I didn’t have to with Anastasia since she was the one who practically demanded it.
It’s thrilling, she said.
And it was.
Having her completely compliant underneath me as she struggled with holding in her noises got my dick hardening in an instant.
I fuck a lot of women—like, a lot, so many that I’ve lost count—but none of them have been as memorable as the girl who gave me complete rein.
Not only did she not complain, but she also fell into my rough, fast rhythm as if she enjoyed it as well. As if she couldn’t get enough of it.
I knew there was something about her from the time we were at the bar, and I had to explore it, had to get my hands on her and see it until the end. I was supposed to go back to New York last night, but then I decided I would fuck her.
I decided I would have her writhing and screaming beneath me as I held on to her icy blonde hair.
She’s easily the best fuck I’ve had in a long bloody time.
Maybe it’s because of that, or curiosity, or another illogical reason, but I didn’t leave right after, like I usually do, especially since she gave me an opening by falling asleep.
But for some reason, I couldn’t just walk away.
Partly because, despite the powerful release from last night, my dick still demands more. Which is why I was planning to pick up where we left off this morning.
That plan is demolished, however, when I find her side of the bed empty. I run my hand over where she slept, but it’s cold, so that means she left some time ago.
Huh.
I sit up, all the sleep vanishing from my eyelids.
She’s gone.
Anastasia, the girl who wore red and was mouthy, is no longer here.
Under normal circumstances, I’d let it go. In fact, I should be glad that I don’t have one of the clingy ones who demand to have my phone number or tells me to call her.
But the fact that she left without a word sends sparks of fire through my veins.
Women don’t disappear on me. Ever.
And yet, this Anastasia didn’t think twice about it.
That’s a fucking first.
I stand up, pushing the sheet away, and don’t bother with putting on clothes.
My foot collides with something and I bend down to inspect what it is. It’s the butterfly pendant she had dangling against her creamy white back last night.
It’s the first thing I saw when I stepped into the bar. The jeweled black butterfly wings against her pale skin grabbed my attention and refused to let go.
Then it was her almost white hair that resembles ice, her soft petite face, and those huge ocean blue eyes that seemed ready to swallow the world while hiding away from it.
She was beautiful, but not in the provocative, seductive way I’m used to. If anything, she seemed na?ve at times, not knowing what she was supposed to do and waiting for instructions.
At first, I thought the innocent act was just that—an act. But the more I touched her, the more convinced I was that she had little experience. It was in the little details—how she took time to suck my dick or how she often peeked at me as if waiting for approval of what she was doing.
If I’m wrong and she was in fact an escort, I’ll revoke my law license. Or I’ll steal an Oscar for her.
Still, no amount of acting could’ve allowed her to shudder involuntarily or swallow me deep and raw and even like it.
Having had violent tastes all my life makes rough sex a given, but some women don’t like it, and I have to slow down so I don’t take things too far. I have to keep in mind that not all people are fucked up like me, so I’m forced to handle them a bit more gently.
I didn’t have to do that with her, though.
She took everything I dished out and more.
She even orgasmed because of it and screamed in that erotic way that still echoes in my ears like a siren’s song.
Then she left.
My hold flexes on the butterfly before I place it on the side table. That’s when I notice that my jacket is gone, but my wallet is on the chair with everything inside it.
If she were a thief, it would make more sense to take my cash, but she chose a jacket—worth a few thousand dollars, but still.
She didn’t strike me as someone poor. She had the soft, delicate speech and mannerisms of someone well-educated, but maybe all of that was an act as well.
Shaking my head, I go to the bathroom to take a shower.
My gaze falls on the condom in the rubbish bin and I pause. I didn’t focus on it last night, probably due to the dim lights and my being sleepy.
But it’s there.
Blood.
On the condom and the washcloth I cleaned her with.