Captive of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Novel (11 page)

“I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she confesses, taking a light step toward me, clearly favoring her unshot leg.

I’m woozy from the loss of blood, but I’m still made of flesh, and when her finger trails down my chest, the last thing I’m thinking about is my desire to have a shower and clean up. With her, I want to get down and dirty in every conceivable manner.

“You didn’t trust in me?” I ask, my voice tinged with a hint of darkness. I hope it’s enough to whet her appetite.

“I hoped I could,” she says, her voice just barely above a whisper. It’s nearly drowned out by the pitter patter of water beside us, the steam quickly working its way into the air. “But I thought maybe I’ve been too much trouble. Maybe you wanted to get rid of me after all.”

I shake my head, possessiveness burning in my veins. I keep pushing her away, so I know she’s partially in the right to feel the way she does, but the idea that she couldn’t trust me to rescue her burns me.

I know now what I have to do. I have to prove to her that she’s mine, and there’s no escaping that, or me. Not even through death.

I
don’t know
what’s gotten into me. My head is spinning like a top, my body is aching all over, and all I can think of is my desire for this man. He saved me, again. And he didn’t just save me, but he showed me what he is, who he is.

He’s a man I should be terrified of, a man I should be running away from, but I’m not. Instead I’m standing here, wanting him to take me. To push my body to the limits and really make me feel what it is to be his woman.

My fingers trail down his body, and he simply breathes in evenly, as if he’s not affected, but I know he is. I know he wants me just as badly as I want him. It’s written all over his face, all over the way he can’t help but stare at my semi-exposed body.

I reach into his pants, stroking him through the cotton of his trunks, and already he’s as hard as a rock, pulsing with life and excitement. Whatever blood he’s lost, he’s got plenty to spare for this manhood of his.

“You should be careful,
kotika
,” he says in that perfect voice of his, and I shake my head.

“I don’t want to be careful,” I reply. “I’ve been careful all my life. I’ve done the right things, gone to school. I thought I was a bad girl for drinking a bit too much a couple times, and look where that all landed me. In the lap of some sleaze bag who intended on...” I stop. I can’t even bring myself to say what my boss must’ve planned for me by drugging me. I did my best not to reflect on it all this time, and I certainly don’t want to dwell on it now.

“That doesn’t mean you should lie with the devil,” he says, but he doesn’t move to stop the rubbing of my hand. In fact, he throbs harder as my emotions spill out of my mouth.

“Well it’s too late for that, isn’t it, Mikhail? We didn’t intend to get wrapped up in one another’s lives, but we made our choices, and I’m not going to turn my back on them now. I’m not going to pretend that what we have isn’t real.”

“And what is it you think we have?”

He stumps me, and I look up at him, meeting his intense gaze. I draw my lip into my mouth as I take a step closer to him.

“We don’t need to talk about this. I just want you to take me,” I say, and it’s like unleashing a beast within him.

“Be careful what you wish for,
Kotika
,” he growls as his hands quickly strip me of the rest of my clothes. It’s hungry, filled with longing and power, and I’m a doll, submitting to his whims. The warm steam caresses my curves, and leaves his chest looking glossy. It makes his muscles look even more pronounced, and I can’t help but purr in delight.

But when he picks me up and places me in the shower, the hot water splashing off my body, it’s so much more intense. I’ve never showered with someone else, certainly no one like Mikhail. He strips off the rest of his clothes, peeling away the blood-spattered suit and shirt, letting me see the rippling hard muscle beneath. He’s a dark Adonis, tattoos and scars upon rippling musculature. No one would ever use the word ‘flawless’ to describe him with the marks of hard living all over his glistening flesh, but that’s how I feel looking at him like this; all naked and hard for me, and I’ve never wanted anyone or anything so badly in all my life.

All my concerns and fears are washed away by the steamy spray, and when he steps in, joining me, I suddenly feel small and vulnerable. For a moment, I’m lost in a trance as I watch water run down his flesh, beading along his skin as it trickles through the grooves and valleys of his bulging biceps and pecs.

I never realized how much I enjoy that feeling of powerlessness when I’m with Mikhail. For anyone else, I’d hate it. I’ve always been a bit standoffish, keeping people at a distance so that I can always feel in control. Everything about him reminds me that I’m not, though, and I love it.

From the simple touch of his big, hard hands, rough from a life of violence, but put to use stroking my smooth, tender flesh, to when he bends me over and the swollen crown of his cock presses against my pussy.

