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KNOX
The moment I get off her, Anastasia crawls backward until her back hits the side of a shelf, but she holds the laptop protectively to her chest.
She didn’t let it go, even while she was shattering against my cock and I had to muffle her screams.
I tuck myself in and grunt at the twitch in my dick. Apparently, coming down her pretty throat isn’t enough. I’m resisting the urge to grab her by the throat and fuck her against the wall. Condoms be damned.
Though, not really. I’m not my sister and I’m not interested in kids now. Or ever. Why bring a child to this cruel world, then force them to fend for themselves?
Remi is the only kid allowed in my life, and only from afar.
Nevertheless, I’m seriously contemplating bending her over the nearest table and fucking her tight little cunt. I can pull out before I’m finished or—
Fuck, what am I even thinking about? I shouldn’t be entertaining this idea in the first place, let alone finding loopholes around it.
I don’t fuck without a condom and that’s that. I’m pissed off that I even considered the option.
This is only because I haven’t shagged in a while. That’s it.
That’sall.
Anastasia grabs the laptop with one hand and zips her pants with the other. That’s her name, Anastasia, herrealname.
In admitting that, she also indirectly insinuated that the whole Jane persona is just that—a persona. None of it is real; not her appearance and definitely not those fake brown eyes that are currently tracking my every movement.
Sometimes, she looks like prey, a smart one who does the watching instead of waiting to be eaten.
Now that I think about it, this is what she’s been doing ever since that first time I saw her in that bar. She was watching from behind those icy blonde strands and determining what to do next.
Is it curiosity or perhaps caution?
Just who the fuck is she? The mere question in my head boils my blood with annoyance. I’m not a good man. I’m not even decent. Needless to say, I’m not the type who asks women their names, let alone about their life story.
So why the fuck do I want to jam my fingers inside her and pull out whatever the fuck she’s hiding?
Why her?
Because she’s a little fucking liar, that’s why.
While I’m used to criminals lying to me all the time, it’s different when it’s on a personal scale.
Once I’m all tucked in, I open the door with more force than needed. The light from outside slips inside, bathing the room and her in a soft hue.
Her cheeks are still red, her expression like a deer caught in the headlights, but she takes the motion of me opening the door as meaning I’m done with her and bends over to grab her laptop case.
The moment she does, I snatch it from between her fingers.
At first, she freezes as if not understanding what just happened, then a blush covers her cheeks. The light coming through the door turns her brown eyes lighter, almost streaked with blue. Which I’m sure is her actual eye color.
“Give it back!”
“Tell me something about the real you first.”
She jumps, but I’m holding the laptop up. Considering our size difference, she won’t be able to reach it no matter how much she tries.
But she does just that—try. She grabs my arm and uses it as leverage to jump higher. Her face turns a deeper shade of red with each passing second and her breathing comes out harsh and guttural.
Finally, she pushes back, her brow furrowing before she raises her nose. “You won’t be able to open it anyway. It’s password protected.”
