Leaning over her, I captured her lips in a kiss that was pure invasion—tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch of her mouth. She responded fiercely, hands clutching my shoulders, pulling me closer.
We tumbled into it, bodies pressing together. I was gentle, surprisingly so—even to myself—mindful of her ankle, positioning us so she was comfortable. My hands roamed her skin, teasing her breasts, fingers pinching her nipples until she arched and gasped.
She was wet and ready when I slid a finger inside her, curling it to hit that spot that made her whimper. "Alexander," she moaned, hips bucking.
I added another finger, stretching her, thumb circling her clit in slow, firm strokes. Her walls clenched around me, breaths turning to pants as I worked her higher.
When she was trembling on the edge, I withdrew, positioning myself at her entrance. Our eyes met, and I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, savoring the tight heat enveloping me.
"Fuck," I hissed, buried deep. She felt incredible, gripping me like she was made for this.
I started moving, thrusts deep and measured, building a rhythm that had her nails raking my back. "Harder," she begged, voice breathless.
I obliged, picking up speed, slamming into her with controlled power. The bed creaked under us, her moans filling the room as I hit that perfect angle.
Sweat slicked our bodies, moonlight highlighting every curve, every gasp. I kissed her neck, sucking marks into her skin, while my hand slipped between us to rub her clit.
She shattered first, crying out my name as her orgasm ripped through her, walls pulsing around me. That sent me over, thrusting a few more times before I followed, groaning into her shoulder as I filled her.
We collapsed together, breaths mingling, bodies tangled in the afterglow. I held her close, surprisingly tender, tracing lazy patterns on her back until sleep claimed us.
Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden patch on the black sheets.
I opened my eyes, instinctively reaching to pull the person beside me into my arms.
Empty.
My palm hit the sheets—cold, smooth, vacant.
"Anna?"
I sat up, my voice rough in the quiet bedroom.
No answer.
The bathroom door stood open, no sound of water. I threw off the covers, got out of bed, bare feet hitting the cold floor as I headed to the bathroom.
Empty.
Her clothes were gone too—the white shirt, jeans scattered on the floor last night, all vanished. The stool she'd sat on by the vanity was still there, but she wasn't.
Weird.
I turned to the living room, the apartment eerily silent. No one on the sofa, kitchen empty. Her bag was missing.
I sank onto the sofa, staring at the coffee table.
Maybe she just went out for breakfast?
But even I didn't buy that. If it was breakfast, she'd have woken me or left a note.
I grabbed my phone, checked the time—9:30 a.m.
Then I saw the unread messagealert. Zero.
Nothing from her.
I started typing.