“Is this what you want?” he teases me, rubbing the throbbing crown of his manhood over my slickened flower.

I nod, my hand going to the wall to brace myself.

“Fuck me, Mikhail,” I plead, my voice warbling. All the sounds feel so much louder and more encompassing in the small bathroom, and I can hear his breathing surround me. The shower is small, and we’re pressed together. I can’t escape, even if I wanted to.

“Even after you saw what I did?”

It surprises me that he’d even be concerned about something like that. Mikhail rescued me. That bastard was torturing me, and he got what was coming to him. But Mikhail’s worrying about me makes my heart flutter.

Is this what love feels like? Like surrendering yourself to someone else and exposing your vulnerabilities to one another? Is it this sensation of growing soft and intense all at once? Is love bending to the scariest man you’ve ever met and never feeling safer?

The thought nearly blows me onto my ass, but my need is too intense. If this is love, then I want to feel it all. I want to feel him fucking me deep and hard. I want him to make me his.

“I want you,” I say, my hand going to his, pulling it to my breast, making him squeeze. “I want you rough,” I add on, and immediately, his fingers tighten around my nipple, tugging it. It sends a jolt through me, and it’s so delicious that I moan and he thrusts his cock into me, splitting my tight folds open around his girth with one forceful motion.

There’s no teasing, not this time. He’s as deep as I can take him, his breath hot on my ear.

“You like it hard?”

I nod. It’s something I’ve never told anyone else, but he’s brought it out in me. Not only do I like it, but I crave it.

“Use your words,
kotika
,” he says as he twists my nipple again, his other hand holding me in place.

“I like it hard,” I whimper out, and he rewards me with a crack against my ass. I feel pain in so many parts, but that slap on my butt is something altogether different. It’s exciting and sensual and sharp. It draws my thoughts and body into the present, making me really feel his body as it pounds against mine.

“You like taking me raw?”

I start to nod again, but then I remember his words, and I swallow. “I love it,” I gasp out, and I know how risky it all is, but with Mikhail, the taboo is all the more enticing. And by how he throbs to even greater size within me, I know he loves it too.

“I’m going to pound you full of my come,” he promises, his deep, rough voice containing the slightest hint of a moan. My pussy throbs with desire, with want, and I squirm against him. I want him deep, so I bend forward a little more.

“You’re so bad,” I whisper, and his fingers go into my hair, making me arch my back as he tugs. His mouth touches against my cheek before his teeth grab my ear, pulling upon it.

“You like your men bad.”

“I like
you
bad.”

“No one is ever going to take you from me again,” he says into my ear, nibbling along the outer rim. “If anyone tries, they’ll end up just like Vasili. You’re mine, and once I knock you up and put a ring on that finger, everyone will know.”

I gasp at those words, and the way he fucks me harder as he says them. All that hard, coiled muscle that so easily ended men’s lives put to use hammering me, making my ass quake, making me struggle to keep steady under his assault. Those hands of his hold my hair taut, and he squeezes my tit as he takes possession of me.

“I am never letting you go now,” he growls into my ear loudly as his thrusts drown out softer words. “Any offer to let you go is rescinded,
kotika
, you’re mine. Now and forever,” he declares, slapping my ass again, harder this time, making me cry out. His powerful hands make their every touch and squeeze felt upon my flesh.

He’s like fire, marking me wherever he touches, wherever his flesh presses into mine, burning himself into me, and I love it.

His words, dark as they are, excite me, and my pussy tightens around his cock, begging him to do just that. To come in me, to mark me inside and out once more. Every thrust brings me closer to oblivion, but when his hand frees my breast and instead moves to my throbbing clit, I cry out. My knees are quaking, and the way he’s rubbing me... I’m bound to lose control.

But his firm hand is on my hip, holding me up, protecting me from falling and giving me a silent permission to come all over his dick.

“That’s it,” he growls, and though he’s still hammering me hard, I can feel myself tightening up around his dick, his manhood swelling within me in return, the sheer tightness of our mutual grasp slowing his pace. “You’re going to come on my cock, and I’m going to plant a seed in your belly that’ll mark you as mine for all to see,” he says, his voice rising into a louder and louder roar with each new thrust.

“Come for me!” he bellows, and I feel him swell again, that shaft straining to such an impossible size within me.

