SICK HEART by Huss, JA (non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

down my shaft. Over the tip, then down again. Her hand slips down to grab my hard, tight balls, squeezing them just a little as her other hand sends her fingertips exploring the sensitive skin just underneath. She places her mouth low on my shaft, then lets it slowly dip down until she’s wrapping her lips around my balls.

I twist her hair a little tighter in my fingers, pulling on her scalp. But if she objects, or even notices, she doesn’t say anything.

Then her mouth is moving back up, her hand once again squeezing my shaft, and then there it is. Her hot breath caressing the tip of my cock. Her tongue flicking over it. Her mouth open and ready.

I groan with anticipation, unable to stop my primal reaction to her seduction, and then I push her face down, forcing my dick inside her. She accepts my command and opens wider, letting it slip to the back of her throat, and I swear to God, I’ve had plenty of blow jobs in my lifetime, but this isn’t a fucking blow job. She is making love to my dick.

I rock my hips forward, fucking her face a little. She responds by getting up on all fours, balancing on hands and knees as she devours my cock.

I slap her ass again. This feels good—very fucking good—but I want to push this girl down on the ground face first and take her from behind.

I breathe out, getting control of myself.

No. I’m not going to do that here. Not on the fucking concrete. That’s how you fuck a whore and Anya Bokori is a lot of things, but whore is not on that list.

She pulls back, probably sensing my thoughts, and then straddles me, her hips slightly elevated, her hand on my cock, aiming it right between her legs. She is so wet, she drips down the side of my dick before I even get inside her. And then she leans forward, both hands smacking my chest with a hard slap, just to make sure I’m awake for what’s coming—trust me, Anya, I am—and then sinks down. Forcing my cock inside her.

We both close our eyes and moan. And in this moment, I want to make all the promises to Anya Bokori.

I want to hold her.

I want to love her.

I want to keep her.

I want to save her.

She comes. Her head back, mouth open and moaning. Her fingernails digging into my chest. Her pussy clamping down on my dick. Her hips still moving. Her wind-tangled hair blowing out behind her.

And then I come too.

And I make all those promises with my fingers.

Knowing full well I will never keep them.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - ANYA

 

 

Things change between Cort and I after we have sex on the roof. I wasn’t planning on fucking him ever again. I don’t equate sex with intimacy. In fact, it’s the opposite. Sex, to me, is transactional.

But lots of things have changed in my life since the fight and that trip down to the lower platform was some kind of… I don’t know. The word that comes to mind is ‘catharsis,’ but that feels like a very strong word filled with drama and endings, so it doesn’t quite fit. Because there’s no drama here. It’s actually the most peaceful place I’ve ever been. And this is definitely not an ending. Not even close. I feel like I was dropped into a brand-new life and all the things I relied on to survive no longer matter.

So it’s really not a catharsis. Maybe more of a cleansing. Some kind of break. A pause between the old and the new.

I feel fresh again. Clean. Even though I’m literally covered in sweat and grime nearly all the time. But when Cort van Breda held me in his arms and jumped into the ocean and I saw that reef, something switched inside me. This whole new reality suddenly became real.

Some of that was probably fear, and the adrenaline from the jump, and the shock of the water. But most of it was the realization that I was somewhere… else.

Somewhere far, far away from Lazar. And even though I understand that it’s not really that far away because we’re stranded here like prisoners and he is just a helicopter ride away, the odds of seeing him again have suddenly dwindled down to near zero.

I don’t belong to Lazar anymore. This is what hit me under the water that day. I might not be free, but I don’t belong to Lazar.

It’s not enough. I get that. I don’t have any real power in this world and I don’t control much. But I control myself. At all times. I can make certain decisions, I can avoid certain outcomes, and I can keep my mouth shut.

This won’t last. I have no idea how long we’ll be here, I just know it won’t be forever.

One day Udulf will come and pick me up. He will take me home, or whatever. Sell me, maybe. I don’t know what he’ll do with me.

Cort and I will not be together. I understand this. He will go his way, and I’ll go my way, and this pause in my life will just become another fairy tale story in my head. Something that never really happened.

But each morning when I wake up, I put the nightmare that is my life aside and only think about the reality of my new day. Which is training.

I jump rope for about thirty minutes. I do the drills I know, then learn a new one and practice that until I’m exhausted. And then Cort and I spar, or wrestle, or box. He has taught me how to kick, how to punch, how to use my elbows and knees, and how to block.

He still slaps my face every day. Well, he tries. The day after the roof sex he showed me four ways to block that slap. He made me practice relentlessly that first day and it’s still something I practice