Page 91 of Anarchy Missing

I pull her hair, breaking the bond on her lips, and crook a finger, commanding her to crawl up my body so we can fuck properly now. She places both hands on my chest and positions her knees on either side of my hips. Her eyes close, like she’s already picturing it in her head. Her long, blonde hair artfully falls over her breasts, trying its best to hide her tight, perky nipples. My fingertips slowly brush it aside so I can see better and her hips begin to move against me, eager for me to be inside her.

But I’m not there yet. I just want to look at her. Take her in like I’ve never had a chance to before. Claim her in this moment. Mine. That’s the word running through my head. Mine.

Her body is perfectly shaped. A man’s dream. Her face is so beautiful. Her small features contrast with her wide blue eyes. She bites her lip nervously, and I smile. I have words for this. So many words I’d like to say. But I like the quiet. My silent gaze that wants to eat her up and drink her in says so much more.

The light is fading away by the second and it almost…

“Case,” she whispers, adding to the disquiet that comes with the night.

“Shhh,” I say.

It almost feels like she’s a dream. How did my life change so dramatically in just a few days?

“Case,” she pleads. “You’re driving me crazy.” She’s rubbing herself against me. Coating my cock with her wet desire. Both hands press flat on my chest and they are cool—so fucking cool against my skin, glistening with sweat.

I draw in a deep breath and memorize this moment. Her back is to the window and the curves of her body slowly make a silhouette against the backdrop of filtered daylight.

She leans down and kisses me. Her hands on my shoulders, gripping tightly. Digging her nails into my flesh like little knives.

I close my eyes and kiss her back, grab her hair and hold her down. I never want to stop. I never want to let her out of my sight.

She finally gets tired of waiting for my permission and lifts her hips up, our tongues still tangled together in a dance that reminds me of our first real date together at the ball.

One hand leaves my shoulder and dips down between her legs. She makes a tight fist around my cock and presses it against her wet opening. Pressure as my tip meets her opening and then more, as she begins to sit.

I close my eyes for that. It feels so fucking good. My hands go to her hips, gripping the flesh so tightly, she groans and slaps her hands down on my chest again. The heat inside me is building with each passing moment—but I don’t care. I do not care about anything but how it feels to be inside Lulu.

She eases down more, her tight pussy gripping my cock as her muscles contract.

“Fuck, yeah,” I whisper, unable to stop myself from speaking.

She closes her eyes and moves her body, hips slowly rocking back and forth. Her hands come up to cup her breasts as she leans her head back. Her mouth is open, her breath coming out in long exhales and sharp, quick inhales.

It’s as slow a moment as I could ever have hoped for. Time is still for us as we move together, her soft, rounded curves the only thing I see.

She looks down at me, eyes open, mouth open, breath suddenly heavier. She grabs my hand off her hip and holds it to her breast, right over her heart. I can feel it. Pumping and beating. I squeeze her breast—hard. And she whimpers, but doesn’t say anything, or give me any signal that it means anything other than keep going.

My other hand slides around the curve of her ass, smacking her cheek hard enough to make an echo in the large room. That’s her cue to move faster. And she does. She gives me everything I want. She presses herself into me, sinking my cock inside her until she lets out a small gasp, letting me know I’m inside her as deep as I can possibly be.

She falls forward, her fingernails digging into the rounded muscles of my shoulders. And that’s my cue that it’s time to fuck her hard.

I wrap my arms around her waist, hold her so tightly against my chest, there is no possibility of her getting away. I lift my hips up slightly and pound her from beneath. My balls slap against my dick with each hard thrust, our stomachs sliding along each other.

My mouth is up next to her neck, my lips kissing her until I find her earlobe and I nip it hard, but playfully.

Her hands are on my back, nails digging into the blades of my shoulders. It cuts me and it feels so good when she releases the building heat inside my body, I tell her, “Yes. Drag your nails into my skin. Dig them deeper.”

More pain, mixed with relieved pleasure. And more fucking. More pounding. More echoes of skin slapping against skin.

I close my eyes as I press her down, forcing her to my chest, and fuck her, sliding a finger inside her ass, to make her gasp and moan.

“Fuck,” she whines. “Yes. I’m gonna come, Case. I’m gonna come.”

“Do it,” I say, my voice so husky, it’s almost unrecognizable. “Do it. Come on my dick.”

She bucks her back, trying to loosen my hold. I try to hold her down as we move together, hard and fast and urgent in a way I’ve never felt before.

“Now,” I say.

She breaks free of my hold, forcing me to grab her hips. But her fingernails are still digging. Still giving me that sweet relief that only the cuts have been able to do so far.

“Cut me,” I whisper. “Do it. Dig your nails into my skin and cut me, Lulu.”

She is losing control quickly. Her climax building, building, building. And then she digs her nails in one last time, puncturing new flesh on the curve of my shoulder, and… comes. Just the way I commanded her. Her fingers grip me, dragging her nails down my arms in long streaks.

I come too. I shoot my hot come deep inside her. Unable to care about the consequences of that. Unable to give one fuck about anything but the way we fit and move together. The power she now has over me. The power to ease the heat.

I open my eyes as our orgasms begin to recede and find the light streaming out of the cuts in my arms, hitting the small, teardrop crystals hanging off the chandelier and sprinkling the ceiling with red sparkles.

We are both looking up in amazed wonder at the sickness inside me. Silence as the pleasure fades to satisfaction. And when our eyes meet I have a moment of panic that she will get up, put her clothes back on, and run away as fast as she can.

But she doesn’t. She smiles at me. Leans down and kisses me on the lips. And whispers, “You’re just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. And that up there”—we look up at the ceiling at the same time—“just proves it.”