Page 71 of Girl Anonymous

She batted at his hands. “I’m doing this. All you have to do is sit here and think of England. Can you handle that?”

He didn’t know how she was doing it or even if she was doing it on purpose, but her cunt rhythmically flexed on him, pulling him deeper…centimeters at a time, like some kind of medieval torture designed to drive a man to the edge and beyond.

It was working. He teetered. He let go of her and gripped the door and the console hard enough to leave fingerprints. He thrust up, trying to seat himself.

“Don’t move,” she snapped. Gripping his shoulders, she eased herself down.

He wanted to instruct her, explain how a little back-and-forth made the process flow more naturally, but he recognized her expression: it was resolve mixed with lust mixed with the satisfaction of being in charge.

When she’d taken him to the hilt and her bottom rested on his legs, she leaned back, her hands on his thighs, and smiled into his eyes. “I like this.”

“I see you do.”

The timer on the automatic lights clicked. Darkness enveloped them.

As if that was a signal, she fucked him. Hard and deep, lifting and falling, breaking him with sex. Physically, her body was strong and taut, developed by her job and her unceasing workouts. Inside she was tight with a texture like velvet. Right now, this moment, she fulfilled his every teen fantasy. His brain rediscovered an adolescent joy in drenching pleasure, the insanity of the now where the past had never happened and the future didn’t matter. To hell with not revealing himself with a groan; he could only manage caveman grunts that aptly conveyed his wholehearted consent to whatever she chose to do.

What she chose to do was pause at the top as if they’d reached the highest point on the roller coaster…for one suspenseful momenthe waited in agony… Then, like the roller coaster, she sped into the drop that stole his breath and stopped his heart. She pounded down on him, her cunt squeezing, clutching, sucking on him. As if it was all too much, she sobbed as she came, demanding he come, too. As if last night had never been, he pumped semen into her, to fill her, to satisfy her, to claim her as his.

Damn it. Shewashis. She might resist, but she was learning.

He only hoped she didn’t kill him during the lessons.

For a woman with so little experience, she showed a remarkable aptitude for debauchery.

Was this what he had to look forward to for all the years of his life?

Dante fervently hoped so.

CHAPTER 35

Maarja collapsed on top of him. Her legs shook from the strain. She gasped, unable to fill her lungs with enough air to give strength to her body. He seemed similarly affected; she’d mastered him, or so she told herself with satisfaction.

One of them had to speak. Him, probably. The darkness was absolute, but she could still imagine the self-satisfied quirk of his mouth as he spoke for the sole purpose of pointing out how violently she had possessed him.

What would she say? That kind of male dominance required a snappy repertoire and right now she didn’t have it. Apparently her body had a rule. Try to kill her, and she’d fuck Dante. Every…damned…time.

She took a breath to speak and head off him and his inevitable wit—when a vibration shook the garage accompanied by a rumbling that made her all too aware of being below ground. The parking garage’s emergency lights flickered on, dim and yet almost blinding for their night-accustomed eyes.

“Earthquake!” It was San Francisco. She’d been raised in the Bay Area; she’d spent her life waiting for The Big One.Now was not the time!

As the garage settled back into stillness, he said, “No. No.” His face in the dim light didn’t display the intoxication of sexualsatisfaction, rather an intent shift to lifesaving awareness. “Someone exploded…something.” He looked into her eyes. “Probably the elevator we were supposed to be on.”

She gaped at him in horror…and inevitably, in acceptance. “Yes. Of course.”

He pointed into the darkest corner where a crappy, beat-up, faded green 1960s Opel Kadett was parked. “We’re getting out of here—in that.”

“That?”

“Who would chase it?”

“I don’t even want to ride in it.”

“Exactly.” He lifted her up, separating them.

They both groaned.

The synchronized spontaneity made her want to smile, but her mouth couldn’t move like that. What they’d done was too much, too intense. Not to mention that, now that it was over, she remembered what she should never have forgotten.

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