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I cum hard, creaming over his cock until I can barely feel it inside of me. Everything fades, and I don’t have time to catch my breath before he flips me over and presses me into the bed.
He kneels over me, tugging his cock and spreading my ass.
I look back at him, at his face contorted with pleasure, and I feel like I would let him do anything to me. Maybe he wants to cum in my ass.
I would let him.
I push my ass out, teasing him with it. I’m not ready for him at all, but I don’t really care. I want to be ruined.
But instead of sticking his cock in, he cums hard, painting my ass crack with his semen. It drips down and covers my asshole and pussy, drenching the sheets beneath me as he continues to pump it over me.
“God, that’s good,” he groans, leaning back and shaking the last drops of cum onto my ass.
I’m all sticky and nasty, but it doesn’t bother me in the least. I feel well used and wanted, and that’s all I need right now.
22
Danya
My grandmother really loved the stoics. In particular, Zeno of Citium, whose face is scattered along the floor in the room Taylor wrecked. I doubt Zeno would’ve minded that his face was shattered, however.
He once wrote:If you lay violent hands on me, you’ll have my body, but my mind will remain with Stilpo.
Stilpo was his teacher, but my grandmother used to say that her mind would remain with God.
Either way, destroying a statue isn’t going to kill the minds that it influenced, though it does hurt to see it reduced to rubble. Maybe it’s karma for killing James.
I collect all the pieces I can find, hoping to take it to someone who can piece them together and fill in the missing spaces. Taylor wanted to help, but I feel that this needs to be done by myself, so she’s in the library, reading again.
I put the chunks and shards of poor Zeno in a small cardboard box, but before I can search for the next broken art piece, I get a call on my phone.
I hope it’s not Bobby. I already wired him money last week, but perhaps there was an issue getting it.
I answer the phone to find that it’s one of the guards at the front gate with a visitor.
Odd. I wasn’t expecting company today.
“Don’t let him in,” I order, trusting my instinct on this one. “What’s his name and what does he want?”
The guard pulls away from the phone for a moment, then returns. “He says his name is Slava and he has confidential papers pertaining to James’ estate.”
I already spoke with a lawyer about the estate a few days ago. I don’t remember any Russians having anything to do with it, which leads me to believe that this Slava character has no good will toward me. He’s just using the estate to trick me into letting him in.
“Apprehend him and search the vehicle immediately. Donotlet him go,” I order.
“Affirmative. I will–”
His voice is cut off by a loud bang, and then I hear the phone clatter to the floor. There’s some yelling in the background, and then more of what I have to assume are gunshots.
We’re under attack.
I hang up the phone and shove it into my pocket, leaping toward the door and flinging it open. In the hallway, there’s unsettling silence, but I know that outside it’s descended into chaos.
The only thing on my mind is protecting Taylor.
I run toward the library, smashing down the door and looking around frantically for Taylor. She’s sitting in her usual chair with her knees pulled up to her chest and a bewildered expression on her face.
I’d rather her be scared than hurt.
