14. Anna #2
“A lesson you should really take to heart.” The second he reaches the clothing rack and pushes it to the side, I fling the container at him.
Unfortunately, I was aiming for the face but didn’t anticipate the canister being so damn heavy.
Instead, his neck and the entire front of his body get doused with fake blood, and it’s not exactly a deterrent.
I had been hoping to temporarily blind him. Instead, I’ve just riled him up into more of a frenzy as I do the only thing I can. I run.
Leaping over a chair and one of the workstations, I actually manage to gain some ground.
Or at least, I think I do. His footsteps sound further away as he chases after me, but just as the emergency exit comes into view, his arm wraps around my middle, and I’m hauled sideways until I’m pinned against the wall.
It doesn’t matter how hard I try to shove and punch and claw at him. The weight of his body and the force of his grip secure me between these two immovable objects. Hell, I’d probably have better luck breaking through the wall than getting past him.
And the more I struggle, the more the hem of my sweater rises, inviting the fake blood splattered all over him to not only stain my clothes but my skin as well.
Even worse, the heat of his body against mine warms the liquid.
The color and consistency are alarmingly accurate, and now, with the temperature, it feels all too real.
I can’t not think about the last time this much blood had been on me, and I shudder.
“Did you have fun tonight? Allowing his hands all over you? Did it feel good?”
At first, I assume he’s referring to the creep who grabbed my ass, but one look at his eyes, at the possessiveness in them, tells me differently.
Liam.
I buck my hips, trying to push him off, but he just clicks his tongue, sliding his fingers up the slit of my panties.
“Tell me, love. Are you wet from him or me ?”
“I’d hate to bruise your fragile ego, but psychopaths aren’t exactly a turn-on,” I hiss.
“Oh, but your bookshelf begs to differ.” He grins at whatever expression crosses my face.
“I had the pleasure of reading one of your little books, and I’ve gotta say, you have quite a unique sexual preference.
Serial killers, kidnappers, stalkers . Not exactly your run-of-the-mill offerings.
I doubt Skeleton Jack back there could satisfy those particular cravings. ”
“There’s a big difference between what you enjoy in a book and real life, asshole. I’m well aware what men like you will do to me—”
“Clearly you don’t,” he purrs, “because if you did, you wouldn’t be afraid.”
I scoff, because, really? “You expect me to believe you won’t hurt me? Or worse ?”
He actually chuckles, the warmth of it even more unsettling given the subject. “Baby, there are plenty of things I want to do to this body, but hurting it isn’t one of them.”
As if to punctuate the point, his finger brushes my clit ever so lightly, and I jerk in response. But not in the way I’d like. My clit wants it, wants him to apply more pressure, even as I try to wriggle out of his hold.
“Don’t tell me your body hasn’t been begging you to fuck me.
” His entire hand cups me, and the pressure it offers has my whole body going still, too petrified by my natural instinct to rub against it, to ride this ache out of me.
“That boy didn’t make you wet. Yet, you’re absolutely soaked for me . ”
To my horror and utter embarrassment, he isn’t wrong. My panties are more than a little damp, which they hadn’t been just minutes ago. And it’s only getting worse as he rubs his palm against my clit.
What is wrong with me?
I shouldn’t like this. I’m sick.
I’m petrified, and part of me wants to cry, but a much larger part—an extremely deprived part—wants to chase the dragon.
Because that’s what he is. A one-hit addiction.
Since his mouth and hands had been on my body, it’s all I can think about even when I try desperately not to.
I don’t know what he even looks like, yet I woke up soaked and throbbing after dreaming about him.
His face was concealed in shadows, but I could see the rest of him perfectly.
And he felt just as I remembered. I practically begged him to fuck me, but I woke up before anything happened.
I should have been relieved, and I was, but when I opened my eyes to find I was alone in my bedroom, I was more pissed off than anything.
Pissed off that he made me feel this way, pissed off that he had inserted himself into my life, pissed off that he didn’t just put me out of my misery and fuck me like he kept saying he wanted to.
