Page 66 of Anton

THORA

Okay, so Anton is officially ignoring me.

Seven whole days. That’s how long it’s been since I last saw him.

Of course, it’s also pathetic that I’ve been counting, but here we are. I still don’t have his number, which is probably for the best because even if I had it, there’s no way I’d call him and make myself look like I’m pining over a man who hasn’t bothered to contact me.

And as if that isn’t annoying enough, he still has my panties, which, rude. I actually liked that pair, thank you very much. Who steals a girl’s panties and then disappears without so much as letting her know whether he plans to keep them or return them to their rightful owner?

Whatever. He can keep them. I hope he chokes on them.

Fine. So maybe I’ve developed a little anger and resentment over his very obvious silent treatment, but who can blame me? The guy fucked me, practically melted my brain in the process, and then vanished like some emotionally unavailable woodland cryptid.

I’m sure someone like him could get my number if he actually wanted it. He clearly doesn’t give a shit.

Maybe I should go on that date with Brayden after all. Why not? It would probably be healthier than lying in bed and thinking about the sexy Russian.

But the second I even think about another man, Anton forces his way right back into my head like he’s rented space there, haunting every thought whether I want him to or not.

With a groan, I reach for my phone and lose myself in cat videos until my attention gradually wanders elsewhere.

Right back to him.

I type his name into the search bar and his picture comes up, the same one I’ve already stared at far too many times during my embarrassingly obsessive deep dives. And the second those dark eyes stare back at me from the screen, my body remembers who it belongs to.

I throb for his touch, his mouth, the dirty things he does to me. I want it all. But instead, I’m left with the ghost of him etched into my skin, reminding me of all the things I’m missing. My eyelids fall shut as I remember him fucking me against his bike, his fist knotted in my hair while he fed every thick inch of his cock into me.

Before I realize what I’m doing, my hand slips beneath the waistband of my shorts, my fingers gliding through my wetness as I pretend they’re his.

His rough palms roam over me, squeezing my breasts until my nipples ache for his mouth. Then his hand slips lower, fingers driving inside while he forces me to watch him, making me feel every filthy second as he claims another piece of me I know I’ll never get back.

The hunger in his stare draws me deeper into the fantasy. He spreads my thighs and holds me open, devouring the sight of me before lowering his mouth to my pussy. His lips close around my clit, his tongue circling until my hands tangle in his hair, dragging him closer.

The phone slips from my grasp as my muscles draw tight. My pussy throbs while I push two fingers inside, then three, grinding against my own hand as a shudder runs through me.

God, I wish it was him.

He’s on top of me now, his gaze holding me there as he pushes inside me. Stretching me, filling me, twisting my body and heart into something I don’t even recognize.

When the release hits, his name spills from my lips.

“Anton…” I’m burning all over, a moan choking past my lips. “Oh God!”

My back bows as the orgasm crashes over me, my toes curling while every thought scatters until my body goes slack beneath the force of it.

But what comes after feels hollow, as though I reached the edge of something beautiful only to find nothing waiting on the other side. Because he isn’t here.

Frustration claws at me as I withdraw my fingers and stare at the ceiling, hating how completely he’s worked himself into my thoughts. Into everything.

Grabbing my phone to distract myself, I start going through my unanswered texts, deleting a few useless notifications before a call comes through from a number I don’t recognize. Normally, I’d ignore it, especially this late, but something makes me answer.

“Hello?”

There’s nothing except rough breathing on the other end, making my stomach knot. I almost hang up, wondering if some random psychopath has decided to call me in the middle of the night. Then⁠—

“Hey.”

Anton. Oh my God.