We drive in silence the whole ride home, my hands tight on the wheel, my eyes locked on the road.
…I might add, I haven’t driven in six months, and the last time I did, I took a high-dive off Notting Point.
Ana stares out the window, quiet until she turns about halfway back to the house and started fiddling with the stereo. She flicks through channels, past NPR, past some twangy country, some thudding heavy metal bullshit, until she finally lands on something and stays –“This Feeling” by Alabama Shakes.
It’s a very weird soundtrack for the moment, considering I’m currently breaking the terms of my house arrest.
The thought has me tightening my hands on the wheel of the Aston Martin One-77. I mean, shit - if you’re going to break the law and risk jail, you might as well do it in $2 million car, right?
It’s right before the turn-off that I make up my mind and slam on the breaks as I yank the wheel to the right. Ana shrieks, clutching tight to her door and the seat under her as the car swerves tightly off of Route 27 and onto Notting Road.
“Are you crazy?” She hisses at me, shooting me a look as the car stabilizes.
“It’s been suggested.”
She snorts a small laugh before she can hide it, and I smile as I gun the engine up the hill to the bend in the road.
That bend.
Besides the danger to the conditions of my house arrest, coming here is fucked up. And as stupid as it is, I guess I figure since I’m already breaking the rules, I may as well do this while I’m out.
Call it facing your demons, or reliving history, or maybe it’s just morbid curiosity.
There are still a few strands of yellow caution tape tied to the guardrail overlooking Notting Point, though the hole my Ferrari punched in it has been replaced. The new part gleams a little brighter, the roadside flowers, grass, and gravel around it a little fresher and a little newer. I slow the car and pull us over to the shoulder right before the bend and shut off the engine.
“Seriously?”
I glance at her in the darkness of the car.
“Hey, I stopped this time, didn’t I?”
I grin and swing open the door as she makes a face.
“We should really head back.”
“Probably.”
I hear her door shut behind me, the sound of her footsteps on the roadside gravel following me up the shoulder to the new guardrail at the bend.
“Bastian, what are we doing here?”
There’s a momentary sense of vertigo as I stand at the edge, my knuckles on the guardrail as I stare down at the shallows.
“Bastian—”
“Do you know what sound a guardrail makes when you drive a sports car through it at eighty miles an hour?”
There’s silence for a second, and I feel her walk up next to me and glance over the edge.
“No.”
“Me neither.”
I grin and turn to her.
She’s not laughing.
“Gallows humor,” I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t remember shit about that night.”
“Yeah, that tends to happen when you get blackout drunk. Most people just don’t put themselves behind the wheel of a car.”
She shoots me a look.
“You could have killed someone you know.”
“I could have killed me, you know.”
“Try and think beyond yourself?”
“Trust me, I am.” I shake my head. “That poor, poor Ferrari. R-I-P, buddy.”
Ana rolls her eyes and makes a growling sound.
“Oh, calm down. I’m kidding, Texas. Obviously. Believe me, the thought that I could have done more than what did happen is pretty much on prime-time syndicated repeat in my head,” I mutter.
“And yet, you’re still drinking.”
“It’s why I’m drinking.”
She looks away.
“I’m sorry, are you mad or something about me saving that ass of yours back there at Floyd’s?”
She frowns. “No, I’m just—” she shakes her head. “Look, why are we here?”
“Because I had to see this,” I say quietly. I glance over the rail again at the water below.
Fuck that’s a drop.
“Facing your demons?”
I pick a rock up off the shoulder of the road, wind back, and chuck it off into the water.
“Burying them.”
We stand there for another minute or two in silence, just looking out over the dark, rippling, moonlit water.
Ana sighs. “Well, at least you had another sports car all ready to go.”
I grin, turning to see her doing her best not to.
“Well, a Ferrari is a Ferrari, but this one’s pretty great too. Aston Martin One-77.”
I wish I could say that without the pride in my voice, but I can’t.
“It’s a ridiculously expensive black sports car, Bastian. Who cares?”
“Who cares?” I scoff. “They only made seventy-seven of these you know.”
“That doesn’t actually impress me.”
“Very little about me does, does it?”
She shrugs, turning to glance at the water again.
“I dunno, you kicking the shit out of three bikers was pretty bad ass.”
“You have a way with apologies,” I say dryly. “Glad I haven’t been paying Katrina for nothing.”
“Oh is that her name?”
I grin to myself at the sharpness in her tone.
“Is that jealousy I sense?”
