16. Sixteen

Sixteen

Anna

Oh, God. I shouldn't have admitted that to him!

I lean back against the door, my legs still weak with desire. In my mind's eye, I still see the look of contempt on Carson's face. Even knowing how he feels about me, I wanted him to make love to me… only it wouldn't have been love. No, what did he call it? Hate sex.

I give a silent laugh. I look down at my clothes which are still in my hands. Then look down at my body to see my black bra still pushed up over my breasts. My nipples are hard from his touch. My entire body is left aching. There is a pulsing between my thighs from desires unfulfilled. I press my legs together, hoping to assuage the need.

Damn you, Carson. Damn you for making me want you.

I think back over his questions; the word gold-digger, surprisingly, still holds the power to sting.

There was only one person who called me that, and his opinion was expected. It was too soon after Graham's death, and I was still stricken with grief.

So, when his stepson flung those words at me and left, I cried. Tears streamed down my face as I held Connor, his whimpers a reflection of my own distress. I buried my face in his soft hair, finding comfort in rocking him back and forth. In that moment, the four-year-old in my arms offered more solace than any adult.

As an only child, I was a surprise to my parents, who were already in their forties when I arrived. Their friends, all mature and established, doted on me throughout my childhood.

My first memories of Graham were filled with joy. He and his wife, Martha, were my parents' best friends, and they would shower me with fifty-cent pieces during visits. Graham's laugh would sweep through the room as he'd scoop me up and spin me around. He was like a favorite uncle, a source of unconditional love and amusement.

I was twenty when my parents were both killed in a car accident. My father somehow lost control of the car, and they slammed into a tree. Graham, now a widower, as Martha had passed seven years before, stood by my side at their funeral. He was a pillar of strength and support. As the harsh reality of their lack of life insurance and a heavily mortgaged house sunk in, I struggled. He offered not just emotional support but financial guidance as well.

He was helping me find an affordable apartment when he got his first diagnosis of cancer.

While Graham was old, he had never seemed frail. Now, a noticeable decline in his vitality cast a shadow over his once vibrant spirit. I ended up moving in with him as his health failed.

When Martha and Graham married, she had an adult son, Neal. The stepson and Graham never got along. Neal had stolen money from the couple's savings account because he battled a gambling addiction. When Martha died, Graham attempted to distance himself from his stepson without success. When Neal discovered Graham was ill, not once did he offer support, not even when Graham's cancer took a turn for the worse.

I took a job as a barrister because the flexible schedule allowed me to become Graham's primary caregiver, taking him to treatments and countless doctor visits. One particularly grueling day after chemo, a weak Graham informed me that he had contacted his lawyer. He was leaving his entire estate to me.

Feeling stunned and humbled, I assured him that I'd take care of him no matter what. "Annie," he rasped, his voice weak but his eyes filled with affection, "you've always been like family to me."

The lawyer, a friendly man with a reassuring smile, arrived to solidify Graham's wishes. He listened attentively as Graham outlined his plan. However, the lawyer pointed out a significant hurdle. Due to Graham's ten-year marriage to Martha, her stepson could potentially contest the will, especially considering Graham's weakened state.

Graham stubbornly demanded a foolproof way to ensure I inherited everything. He was adamant that as his full-time caregiver, I should be able to quit my job. The lawyer handled the legality of everything. He established a salary for me while strongly recommending marriage to avoid any future challenges from Neal.

At first, Graham and I were both vehemently against the idea. Marriage felt wrong to both of us. However, with his stepson already inquiring into Graham's finances, we both caved.

That didn't stop Neal from prolonging the settlement of the estate for years after Graham's death. It was a long and stressful battle. At times, I almost threw in the towel and let him inherit. It was only Graham's dying wish that kept me steadfast.

I shake my head to clear away the old memories that shroud the present like a fog.

I glance at my bedside clock. It feels like hours have gone by as I reminisced over decisions made in the past. Instead, I'm stunned that it's only been mere minutes… I'm suddenly aware that my body is still humming - like a live wire, from my pent-up desire. I drag in a few deep breaths, but I'm still unable to calm down.

I decide on a glass of white wine. Maybe it will relax me enough to sleep.

Decision made: I hold my breath and listen for any sounds in the apartment. It's silent, except for the beat of my heart. Carson must be in his bed. I pull off my bra but leave on my panties and throw on a robe. I warily open the door and listen again. Silence greets me, so I step into the hall and pad barefoot to the kitchen.

I turn on a single light to help locate a glass. I open the fridge and grab the bottle of white wine. After I've filled my glass, I take a sip. The chilled liquid feels good as it glides down my parched throat. I savor the taste, waiting for it to calm my frayed nerves. Being careful not to make a sound, I tiptoe back through the living room.

I nearly spill my wine as a silent shadow rises from the armchair. I feel my heart start to thud as the soft light from the kitchen illuminates Carson's harsh and slightly cruel features.

"If you thought your admission would soften my feelings toward you… you were wrong," he grates out.

Too late, I realize the danger. I thought Carson was safely in his bedroom. Instead, it appears he's been sitting in the dark, brooding and drinking. I spy the half bottle of scotch and an empty glass near his chair. He slowly approaches with a grace that reminds me of the caged cats at the zoo. When they stalked their prey. Suddenly, my throat is dry again.

