ALEKSANDER ‘CHRISTIAN’ VOLKOV.
Instinct.
Primal, depraving instinct.
I might not know what the me in two years ago looked or behaved like but I’d never relied on instinct like I did with this woman.
And this instinct?
It ticked my brain all night, pushed me to edges no man would tolerate and drawled out every little obsession, every dirty thought crossing my mind and everything society would shun upon.
And this defective brain?
Right at the last second when I had decided enough was enough. That I’d let the maid walk out of here with Wes for a few days, this defective brain had pulled up a memory.
Sunshine blonde hair in my fist.
Ass in the air for me.
An ant-shaped birthmark on her back.
Pretty tits cupped by my own hands.
My own dick sinks into the warmest and tightest hole I’d ever come across.
And blue eyes gazing back at me from a mirror moaning the words ‘Christian’ over and over.
Moaning for me. Crying for me.
Yet that wasn’t the real stunner in the tidbit memory.
The real stunner was how it felt at that moment.
How it felt like touching her, listening to those cries of hers, feeling her pussy draw me in deeper and suck every ounce of restraint from me.
That’s what it feels like right now.
Like my heart is soaring over cloudless skies.
Like every thought process in my mind revolves around her.
I have questions. So many fucking of them.
But instinct and staying celibate for two years makes me as giddy as a kid who’s tasted that first cone of ice cream.
I need more.
I’m taking more.
I want to relive that memory again.
Her bent for me, her crying for me and my whole body out of sorts like I just ran a marathon and won.
My fist in her brown hair, same hair we are dyeing back to blonde as soon as my dick grows tired, I hold her the way Da Vinci must have had when he realized the Mona Lisa painting was going to be his best seller.
No, not a painting.
Da Vinci sure as hell didn’t think of claiming every hole in his painting. Not that it had any.
But that’s what’s running in my mind. Claiming each one of her holes.
Her baby blue eyes are on me, angry, scared but most of all she’s thrilled.
Thrilled that she’s still alive while I fired a gun inside her?
No.
That’s not it.
My little stalker is stunned that she’s still riding my gun like a whore while I thrust it into her.
My little stalker is a bit shy that her pussy is swallowing something so dangerous, something that could end everything in seconds.
I pull out only to push back in as her nails dig into my shoulder right through the fabric that’s my shirt and into my skin.
“That’s it. Come for me, baby girl. Come for me.”
Her pussy weeps, the sound enough to make me a happy fucking man.
“Fuck… you”, she writhes, her hips bucking against me.
I dig my face into the crook of her neck, letting that lavender baptize me again before I latch onto that tender skin that still has my marks.
Her whimpers, her scent, the claws she’s digging into my skin, it all feels like muscle memory.
I have fucked her before. Knowing me, knowing that feeling from my memory, I must have fucked her a lot if she faked being a maid to get close to me.
“Soon, sunshine. We are fucking soon.”
The whole day or more, pretty. The whole day or more.
When her breathing catches and I feel her juices leaking out of her cunt to my hand, I know what happens next. Like I’ve seen it a million times.
Her nose scrunches, her bottom lip trembles and those goddamn eyes turn an even brighter hue of blue.
Then like my cute little slut, her cunt pulls the gun’s nozzle in and my pretty maid comes for me.
The thought of Wes or any other man getting to see this makes me homicidal.
Those thoughts of me enjoying spilling blood flog my mind and I embrace them like one decisive fucker.
There’s a reason I bought that revolver against my mother’s knowledge.
My mother abhors violence.
My nightmares teach me that violence is as trivial as breathing.
Right now, right here, I’d absolutely kill a man for her.
I pull out the gun from her pussy and I suck her juices off of it while she watches.
“Don’t… you are insane. That thing is loaded it could go off at any…”
“It’s not loaded, sunshine”, I growl licking the last of her juices from the metal and discarding the gun somewhere across the room.
“You taste like goddamn honey. So, fucking sweet. So fucking addicting, little stalker.”
I savor her taste and my left hand still holding her in place, my right hand reaches out to her cheek.
To those plump lips.
“I’m gonna take your ass, cunt and this pretty little mouth. Not necessarily in that order. The only courtesy I owe you is to make you choose. What do I claim first, sunshine? My ass? My cunt? My mouth?”
She thinks for a minute.
I want to make the decision for her but she has to think she has some say in this.
She has to think she has some power in this.
But the truth of the matter is, once I start, I won’t stop for anything, not even her pleas.
Sunshine looks at me and her breathless tone of voice umps the boner I’m stacking, “Mouth.”