She barks out a laugh. “Hardly. She seems your type, though.”
I snort. “Try again.”
“What, young, dumb, and blonde no longer get your engine going?”
“Okay, one, Katrina has a master’s degree in physical therapy, so slow your roll.”
Ana still manages to look sarcastic, even if I can tell she’s embarrassed.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you girlfr—”
“Secondly, that girl pulls more chicks than Ash, and that is saying something.”
Ana’s brows arch as she looks away. “Oh.”
This time, I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, oh.” I shake my head. “At least try and contain your uncontrollable jealousy over me?”
“Right, I’ll do my best,” Ana says, her voice the literal definition of sarcasm.
“Can we go now?”
I glance once more over the edge of the guardrail and scowl at the water.
Better luck next time, fucker.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
The engine purrs to life, Noah Gundersen crooning out over the stereo.
“Feel better about the Katrina thing now?”
Ana groans. “Please get over yourself.”
“I don’t mix business and pleasure anyway, you know.”
“So what do you call us?”
She instantly clamps her mouth shut, like she wishes she could take back the words.
I turn and look at her for a full long minute, unblinking, letting her squirm.
“Complicated.”
* * *
“Jesus, you’re bleeding.”
I grunt as the kitchen door closes behind us and the lights flick on.
“It’s fine.”
I figured I had a slice from that douchebag’s knife, but in the hour since the bar fight, the burning sensation and the feeling of wetness on my back has gotten worse.
A lot worse.
“Oh my God, Bastian.” I feel her hands at my back, gingerly pulling at the tear in my shirt.
“Hang on, I’ll get Mrs. Tottingham. I’m sure she can patch you—”
“It’s her night off. Carl’s too.”
“You give nights off?”
“I’m going soft in my old age.”
She smiles quietly.
“All right, well then I’m fixing you.”
“It’s fine, forget—”
“Will you shut up?”
I raise a brow, half amused at smart-mouthed Ana as she pulls me across the kitchen and shoves me onto one of the stools.
“Sit. Stay. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not a puppy.”
“Well, this sounds familiar now doesn’t it?”
She smiles this overly sweet smile before turning and heading for the pantry, where Mrs. Tottingham keeps a first aid kit.
“And you are basically a puppy, you know.”
“If you’re about to make a joke involving me sniffing butts and humping legs, trust me that it’s been made before.”
She shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”
“Har har har.”
Ana smiles to herself as she set the kit down on the counter next to me.
“Take your shirt off.”
“Who’s the dog now?”
She rolls her eyes, and I grin, unbuttoning the ruined shirt and wincing slightly as I tug it off my shoulders. I do notice that her eyes linger on my torso as I fling the shirt away.
I eye the needle and surgical thread she’s pulling out of the first aid box.
“Have you done this before?”
“Sure.”
“That wasn’t remotely convincing.”
Ana grins. “Okay, I’ve one it once before.” She shrugs. “To a blanket.”
“Very reassuring.” I start to stand. “How about you just drive me to a walk-in clinic.”
“Oh shut up. Sit.” She pushes me back down, her hands warm on my chest.
“You worried I’m going to make you not pretty anymore?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
She snorts. “Such vanity.”
“I’m more worried you’re going to sew my elbow to my shoulder.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
I hiss as she rubs peroxide over the slice on my shoulder. She raises the needle in her hand and brings it to my skin.
“Hang on, I need a drink first.”
“No, you don’t.”
I scowl. “For the pain.”
“That’s just in the movies. Drinking makes your blood thin, which means it won’t clot.” She sighs. “Now sit still.”
“I could poke you with something, see if you can sit still.”
She blushes.
I like that.
“Can we put some damn music on or something?”
Ana sighs heavily. “You know, you coming up with distractions isn’t going to stop me from doing this. Stop being a scaredy cat. It’s just a needle.”
I glare at her, and she grins before looking away and picking her phone up off the counter.
“Fine. No more excuses after this though.”
Leon Bridges begins to play quietly from her phone speakers. She sets it back on the counter and turns back to me as “River” begins to tease through the kitchen.
“You shouldn’t have gone there tonight.”
She looks up from sterilizing the needle again.
“Neither should you.”
I growl.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
I frown. “What?”
“To take your mind off of this. Tell me something about you I don’t know.”
“Whiskey would work.”
“No whiskey.”
My brow furrows, my jaw tensing as she rubs more peroxide over the gash.
“Something you don’t know?”
