He nips the inside of my thigh and moves to notch the head against my pussy, his body leaning down and his mouth claiming mine as he pushes inside me with a slow thrust, stretching me open until he’s so deep that he fills me.
I can taste myself on his lips and tongue, his hips moving to pull back and thrust inside again.
My body breaks apart in less than a minute, the second orgasm tearing me apart as he moves faster and deeper.
I’m swept away by the strength of it, his name rolling off my lips as my eyes clench shut.
Eventually Ari is lost to his need, his hips moving faster, his cock driving deeper, and when a third orgasm shatters me beneath him, he finds his own release, pulling out fast enough that it spills on my stomach.
I open my eyes to see him staring down at me. And for the first time, I think that I like when he watches me.
Despite it all.
Despite his questionable morality.
I’ve always sensed him around. Always felt comforted by it.
And I’m no longer sure I want him to stop.
Ari
While Adeline takes a shower, I slip into the living room to check up on Grant’s latest dramatic pleas for help.
Dropping my weight on the couch, I scroll through local news on my laptop, watch the video clips of Grant feigning concern over his wife who’s been missing for weeks now, watch an interview with both him and his sister where they discuss the love Grant shared with Adeline, the devotion he claims they had for each other.
It’s a load of shit I’ll shove down his throat when the time comes. He’ll learn the definition of devotion when he sees what I’m willing to do for her.
“What’s your real name?”
My head snaps up to find Adeline hovering in the doorway leading from the hall, her dark hair wet where it falls down her back, the t-shirt she wears hanging down to mid-thigh.
Grant’s voice continues droning on from my computer as my stare locks to hers, and I groan at the question.
“I can’t tell you that.”
She blinks, dark lashes framing her blue eyes when she glances at the computer and back to me. “Why not?”
There’s no point in dancing around the truth anymore, not when I’m focused on ending this mess once and for all.
“Because then I won’t be able to let you go when this is over.”
Her eyes round for just a second, blood red lips pulling into a line before she takes a step into the living room and glances down to watch where she walks.
Shattered glass and other objects litter the floor from when we’d fought, her bare feet unprotected against it.
I think she’s heading to me as she crosses the room, but instead she goes to the bookshelf, sits on the floor and begins picking through the mess scattered on the floor, the pieces of her life I’d stolen.
For a few minutes, she says nothing as she flips through the pages of an old spiral notebook she’d used as a journal.
“You’re letting me go?” she finally asks, her voice soft, her stare locked to the words she’d written many years ago.
Tapping a few keys on the computer to find more information on her soon to be dead husband, I answer, “That was always my intent. I just can’t do it now.”
“Why not?”
Adeline turns her head, blue eyes lifting to mine, the dampness of her hair soaking her shirt until I can see the outline of her breast beneath it.
Closing the computer, I set it aside.
“Because if I send you home, your husband will find you. He won’t let you live for too long. Only long enough for him to use you for whatever you’re worth to promote his business, and then he’ll find a way to make sure you can’t talk about what he’s done.”
Her eyes drop to the journal in her lap, her hair moving to conceal her face. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”
I would think the answer to that is a given. But she still wants to believe what I’m doing is wrong. And maybe it is. Stalking and murder are technically crimes. But I live more in a grey area where one has to consider my reasons.
It’s why I prefer grey areas. There’s never a definite answer as to what’s right and what’s wrong.
“He’s going to die,” I answer simply, leaving out my ideas on how it will happen.