Page 56 of The Anchor Holds

With shaking legs, I put my palms on the bar, smudging against the prior handprint, wishing I could fucking imprint onthe wood, leaving proof that I was there. That Elliot was mine, even if only for the night.

I pushed my hips upward, presenting myself to him. His rough palm caressed my ass before lifting it and coming down with a hard slap.

The sting against my skin vibrated with the aftershocks of pleasure I was still experiencing, sensation racing through every corner of my body.

Spanking… Another kink I hadn’t thought was my thing. At all. Who would be turned-on by being ‘punished’ by a man with some serious Freudian shit attached to it?

Me.

It turned out I was immensely turned-on by that. By the authority Elliot wielded with the simple slap, breaking down my prior beliefs about what I was in the world.

His finger dipped down, teasing at my back entrance, causing another full-body shiver before it left. I wondered if he was into ass play. The thought excited me, my mind desperate for Elliot to make his mark on as many places on my body as possible.

Within moments that felt like lifetimes, his cock was pressing against my soaking entrance. My body tensed, and my eyes watered when he brutally seated himself to the hilt, seamlessly sliding in, as I was primed for him.

“Fuck,” his curse was curt, cutting through the filmy shadow of desire coating the air.

I turned to look at him in question.

He was frozen in place, hand at my hip, bare cock at my entrance. “Condom,” he groaned. “I don’t carry one around in my back pocket.”

“Neither do I.” Although I’d gone there with a purpose and a well-stocked purse, I’d acted on reckless impulse. “I’m clean. In that sense.” Heat crept up my cheeks. “And there is absolutelyno chance of me trapping you in a pregnancy,” I added, blushing even hotter.

Reckless. Fucking reckless. Proposing that. An intimate act without barriers. Worse still if Elliot, rightly so, refused me.

But his cock flexed against my pussy, his eyes searching my face. When he opened his mouth to say something, I tensed. Slowly, he closed it, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll take you raw, Calliope. Now turn the fuck around.”

If my nails could’ve torn into the wood of the bar, they would’ve. My body strained against his size, against the angle, the orgasms that already had me spent.

Though I wasn’t sure I could handle more, there was no way I would have asked him to go slow, be gentle. No, I didn’t want that. I wanted Elliot Shaw to fucking ruin me.

As if he’d read my mind, he slammed into me again, no pause, no respite. Just hard, ruthless rutting that was animalistic.

My eyes watered as an impossible climax built inside me, one I didn’t know if I could handle. Surely, there was a limit to how much pleasure a human body could experience.

Elliot’s hand clutched my hair, pulling at it, giving me the glorious relief of pain to counteract the indescribable ecstasy.

Tears escaped the corners of my eyes, and a strangled scream erupted from my throat as Elliot rammed in harder than ever, stars exploding in my vision and melting the world around me.

I rode the wave, concentrating on surviving his storm, my legs shaking with the effort it took to stay upright, legs spread, bracing myself as much as I could on the surface of the bar.

Through a fog, I heard Elliot roar out a climax. It rattled the edges of my brain, warming it with the satisfaction of hearing such a primal sound come out of him, at being the one to bring that out in him.

His spurts of hot cum inside me lengthened my already world-shattering climax.

As his thrusts stilled, the world came back into focus, the bottles and glasses of the bar no longer blurry. I squinted at the mirror that was mounted behind them, seeing myself in it. Or someone who vaguely resembled me.

But she wasn’t me.

Her hair was wild around her shoulders, a mess of curls. Her lipstick was smudged against her lips, streaks of tears running down her unfathomably flushed cheeks. Well fucked, for sure. But something else too. I was without my constant barriers.

There was nothing there. My eyes were sparkling, glimmering. It must’ve been a trick of the light.

That might’ve scared the shit out of me had my gaze not darted to Elliot. To his shirtless form, the contours of his shoulders, his own cheeks flushed red. It could’ve made him look boyish, but coupled with the square jaw, the crooked nose, the absolutely wild, masculine look of unmitigated satisfaction in his eyes… It all served to make him sexier.

I catalogued every version of Elliot I’d come to glimpse, greedily hoarding them in my memory.

His eyes met mine in the mirror, a hungry smirk turning the side of his mouth as he clasped my hip and slowly pulled out of me.

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