“About you.”
I groan. “Seriously?”
She pushes the needle in and I grimace, hissing.
“Pussy.”
“Butcher.”
She grins.
“You go first.”
She glances up. “How would that help you?”
“It’ll take my mind off of you acting out your torture fantasies on me. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“I think there’s a whole lot you don’t know about me.”
Doubt that.
“I think you’re wrong.”
She shrugs, pushing the needle through again.
“I dated a woman once, years ago. Pretty seriously.”
My brows arch, wondering how the fuck I never knew that.
Ana looks up, her face immediately splitting into a grin.
“I’m kidding. Down boy.”
“Very funny.”
She giggles. “What is it though about two women that makes guys all googly-eyed and drooling?”
“Do you like chocolate chip cookies?”
She looks up, one brow cocked. “Yes?”
“Well, just picture two chocolate chip cookies and I think you’ll get the idea. If you can picture them making out, that’s even better.”
She rolls her eyes, pulling the thread tight and making me grimace.
“That’s so shallow.”
I shrug.
“Well, what about two guys, huh?”
“Hey, whatever floats your boat.”
“So you’d have no problem if I started drooling over Ash and Tyler making out with each other?”
I make a face. “If you’re trying to permanently kill my ability to get an erection, it’s working.”
She laughs. “I’d be doing the world a favor.”
“So selfless of you.”
“How do you mean?”
“Because my ability to get hard is directly beneficial to you.”
She flushes bright red, quickly looking back to the task at hand.
“Your turn,” she says quickly.
I laugh. “Bullshit. Yours was fake.”
“So? Your turn.”
I contemplate it for a second. I contemplate going the safe route, or the easy route - something about my parents from when I was young or whatever.
Only for a second though.
“I used to be able to see into your bedroom.”
The room goes still. Ana freezes, a noticeable shiver rippling through her before her eyes pull up to mine.
“What?”
“I could see your bedroom window from the balcony of my quarters.”
She blinks, swallowing quickly. I can see the flush creeping up her neck - the way her lip catches between her teeth.
“What exactly do you mean you could see—”
“Everything,” I growl.
Her eyes go wide, and I can see the mix of emotion swirl over her face. First anger, or indignation at being spied on. But then it’s something more, something that I can tell catches her off guard.
Excitement.
I can also tell she’s dying to know what I saw.
“Well,” she says it quickly, shrugging or at least trying to shrug casually.
“Like you said, it’s not like I had an active social life bringing anyone up—”
“And I have, and had, zero interest in thinking about you with anyone in there,” I say icily.
She blinks quickly, her tongue wetting her lip nervously.
“So you were spying on me?” She juts her jaw out, defiantly, like she wants me — or herself — to think she’s mad about this.
…Like she’s not flushed red with desire. Like her chest isn’t rising and falling faster now. Like her eyes aren’t flickering over me with a hungry franticness.
“Yes.”
“And what did you see,” she says quietly, dropping her gaze.
I smile to myself. I know what she’s thinking. She’s wondering what exactly I saw. She’s trying to remember how often she might have had the blinds open, when she changed, or when she—
The redness on her cheeks gets deeper, and I grin.
There it is.
“That.”
She looks up sharply.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. I know what you’re thinking.”
She frowns, trying to cover the heat clearly shivering through her. “No you don’t.”
“Care to call my bluff?”
She quickly ties off the thread at my shoulder, snipping the rest of it away. She avoids my eyes, chewing at her bottom lip as she peels the backing off the big bandage and adheres it to my shoulder over the stitching. She swallows as her palm smooth’s it down, her fingers brushing my skin.
Her pulse beats heavy in the hollow of her neck.
Her thighs clench together.
This is happening.
“I watched how very unsatisfied Josh Stedman left you every night.”
Her eyes snap to mine, her mouth going small and her breath catching.
And I know what she’s thinking. It’s so obvious it’s practically playing out in real time across her face. She’s thinking there’s no way I saw that. She’s hoping and praying that there’s no way I saw her come home from dates with that loser, lie across her bed, push her hands between her legs, and touch herself until she buried her scream in a pillow.
Spoiler: I did.
Her eyes burn fiercely into mine. And I know I’m playing with fire here, but I’m also far past giving a single fuck.
“You didn’t see anything,” she says sharply, squaring her shoulders. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?”
I stand, towering over her and watching as her hands clench tight and her cheeks flush.
She swallows. “I think we’re done here. You’re sewn up, now get out.”
