatiable.
And from the dark gleam in his eyes, I know.
Noah Ackerman isn’t done with me yet.
"Noah," I hiss, my legs trembling, threatening to close around his head. "Fuck, Noah, I can’t-"
His mouth pulls away from my soaked heat, his breath heavy, his eyes dark.
And then he smirks.
"Thank you for the praises, Princess," his voice drips with amusement. "But you are far from done."
Before I can protest, he lets my legs fall from his shoulders and reaches up, yanking the tie free from the headboard.
The second my arms are loosened, I gasp, but the relief is short-lived.
Noah flips me onto my stomach, pressing me into the mattress with an effortless strength that makes my pulse spike.
His hand explores, fingers sliding through the wet mess between my thighs, spreading my slick across my skin with slow, deliberate strokes.
I shudder beneath him, my body betraying me.
Then I feel it.
The heavy weight of his cock glides against me from behind, hard, ready, shielded by nothing.
My breath catches.
His voice is a dark whisper at my ear.
"Question is, Ana-" he drags his cock over my folds, teasing and torturing. "Have you earned to be fucked in the pussy? Or does your pretty ass deserve the attention?"
Fuck.
My hands curl into fists against the sheets, my entire body burning at the thought-
We both pause as the vibration of my phone lights up the bed beside me.
The moment shatters.
My eyes snap to the screen, dozens of texts flooding in at once.
A cold wave of realization crashes over me.
I left Megan and Elijah at the party.
Fuck.
"Fucking Walker," I snap.
Noah’s grip tightens on my hips as I twist beneath him, forcing myself onto my back, ignoring the flicker of irritation that darkens his face.
"Ana-" his voice is warning, edged with frustration.
But I don’t hear him.
I don’t care.
I glare at my phone, heart hammering as I scroll through the messages-
And then I see his name.
Cole.
Walker.
My blood runs cold.
"Fucking Cole and Walker," I hiss, sitting upright.
The air shifts.
Noah’s jaw tenses, the weight of their names pulling him from the moment entirely.
His voice is different now, almost territorial.
"What happened?"
I pause, blinking at him.
Odd.
I thought Noah Ackerman only cared about himself.
Turning the screen toward him, Megan’s frantic texts light up my phone, message after message about Cole and Walker.
And then, at the bottom, her drunken ramble about the kiss.
I watch as Noah’s icy stare darkens, his grip tightening, anger clouding his features.
"You actually kissed Megan?" His voice is calm.
Too calm.
"I needed a distraction from Walker," I mutter. "And you."
The admission does nothing to soften his expression. If anything, it makes it worse.
His gaze flicks back to the screen, jaw clenching.
"Bring her here," he murmurs, voice dangerously low. "She’s drunk. She doesn’t need to know I’m here."
"What’s the catch?" I scoff.
A slow, deliberate smirk tugs at his lips.
"The catch is," he whispers, leaning closer, "once she’s asleep, I’m going to make you regret that kiss."
A thrill runs down my spine.
I lift my chin, tugging my dress back on with defiance. "Yeah?" My voice is steady, challenging. "Prove it, Noah."
He doesn’t respond, but his stare says everything.
As I gather my phone, preparing to leave, my thumb absentmindedly scrolls back through the messages.
And then I see it.
At the top of the screen, standing out starkly against Megan’s chaos, a photo my mother sent.
My dad.
My chest tightens.
Noah notices instantly. His sharp gaze flickers to the screen, piecing together what I’m staring at.
"Who is he?" His voice is different now. Careful. Controlled.
I draw in a shaky breath, my jaw tightening.
"My dad," I whisper. "He’s sick."
The room shifts.
The air changes.
Noah watches me, something unreadable flickering across his face.
For the first time since I met him, he seems… unsure.
"I didn’t know," he murmurs.
"Yeah. Well, you’re not the only one looking for a distraction from reality," I whisper.
I don’t give him the chance to respond before turning away and walking out.
The last thing he needs to do is pry further on a topic I have barely begun to come to terms with.