But I’m not about to tell him that. Instead, I inject as much venom into my voice as I can muster. “You don’t own me.”
He flashes me those teeth again, and I’m right. His canines are pointed ever so slightly. “But that’s where you’re wrong, love. You became mine the second my mouth tasted that pretty little cunt. If you think I’ll let anyone else share you, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I’ll let anyone do whatever I want.”
“Not if you wish for him to walk away with his teeth in his mouth and his dick still attached.”
His hand that had been pinning my arms comes up and wraps around my throat. Blind panic surges through me as I anticipate him applying pressure—
But he doesn’t. His bloodstained fingers slide up my neck until he reaches my jaw, forcing it up so that I meet his eyes directly.
“If another man so much as touches you, I’ll break every bone in his fucking hand.”
For the briefest second, Sebastian’s face flashes through my mind, but not in the way it always does.
I’m not imagining him on top of me. I picture my stalker snapping Sebastian’s fingers one at a time.
The mental illustration is a little too detailed, and I truly must be sick because I have to repress a smile at the mere thought.
Something still must flicker in my expression, because my stalker doesn’t miss it.
“You’re mine, Anna,” he growls. “I don’t share, and I sure as fuck don’t let what’s mine to be taken from me. Not anymore. If anyone gets in the way between me and you, his survival rate will be non-fucking-existent.”
Before I can even digest the gravity of his words, his mouth crashes against mine in the kind of kiss that steals the air from my lungs and any coherent thought in my head.
I know I should fight back. I should push and thrash and claw at him again, but his tongue sweeps into my mouth, robbing me of the ability to do anything but feel.
My knees buckle, and I can’t help but to moan into his mouth as he sets a rhythm with his palm against my clit in time with his tongue.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I try to focus on the taste of the face paint, the fact that the mannequins make it feel like we have an audience, the fact it looks and feels like we’re soaked in blood.
But none of it works.
His mouth leaves mine, but I don’t object. Not when it buries itself into my neck, kissing and nipping at my skin hard enough that I’m guaranteed to have a hickey if I survive this…
I’m not sure I will.
My entire body feels electric, and everywhere he touches only charges it more, to the brink that I may very well combust. He’s hitting erogenous zones I didn’t even know I had, issuing needy whimpers and moans from me that I’ve never made before.
He abandons my clit in favor of prying my sweater up over my head. Calloused hands grip my thighs, and I find myself being lifted right up off my feet, which is good, because my legs are damn near shaking, having been reduced to gelatin.
As if I weigh nothing, my stalker carries me effortlessly over to the steel table he indicated earlier and plants my ass on the edge of it, pulling apart my legs and stepping between them.
I feel the tacky, warm liquid smeared across my thighs, my belly, my sides, my neck, and under the glow of the single station light, I truly look like a murder victim, but he doesn’t seem to care.
If anything, he invites it, releasing the clasp on my bra and palming his bloodstained hands on my breasts.
Between the cold of the warehouse and his touch, my nipples are hard enough that they could cut glass, and he relishes them, taking each into his mouth as he presses my lower half against his.
The erection hits my clit, and I can’t stop myself from chasing the sensation, rocking into him.
The rough denim of his pants offers the perfect friction as I rub against him, and feeling his cock twitch in response has my legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him closer.
What am I doing?
This is wrong.
Crazy.
So unbelievably fucked up that there aren’t words to describe it.
His teeth suddenly come down on my left nipple, hard enough that I let out a small shriek. “Don’t,” he warns. His eyes connect with mine, and once again, I see the unspoken message there. Don ’ t think. Don ’ t analyze. Don ’ t mourn. Don ’ t leave this moment.
He suckles greedily at the very breast he’d just bitten, tugging on the nipple with his mouth as his hands squeeze my tits. Nobody has ever paid them this kind of attention, and the mere fact that he’s worshiping them is enough to send me to the edge. It’s like he knows what I need.