“I think I’ll stay right here, actually. It’s my kitchen.”
My pulse is racing, burning like fire through my veins — the both of us frozen like that as if we’re about to be struck by lighting.
Or maybe we already have been.
I take a step closer to her.
“You seem riled up.”
She blushes furiously, her eyes darting over my mine.
“I am not riled up.”
“Breathless.”
She shakes her head.
“Excited.”
“Get over yourse—”
“Wet.”
She whimpers, and that sound is my goddamn breaking point.
Ana gasps as I put my hands on her waist, spin us, and pin her against the kitchen island behind her. Hard. I close the distance between us, letting her feel me as I press against her body. My hand slides up to cup her cheek, the other grabbing her hip possessively.
“You can’t just put your hands on me whenever you decide you’d like to, you know,” she husks, her eyes fierce as they look up into mine, making zero effort to push my hands away from her.
“You can’t just—”
“Ana.”
She falters, swallowing thickly and then gasping as I pull her close, my breath teasing over her bare neck and making her shiver.
“I’m pretty bad with ‘can’t.’”
My lips move against the delicate skin of her neck, lips trailing and teeth nipping just enough to make her gasp. Her hands move to my bare torso, fingers digging into my skin and pulling me against her as I drag my tongue over her neck.
“If you’ve forgotten what I might have seen back then,” I husk into her ear, her moan stuttered and aching.
“Allow me to refresh your memory.”
My hand slides over her hip to the front of her shorts.
She doesn’t move it away.
I slide my hand up first, pushing her tank top up over her stomach and letting my fingertips brush her bare skin. She shivers, her breath panting and needing. I let my palm slide over her stomach, down until my fingers find the button of her shorts.
I pop it, and she gasps.
I push a finger into her shorts and let it drag over the edge of her panties, and she whimpers.
“Bastian,” she breathes, her chest rising and falling against mine.
“Ana.”
“We- no. We can’t do this.”
“We’ve already done this.”
“We can’t keep doing it.”
“We can, and both of us know you’ve wanted this for years.”
“You’re a bastard.”
“And you’re soaking fucking wet for me.”
I push her shorts down, letting them drop to her feet before my hands slide back between her legs, making her whimper as my fingertips tease the edge of her panties.
“Now I’m going to settle something I’ve been wondering for years.”
Her hands clutch my arm, panting.
“And what’s that,” she breathes.
“How sweet you taste when you want it this bad.”
My hand slides into her hair, I pull her head back, and I crush my lips to hers.
Hard.
And I know I’m still pulling her strings, but I can’t stop. I know the best thing I could possibly do for her is run the fuck away and never get involved with her life or involve her in mine ever again - to let her live in a world free of me meddling in it behind the scenes.
But she opens her mouth, her tongue finds mine, she moans into the kiss, and I know there’s no way in hell that’s happening right now. I’m drowning in her. I’m consumed by the primal fucking caveman need to claim her and go where we never went before, back then.
I growl into her mouth, my fingers pushing her panties to the side and sliding deep into her slick pussy. Ana moans deeply, her hands clutching at me before she pulls away.
“I’m not that girl.”
She manages to gasp between taking a breath and me kissing her again.
“What girl.”
“The girl that does this.”
“Second base?”
She gives me a look.
“You know ‘what girl’ I’m talking about. The girl who lets you barge your way in and do what you please.”
“Except we both know you’re dying to let me do what I please to you.”
She shivers.
I’m not wrong.
“And then what?”
I scowl as she pushes my hand away from between her legs.
“What do you mean and then what?”
“After we have this very romantic make-out session in your kitchen, what happens next.”
“I was talking about making you come all over my fingers and then licking it off while you tongue my balls. Who said anything about romance.”
She rolls her eyes and starts to turn away. “Jesus, Bastian—”
“Stop it.”
“Excuse m—”
She gasps as I pull her hips back against mine, whimpering quietly when I let my cock throb against her ass through my pants as I press her against the counter.
“Stop pretending my mouth and my crudeness is some big turnoff for you because we both know that’s bullshit.”
My hand slides back between her legs, pushing right under her panties and curling a finger deep inside of her. She moans, her hands flat on the countertop, her shoulders rising and falling as she sucks in air.
“Actually, I’m fairly certain my dirty mouth only makes you wetter than you’ve ever been before.”
“You’re delusional,” she hisses.
“And you’re wondering what it would feel like for me to hold you right here bent over this counter and fuck you until you can’t stand anymore.”
