Page 46 of Anorthic Anarchy

He laughs, a genuine, full-bodied one that rattles the glass door as I complain. “Oh, I’m sorry. Which shampoo does Mrs. Strauss require?”

“Something moisturizing.”

Trailing his fingers down some of my strands, he places his nose onto the top of my head and sniffs. “Hmm, something that smells like juniper berries and cotton candy? Like you?” The fact he discerns my smells is a little disconcerting. Is it just that the predator has latched onto his prey’s scent?

Or something deeper. A terrifying thought that makes my belly twist into a tight knot.

What if he has feelings for me?

No, that’s crazy. He’s incapable.

His eyelids lower with heat flaring onto his face. The full length of him throbs between us, knocking on my belly as if to say hello. I glance down at it, and he flips me around so it slots between my ass cheeks. Lowering his head to my shoulder, hethrusts forward and says, “I want to fuck you back here, but only after you get pregnant.” Then he dips a finger to my asshole, edging a yelp from my lungs. Surging forward, I try to grip the slick tiles to keep me upright. His arms hold me steady as he continues sliding the digit to my tight ring.

“What are you doing? That’s not where that should— Oh my…” When he presses on the outer surface, the shock turns into some weird sensation that may be pleasurable. With a thrust inside, my breath chokes out in a moan. Pretty soon, I find my hips pushing back into him for more.

“Such a good girl for me. Fuck my finger. You’ll love it in your ass.”

Maybe he’s right, but the absolute weirdest thing happens. His finger disappears, and he squats down, then places a palm on my lower back. “Bend over a bit, angel.” Once I do, he spreads my cheeks and shoves his facethere. Like all the way up in it! Something hard and wet strokes my asshole. My neck cranks back until I toss all my wet hair behind me, howling with some mix of feeling grossed out and incredibly turned on.

The thudding pulse between my legs escalates, and my thighs quiver, feet almost slipping on the floor, but he continues to eat my ass ravenously. His long arm extends to clutch my hand, then slowly moves it to my pussy. While his fingers cover mine, he guides me, both of us stroking where I need it most. It’s things like this that make him seem so much older than me, and I feel like a little girl lost in his vast knowledge. He knows my body better than I do.

“Keep rubbing your clit.” He rasps his command, fucking my asshole again with his thick tongue. I hump the ridge of my hand as he dips some of his inside my pussy. The sensation of being teased in both holes is almost too much. My nerves don’t understand where to focus.

As my breathing becomes shallow and I feel like I’m about to burst into starlight, he removes his tongue and hand. Then stands and shoves his steel dick straight inside my pussy as I erupt all over him. The wail I emit echoes loudly off the tiles, and he fills me with his heat as his cock throbs deep inside me.

His hand works up to my throat as he pulls me back to him and holds me, his other lifting my hip while still inside me. I haven’t even come down from my high before he bites my shoulder and moans. “I’m going to wear your pussy out. Then your ass. And finally, your mouth. All you’ll know is my taste and miss the feel of me when I’m not there. You’ll bebeggingfor me to fill every inch of you every hour.”

Sniffling, I try to protest.

But I can’t.

Because I think he may be right if I can just feel this amazing all the time. Wiggling, I make him slip out and grab the bottle of soap on the shelf. I turn to face him and smirk. “Or maybe you’ll be begging me.”

I squirt a long string of the liquid into my hand as he tosses his head back and chuckles, the sound as loud as my shrieks of ecstasy earlier. When he returns his gaze to me, it’s like he can’t wait to do so. His hands grip my ass and pull me close to him, the faded erection flopping heavily between us.

He finds my lips with his and presses a kiss there as I lift my palms up to his granite chest and rub the suds into it, then push him away.

The sight of his smile is odd. It’s like watching a marble statue come alive and develop color. He bites his bottom lip and continues to wash himself as I do the same. Once we’re clean, he exits and throws a towel in my face, then takes one for himself. Sauntering out of the bathroom, he whistles some haunting tune I’ve never heard.

After wrapping my hair up to dry, I find a robe in the closet, slip it on, and then follow behind him. On the side table sits our breakfasts trays, but looking at them, I wonder now if anyone has messed with mine. Easing onto the plush red velvet wingback next to him, I lift the silver top off the tray and carefully scan the eggs and toast. No spit I can see.

Vincente studies me and arches an eyebrow. “If they tampered with it, they have me to deal with.”

Taking a bite of the scrambled goodness, I inhale deeply, the warmth of the food nourishing me. My eyes find his and we match our gazes. “Will you give them poisoned tea, too?”

At first, he snickers. The sound soon turns menacing until I’m not sure who he’s thinking of murdering next, but it could be me.

I doubt it. But it could.

As he chews his bacon, his icy orbs focus on my mouth before he clears his throat. “There’s a formal library on the first floor. I’ll have Dilan show you. If you like maps, there’s an ancient collection in one of the glass cases you might find interesting. Feel free to look around.” He reaches between us and pulls on a long, corded rope that hangs from the ceiling.

“Thank you, um, sir.”

His head drops as he takes in his plate. In a strained whisper, he begs, “Call me Vincente again.”

I’m not sure what it is, but seeing the creature with his head bowed low, shoulders slumped in defeat, he doesn’t seem scary to me. In fact, I think I feel sorry for him. There’s some invisible weight on his back and, instead of twisting the knife in it, I reach out.

Metaphorically, not physically.

---