"Put down the wine, Anna," my eyes fly to his. I soundlessly place the glass on the coffee table without turning my back on him. A shiver of apprehension travels down my spine as he moves closer. "You should never try and lock me out. I own everything in this apartment. I hold all the keys." His voice is low and has a menacing quality to it. I shiver outright as his heated gaze rakes over me.

His hand reaches out and unties my robe, pulling it open until it slides off my shoulders and onto the floor with a whisper of silk. I stand before him, my only barrier a small scrap of black lace around my hips.

"If you had feelings for me back then, you should welcome my touch." He says silkily as his hands come out to fondle my breasts. My traitorous body immediately responds, and my nipples turn into hard peaks. He gives an arrogant laugh, and my cheeks burn from his high-handedness.

"I cared for you then, Carson. I… I don't care for you anymore." I try to say bravely, but the slight quiver in my words gives me away.

"No?" He taunts me. I swallow as Carson, in this mood, is dangerous. All my senses are on high alert.

"No. I… I hate you right now, Carson." I cross my arms over my breasts and raise my chin in a defensive gesture.

"Hate. That's a powerful word, Anna," he says smoothly, with a glint in his eyes. "Especially when we were talking earlier about hate sex."

I smell the alcohol on his breath, and he again stalks me as if I'm his prey. He steps around me, moving closer. He's so close that I feel his hot breath on my neck and the heat of his body against my bare back. I shiver in response. He reaches out and brushes my hair to the side. I feel his lips as they skim over my shoulder, the sensation leaving goosebumps on my skin. Again, he softly chuckles like a cat playing with a mouse. I feel helpless under his insolent gaze.

I shut my eyes, knowing I never should have told him how I felt back then. I should have known he would use my feelings against me. That's what he's doing right now. Damn him.

"Hate sex could be good. Maybe even great. What do you think, Anna?" He murmurs in a husky voice. "You see, I'm getting tired of having to control my body's response when I'm around you. We're good in the sack. Why shouldn't we enjoy the pleasure we can give each other?"

Again, I can't form a coherent word. I just shudder from his warm breath against my ultra-sensitive skin. He steps around until I'm facing him.

He slowly reaches down and picks up a lock of my long hair. He plays with it, then lets it fall, only to wrap a fist full around his hand and use it to pull my head back slowly. I feel the sting against my scalp, just like before, but this time, his movements are controlled and deliberate.

His eyes gleam with satisfaction as I open my mouth to draw in a shaky breath. "That's it, Anna," he says as he pulls me forward by his hand in my hair. He presses me into his body, and I feel his hard rigid cock. He rubs my hips against his. My panties dampen with need.

I wonder where my willpower has gone as I stand there feeling helpless in his arms. God help me. It's been so long. I want this. I want him; the throbbing between my legs intensifies as he dominates my traitorous body. I let out a whimper as his hand tightens in my hair.

"I can tell you want me." His hand finds my breasts again, and he takes his time, cupping each one and rubbing my already-sensitive nipples with his thumb. "You like it when I do this, don't you, Anna?" He leans forward and covers a nipple with his mouth. He lightly grazes it with his teeth. I gasp as an uncontrollable tremor racks my body. "You like it when I'm rough," he says with a satisfied twist of his lips.

His face looks emotionless except for the heat in his eyes as he watches the way my body involuntarily responds to him. He has every right to look superior, as I feel like I'm a puppet on a string.

He suddenly gets even bolder as his hand goes up my back and around my neck, pulling me toward his hungry mouth. Then his lips are on mine, and I can't think. I can only feel as he pushes his tongue inside and possessively sweeps my mouth.

When he finally raises his head, I pull in a ragged breath. I feel his hands grip my ass as he again grinds me hard against him. I let out a soft moan, and he offers a satisfied smirk.

His grin widens as I press my thighs together. "That won't help, Anna. You need to spread your legs for me." He suddenly swings me around so that I'm facing the arm of the couch. He presses against my lower back, bending me over and positioning me where he wants me.

My hands automatically go out as I brace myself against the cushioned arm. My hips are higher than my head, and my hair falls forward like a curtain around my face. He pulls my panties down around my thighs, but he doesn't take them off. As I start to lift back up to remove them, he stills me with pressure on my back.

"No, leave them where they are," he orders in a gruff voice. They are wrapped around my thighs but not too tight. He steps back, and I instantly miss his sensual touch on my skin. I feel like a drug addict longing for a fix.

I hear his smug, satisfied voice behind me. "You should see how you look to me, Anna. Your hair messy, your black panties down around your thighs, and your perfect ass." I feel his hand as it glides over an ass cheek. "You look so fuckable right now. You're ready for me, aren't you?" I can't answer. I'm slightly panting with anticipation from his dirty words.

I hear the sound of his zipper being lowered. My senses are on overload. I feel so vulnerable bent over like this, waiting for him to claim me. Aching for him to take me. I've gone from damp to drenching wet.

He continues in a voice that's grown tight with his arousal, "I want to watch my hard cock sliding in and out; I want to watch my cock as I fuck you." I let out a whimper as his words paint a vivid, sensual picture in my mind. Then, both of his hands wrap around my hips roughly. I feel his body warmth as he steps in close. Finally, my mind screams. Take me. Hurry. Please. Why is he hesitating? In the semi-darkness, I let out another desperate whimper of need as I wait.