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“When did you start your period, Anastasia?”
I want to fuck you without a condom.
“Yesterday,” she breathes.
“Good.” I step back and spin her around. “Hold on to the sink,” I command. Grasping her hips, I lift her and pull her backward so she’s bent over. My hand glides down her ass to the blue string, and I tug out the tampon, which I toss in the toilet. She gasps, shocked, I think, but I grab my cock and slide into her quickly.
My breath whistles between my teeth.
Fuck. She feels good. So good. Skin against skin.
I edge back, then sink into her once more, slowly, feeling every precious, slick inch of her. She groans and pushes against me.
Oh yes, Ana.
She tightens her grip on the marble as I pick up speed, and I grasp her hips, building…building, then hammering into her. Claiming her. Possessing her.
Don’t be jealous, Ana. I want only you.
You.
You.
My fingers find her clitoris and I tease her, caress her, and stimulate her so that her legs begin to tremble once more. “That’s right, baby,” I murmur, my voice hoarse as I pound into her with a punishing I-own-you rhythm.
Don’t argue with me. Don’t fight with me.
Her legs stiffen as I grind into her and her body starts to quiver. Suddenly she cries out as her orgasm seizes her, taking me with her.
“Oh, Ana,” I breathe as I let go, the world blurring, and I come inside her.
Fuck.
“Oh, baby, will I ever get enough of you?” I whisper as I sink onto her.
Slowly I descend to the floor, bringing her with me and wrapping my arms around her. She sits, her head against my shoulder, still panting.
Sweet Lord.
Was it ever like this?
I kiss her hair and she calms, her eyes closed, her breathing slowly returning to normal as I hold her. We’re both sweaty and hot in a humid bathroom, but I don’t want to be anywhere else.
She shifts. “I’m bleeding,” she says.
“Doesn’t bother me.” I don’t want to let her go.
“I noticed.” Her tone is dry.
“Does it bother you?” It shouldn’t. It’s natural. I’ve known only one woman who was squeamish about period sex, but I wouldn’t take any of that crap from her.
“No, not at all.” Ana peers up at me with clear blue eyes.
“Good. Let’s have a bath.” I free her and her brows knit for a moment while she stares at my chest. Her rosy face loses some of its color, and clouded eyes meet mine.
“What is it?” I ask, alarmed by her expression.
“Your scars. They’re not from chicken pox.”
“No, they’re not.” My tone is arctic.
I do not want to talk about this.
Standing, I hold my hand out to her and pull her to her feet. Her eyes are wide with horror.
It’ll be pity next.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I warn, and release her hand.
I don’t want your fucking pity, Ana. Don’t go there.
She studies her hand, suitably chastened, I hope.
“Did she do that?” Her voice is almost inaudible.
I scowl at her, saying nothing, as I try to contain my sudden rage. My silence compels her to look at me.
“She?” I snarl. “Mrs. Robinson?”
Ana pales at my tone.
“She’s not an animal, Anastasia. Of course she didn’t. I don’t understand why you feel you have to demonize her.”
She bows her head to avoid eye contact, walks briskly past me, and steps into the bath, sinking into the foam so I can no longer see her body. Looking up at me, her face contrite and open, she says, “I just wonder what you would be like if you hadn’t met her. If she hadn’t introduced you to your, um, lifestyle.”
Damn it. We’re back to Elena.
I stalk toward the tub, slip into the water, and sit on the underwater shelf out of her reach. She watches me, waiting for an answer. The silence between us swells until all I can hear is the blood pumping through my ears.
Fuck.
She doesn’t take her eyes off mine.
Stand down, Ana!
Nope. It’s not going to happen.
I shake my head. Impossible woman.
“I would probably have gone the way of my birth mother, had it not been for Mrs. Robinson.”
She tucks a damp tendril behind her ear, staying quiet.
What can I say about Elena? I think about our relationship: Elena and me. Those heady years. The secrecy. The furtive couplings. The pain. The pleasure. The release…The order and calm she brought to my world. “She loved me in a way I found…acceptable,” I muse, almost to myself.
“Acceptable?” Ana says in disbelief.
“Yes.”
Ana’s expression is expectant.
She wants more.
Shit.
“She distracted me from the destructive path I found myself following.” My voice is low. “It’s very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you’re not perfect.”
She inhales sharply.
Hell. I hate talking about this.
“Does she still love you?”
No! “I don’t think so, not like that. I keep telling you, it was a long time ago. It’s in the past. I couldn’t change it even if I wanted to, which I don’t. She saved me from myself. I’ve never discussed this with anyone.
“Except Dr. Flynn, of course. And the only reason I’m talking about this now, to you, is because I want you to trust me.”
“I do trust you,” she says, “but I do want to know you better, and whenever I try to talk to you, you distract me. There’s so much I want to know.”