I’m quite literally throbbing down there that he can feel it through the denim blocking him from me, and he’s suddenly ordering me to lift my ass. The instant I do, he hooks his thumbs in the sides of my panties and nearly tears them off with the force he uses to pull the fabric down my thighs.
“You’re fucking mine,” he growls again, directing the head of his cock through my folds.
When had he even unzipped his pants?
Did he put on a condom?
I have no idea, but I don’t have the voice to ask as my vocal cords lock up. For how long I’ve gone without having sex, I anticipated some degree of pain with how much he fills me, but I’m so fucking wet.
That doesn’t make it any less of a tight fit. He takes his time sliding into me, and as much as I want to look down, his eyes are locked on mine, holding my own gaze captive.
Even with the mask and face paint, there’s no mistaking his expression. Hungry. Ravenous. Almost pained. With every inch he sinks in, it’s clear the tether on his self-control is only unraveling further and further. He’s barely holding himself together.
Once he’s buried himself to the hilt, he just stays there for a moment, allowing me to adjust. I anticipated a rough, maybe even borderline violent claiming, but he stays like that, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth.
“Tell me what you want, baby. Tell me what you need.” He’s nearly breathless, and the fact that I’ve reduced him to this is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen and heard. If I ask him to take things slow, gentle, he may very well shatter.
But feeling him twitch inside of me, feeling that pulse throb, I’d be no more capable of it than him.
I need that release. I need to be satiated. It’s the only thing that may be able to rid me of him, of the craving I so desperately desire.
He ’ s no more than a hookup , I tell myself. Just a stranger I can use to scratch this itch.
But the second I give him the go, when I tell him what I really want, I realize my mistake.
I find my voice again, but the only sounds I’m capable of producing aren’t words. They’re the very screams he promised to bring out of me.
He pulls my ass to the very edge of the table and draws himself nearly out of me, only to thrust right back. The depth and pressure the angle offers have him grinding against my clit, and he doesn’t let up.
I grip the back of his neck more out of instinct than anything, praying it can anchor me, but it can’t.
I have to use my other hand to grip the edge of the table, as if steadying myself can fend off the orgasm.
He’s wearing the same fragrance as he had been during the robbery, and he tastes faintly of mint, both senses overwhelming me when he brings his mouth back to mine.
His tongue and lips expertly work me like he’s been doing this my whole life, drowning out any thought apart from the sensations he triggers. My legs tighten around his waist, unable to process anything but the feeling of him . His hands are on my body, his tongue is in my mouth, and his cock—
The rhythm he sets slamming in and out of me is so hard, so unyielding, that I’m not even sure if I’m breathing. Any of the air in my lungs expels in a gasp or scream, and I don’t seem to be drawing in more. I can’t. It’s too much.
I explode, letting the waves of my orgasm wash over me, but he’s not stopping, even as my walls clamp around him. He only fucks me harder, faster, gripping my hips and guiding me back and forth with the thrusts.
Holy fucking shit! He lifts my ass off the table, and my vision actually goes white as the new position hits a spot even my vibrator struggles to find, catapulting me over the edge again.
And this time he joins me. His rhythm grows frantic, and his groans and curses fill my ear as he buries his mouth into the side of my neck.
Only now do I realize I’m clinging to him, my grip on the table surrendered in favor of embracing my stalker even further.
My other senses, as well as my rationality, take their time reintroducing themselves at the realization that my legs and arms are wrapped around his body when I feel him swell inside of me.
That last part should be the most concerning, but he rolls his hips in such a way that it somehow triggers another aftershock to overtake me.
Air finally re-invites itself into my lungs, and I go rigid and loose all at once as he stills.
I feel boneless but somehow keep shaking in the aftermath of my orgasms, my pussy still clamped around him.
She refuses to let him go, and as he pulls back enough to look into my eyes, I know for a fact that she’s not the only one.
He isn’t going anywhere.