Her pussy literally tightens around my finger as she shivers and moans. Her back tenses, her fingers claw at the counter.
I love being right.
I push her tank top up her back, slipping it over her bra-less tits and letting my palms slide over them. My lips find the back of her neck, pushing her hair out of the way and then grabbing it in a fist as I lick my way down her nape and down between her shoulder blades. She’s gasping loudly now, her pussy dripping her juices down my finger as I stroke it in and out of her. I add a second, curling them deep and letting my thumb brush over her clit.
Part of me wants to just pull my cock out, bury every inch of it inside of her, and just fuck her until we both collapse. But I’ve waited too long for this. I’ve dreamt too long of turning Anastasia Bell into a fucking puddle for me to jump right into it, as very tempting as that is.
Instead, I’m going to make her beg. Instead, I’m going to have her speaking in fucking tongues and coming apart at the seams first.
And then I’ll fuck her.
My lips drag down her back, teeth raking her skin and bringing a cry to her lips. I leave a trail of wet kisses and red marks as I trail further down, my fingers never stopping, my thumb still brushing her clit. I get down to her ass, and I don’t even take my hand away from between her legs as I use the other one and my fucking teeth to start to drag her panties over her ass.
I stop, somehow, my jaw tensing.
No. Like I said, I’ve waited too long for this. I’ve seen her in just her panties, that night on the boat. I’ve seen her touching herself, but from over a hundred feet away, and mostly with a sheet over her.
I want to see all of her.
She gasps as I suddenly turn her around, and press her ass against the counter - her panties halfway off and stretched across her hips. I glance up at her, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed pink as I hook my fingers into the sides.
Slowly, I pull them down, and the blood in my veins turns to fire as her absolutely perfect pussy is revealed at last.
Perfect.
Like, actual perfection - perfection like if you looked up “best pussy” in some sort of filthy dictionary, you’d get a picture of what’s in front of me right at this very moment.
I growl as I move in.
Her hands slide into my hair, mine push her legs apart as I lean in. I look up at her as I press my mouth to her and slowly drag my tongue over her slit.
Ana moans.
I repeat the same motion, dragging from the bottom to the top of her lips, parting them with my tongue and letting it swirl over her clit. She tastes like heaven and moans like a devil, and the more of her I get on my tongue and the more of her pleasure I hear in my ears, the more obsessed I am.
I growl as my hands slide to her ass, grabbing her and pulling her against my mouth. My tongue pushes deep, tasting her, devouring her, fucking her with my tongue until her moans and cries fill the kitchen.
And I want more.
My hands hold her tight, and she shrieks as I lift her up and plant that sweet ass on the countertop. I push her back across it as I move back between her legs, throwing them over my shoulders. I push my fingers deep inside of her, curling them against her spot as I wrap my lips around her clit and suck, flicking my tongue over it.
Ana explodes.
She’s screaming, her hands tugging my hair painfully, her moans making my cock hard as fucking steel as I eat her through another orgasm, and another, until she’s pushing me away and gasping for air.
I’m not waiting any longer.
I stand, pulling at my belt. Her hands move to my pants, tugging at them. The hungry look flashes across her face before she suddenly glances up at me.
“Do you have a condom?”
My teeth grind tighter.
No, of course I don’t.
Of course the second I’m about to finally fuck Anastasia Bell, I don’t.
She bites her lip, her brow furrowing at the look on my face.
Fuck it.
“Hang on, I’ll grab one.”
I yank her up, kissing her fiercely and letting her soft moan course through me.
“But don’t you fucking move from this—”
Headlights wash over the kitchen and we both freeze.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
Ana yelps, bolting off the counter, pulling her tank top down and grabbing her shorts off the floor.
“I thought you said it was their night off!”
“They do live here,” I growl, seriously debating walking outside and either paying or threatening my two older employees to turn the fuck around and not come back for a week.
Ana swears as she yanks her shorts up.
“I—” she looks at me, her eyes wild and her face heated. “I should go. I must look—”
“Like you just came on my tongue about four times.”
She flushes.
“Thanks for getting me tonight,” she says quietly.
She leans up and quickly pecks me on the cheek before pulling away.
The cheek.
“I hope your shoulder feels better.”
And then she’s gone.
I decide it’s probably best not to greet my housekeeper and butler with pussy on my breath and a hard-on about to tear out of my pants. I grab two beers from the fridge and make myself scarce.