It’s too much. Even if I wanted to, I can’t hold back a second longer, and as he thrusts into me a final time, I’m crashing over the edge into eternity. It’s bliss. It’s stupid, passionate, over-the-top bliss in a way I never knew a woman could feel. I had no idea sex could be like this, but he’s opened me up to something new and different, and there’s no going back.

Not now, not ever. Not from his body, not from his deadly hands, not from the way he makes me feel.

He’s made me into someone I never knew I could be, someone I’m actually happy to be. So maybe he just found the real me and teased it to the surface.

Whatever he did, I’m left panting and squealing as he pounds into me, making me take every inch of his cock as he shoots his seed into me.

He holds nothing back, thrusting against me even as his cock remains lodged deep within me, pounding me against the wall as he groans and moans. That big, hard column of velvety steel blowing thick, creamy ropes of come deep into my waiting depths.

We both lose all grasp of words and language, lost to our pleasured moans as the lust boiling within our veins explodes into such passion, until at last, his dick spurts its remainder within me, and he’s pressing me flatly between the shower wall and his hard chest.

“Good girl,” he husks into my ear before kissing me softly, the water still flowing hotly around us even as his thick girth remains lodged deep within me.

His tenderness is so welcome after our rough sex, and I nuzzle into him, enjoying his praise. It’s strange to have seen so many different sides of this man, sides I’m sure he’s never shown anyone else. And I know he’s seen parts of me that I’ve kept hidden.

“Mikhail,” I whisper, but my word is lost to the pitter patter of the shower, the warm water washing us clean of what we’ve just done.

The roughness of our lovemaking flows so seamlessly into the tender embrace we share now, like the water that runs over our flesh. His thick arms wrapping around me, his mouth finding mine, only the coarseness of his stubble adding any roughness to the moment as his tongue delves deep into my mouth.

We stand like that for so long in the shower, until finally, he softens enough to tug easily from my folds, and he reaches over, grasping some soap and bringing it to my shoulder blades. This killer’s tender, loving hands carefully work away the sweat, blood, and dirt of the hardest day in my life so far.

“Thank you,” I murmur, and he smiles at me, as if he weren’t wiping away the stains of my torture. He acts so pure, so innocent, even though I know he’s not. He’s a cold-blooded killer, after all. But he’s more than that too, isn’t he?

He takes hold of my arms, so thin and slender compared to his thick forearms and bulging biceps. With such tender care, he cleans my rope-burnt wrists, peppering my lips and face with kisses as he moves from one appendage to the other, slowly taking care to clean me from top to bottom. Cupping my breasts one at a time, soaping them up and rinsing away the foam.

Then at last, when he’s done and he seeks to bring the soap to his own body, I interrupt him. Reaching out to wriggle my slender fingers into his grasp and take the bar of soap to do for him what he did for me.

It’s not purely selfless. I love the way his ribbed muscles press into my soapy fingers, and I feel out the deep crevices and beautiful hills of his body. He’s masculine perfection, his body honed in that gym where we first made love, and on the job where he’s saved my life repeatedly, and I’m fascinated by him.

Even as the water grows cooler and goosebumps arise on both our bodies, we don’t want to part. We don’t want anything to disturb this perfect, tranquil moment that’s stretched out between us. He takes the brunt of the cold on his back as my fingers trail down, finding his masculinity, letting the soap cleanse him of my feminine scent.

Despite our recent lovemaking and the chill water spraying his backside, he stiffens in my grasp. That hefty cock in my palm throbbing bigger, thicker, its veiny surface expanding until at last, he’s more than clean and he shuts off the shower.

“Here,” he says, reaching out of the shower to pluck up a towel and wrapping it around me. He’s still dripping, but he picks me up in his arms, carrying me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom nearby. He doesn’t give a damn about the trail of water we leave behind, but he lays me down on the edge of the bed and slowly towels me off before using it on himself. And I get the added joy of watching him stand before me, half-erect, wiping away glistening moisture from his ripped physique.

It feels like the calm after a storm, everything feeling so electric and fresh, and when he tosses the towel aside, I reach for him. I want to feel his weight on mine, to become one again.

“You’re gorgeous,” I say as I look him up and down, drinking in his scars, his beautiful tattoos, his rugged masculinity. I want to lick him all over, to taste his clean flesh, to make him feel good.

He places one knee upon the bed then lifts me up, laying me down in the middle of the mattress before lowering himself over me. Despite all that thick, hard muscle weighing him down, he holds himself up with ease, kissing my lips, my face, my neck, letting his free hand roam over my breasts and torso.