Page 17 of Arseni
I flip the remaining material onto her back to bear her to me, spreading her folds with my fingers.It’s too dark in here to fully appreciate it, but the slickness coating my fingertips makes my cock jump and my blood heat.I shove my pants and boxers off my hips before pressing my cock to her entrance.
I’m just about to thrust when she distracts me with a question.
“Who are you?”
She doesn’t sob nor whine the question.Her voice is soft,scared, like the answer somehow matters.
“Do I…” She pauses when her voice wobbles.“Do I know you?”
My heart slows, the tension in my chest loosening.I don’t know why it matters so much that she recognizes me.It’s terrible news for her if she does, and it isn’t as if it changes things for me.
I turn my head and close my eyes at the thought.I’m lying.Of course it matters.It changeseverything, as pathetic as it is to admit that I’m hung up on some old bitch remembering who I am.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.“Do you?”
“D-did I hurt you?”she asks.
My lips thin as my arms tense.She whines when my fingers dig into her hips.
“Please,” she cries, her legs shuffling at the pain from my grip.“If you’re going to do this, at least let me turn on the lamp so I can see your face.”
My jaw tightening, I scoot my knees closer to her, the tip of my cock pressing in.But I don’t push.I want to.I want to convince myself that her memory doesn’t matter, but I try and fail the same as before.
Iwanther to see my face.Iwantto see the fear in her eyes as I enter her for the first time.
If she doesn’t remember me now, I’ll make damn sure she never forgets my face again.
I roll my neck as I release her.“Go ahead.”
Margot crawls forward and reaches out her hand, but instead of turning on the lamp, she lunges for the drawer.I grab her ankle and start to drag her backward but widen my eyes in shock when she spins around with a gun in her grasp.
I dive to take the weapon, jerking my head from the line of fire in case she pulls the trigger.
A blast rings in my ears before my hand can touch metal.
6
MARGOT
“Fuck!”
The man catapults off the bed, but I don’t think I hit him.Not yet.
I scramble to turn on the lamp, my gun pointed the man’s way, waiting for his head to pop up.
He fucked up.Hereallyfucked up because if he’d done his research, he’d have noticed how often I whip behind me to see if I’m followed, how many times a day I check the security feed on my porch.He’d have noticed that I’m a woman shaking at the idea of a stranger harming me.I’m a woman who’s been terrified for years.
For the first two years, I slept with a fire poker beside me.Then I got a gun.I’ve been to the shooting range every other weekend since.
“Show yourself, you fucking coward!”I screech, darting my eyes around like the guy turned into a spider and might crawl up my feet.
My finger is poised on the trigger when the man stands, chocolate eyes hard and hollow.I saw them clearly last night and have tried to recall where I know them from every minute since.
Now they’re attached to that face.And that face is one I could never forget.
“Arseni,” I whisper like his name is cursed.It might very well be.
He walks around the bed toward me, his gait confident,relaxed.His pants are at least pulled up, but he hasn’t bothered to button them, so they sag around checkered boxers that shouldn’t draw my eyes.
