Last Hit (Hitman) (21 page)

"So tight," he tells me. "
Bozhe
moi
." His murmurs of Russian platitudes are stifled when he flicks at my clit again with his tongue. I feel another finger join the first, and I feel impossibly stretched, to the point that it's painful.

But I don't want him to stop.

I throw my head back as I mindlessly say his name over and over again. My eyes are closed—I can't watch him anymore, because it makes things too intense, and my senses can't handle his beautiful face cradled between my legs, those long lashes fanning over intense eyes focused entirely on pleasuring me.

His tongue's not stopping now, pressing faster and faster against my clit in a steady pattern that is as maddening as it is wonderful. My hips rise to meet his mouth, and I'm pushing up against him, even as my hand is braced against the car door for support. It's the only thing keeping me from collapsing. My entire body is stiffening, and I feel it building, that warm, delicious curling sensation that I need more of but don't know how to get. All I know is that I'm getting closer.

 His fingers pull out from my warmth, and I feel an aching, momentary loss. Before I can protest, he sinks them deep again. There is a stabbing ache followed by a blissful shot of pleasure that moves right through me, and the curling need increases.

Nick thrusts again with his fingers, and I am there.

Fireworks.

I am shuddering and gasping, on fire from the pulsing intensity of my orgasm. I cry out his name, and I am lost. Heaven. Pure Heaven, and Nick has given it to me.

I will never be the same again.

DAISY

Now that I have opened
Pandora's box, I can't go back to the sleep of an innocent. My dreams that night were filled with Nick's face, Nick's hands, Nick's mouth. When I wake up, I am restless and panting.

And when I move through my day, he is ever-present in my mind, an intriguing puzzle I intend to figure out. I sleepwalk through a late breakfast and clean our apartment and buy groceries—all the while Regan lays on the couch, nursing a hangover. She texted me late last night, asking if I was okay. I told her I met Nick and got a ride home, and that seemed to satisfy her.

If only she knew what had gone on in the car.

I am scandalized and titillated by what happened. Prior to last night, I only dreamed of what occurs with a man, but now I have so much more knowledge, so many wicked things to consider.

I touched his penis. I made him come. And then he pleasured me with his mouth—only his mouth, because I wasn't ready for more.

I'm still not ready for more, not yet. I like teasing around the edges, playing with the concept of sex without going all in. Of course, I say this in the light of day; last night after our steamy session in the car, Nick walked me to my door and gave me a chaste kiss. I'd been the one to cling to him and beg him to come inside with me so we could explore more.

He'd turned me down. I'd said I wasn't ready, and he would honor that.

I think of him when my phone buzzes, and I toss the sponge down on the now-clean kitchen counter and run to my room to answer it in private.

To my disappointment, it is work. Craig has texted me.
Had a no-show. Can you come in?

I can't afford to say no, though I am secretly hoping that Nick will ask me on another date of some kind. I sigh and text back.
Of course. What time?

Six. Will pay overtime.

Thank you.

I have two hours before I have to go in to work. It's not enough time to do anything, except perhaps more cleaning. And there is no text from Nick, which makes me feel odd and anxious at the same time. Did I go too far with him? Does he no longer respect me because I am slutty when he touches me? Should I play coy? I don't know how relationships work; my father only let me watch children's television shows and all the romance novels I read were stories from a different century. In those, the women are all impoverished heiresses and the men are all rakish dukes.

I feel too sheltered. Regan and Mike are casually sexual, but there is an undercurrent of unhappiness in their relationship. I don't want to copy it.

But I can't understand why Nick isn't texting me. It must be something I did.

I move to my window and open it wider, leaning out and enjoying the breeze on my face. The sunlight is pure and crisp, the weather gorgeous. I love the sun. I turn my face toward it and sigh with pleasure, and then I scan the street below with interest. There are cars moving along the street in busy lines, and people walk down the sidewalk, bags in hand. It is a normal day.

My gaze slides to the apartment building across the street, and I think about what Nick told me last night. He doesn't live in this building. I haven't given it much thought until now. I stare at the windows on the other side thoughtfully, trying to see a face behind the glass, but there is nothing.

I was driving past and saw you on the street, he said last night.

I know it's a lie. He can't always be driving and conveniently running in to me. I consider this for a moment, and then head to my bed. I sit on the edge and regard my phone. The phone he purchased for me. I pick it up, hesitate, and then make up my mind.

I text him.
You're watching me, aren't you? That's how you knew where I was last night.

His answer is swift, which means he has his phone close by and is watching it.
Does this bother you?

It bothers me more that he has not texted me until now.

Are you mad at me
I send. It's needy and ridiculous, but I can't help myself. The only man I know how to deal with is my father, and he made his frustration known by angry words. I can't handle silence.

Never
Nick sends back.

D8Z:
Then why the silence?

Nick:
I wanted to give you space in case you had regrets or you feel I push you too hard.

The only thing I regret was that I was too scared to do more. But I don't tell him this. I'm just relieved he's not unhappy with me.

D8Z:
I want to know if you're watching me, Nick.

Nick:
And again, I must ask. Does this bother you?

I consider this. I should be furious, but I'm not. Perhaps because his intervention last night was so timely? I can't be mad if he has protected me with his watching. Still, I want to know the why of it.

D8Z:
I suppose it depends on what the purpose is.

Nick:
Purpose? Must there be one?

D8Z:
Why else would you watch a total stranger? I assume you've been watching me for a while? Since before we met?

Nick:
You are clever, my Daisy. And I am a poor liar. Da, I watch you. I saw you and thought you were the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I cannot stop myself from watching and wondering about you. Never did I think to actually speak with you, though. Have I frightened you?

D8Z:
Should I be frightened of you?

Nick:
I would never hurt you. Never. I only wish to protect.

This seems to align with what I know of Nick. I think back, realizing that if his intentions were bad, he could have hurt me that day in the laundry room. Instead, he took me shopping and bought me expensive things. I'm wearing a pair of the panties he bought me right now, and my hand flutters to the waist of my jeans in thought.

Nick:
I have scared you, haven't I?

I consider this. I know it's not normal for a man to watch someone from afar, but Nick has been my closest and truest friend since I arrived. I am fascinated and besotted with him. I'm not mad. I'm not entirely comfortable, but I'm not mad.

D8Z:
Which window is yours? In the other building?

Nick:
I will show you. Look for blue.

He's there even now? Is he watching me? I lick my lips, ashamed to feel my nipples harden and the flesh between my legs grow wet with arousal. I peer out the window, looking. Then, I see it. It is a window with the shades tightly drawn, directly across from mine. The blue is the merest hint…

And I blush to realize the blue is my panties that he had stolen from me last night.

D8Z:
How often do you watch me? What do you see?

Nick:
I see treasure beyond value. I see beauty without compare. I see your every gesture exudes pleasure and joy in even smallest things. I see delight in simply existing. I see you, Daisy.

Heat curls through me at his words. Oh, my. I know he's trying to redirect me with flattery, and it's working. I'm breathless at his romantic text.

D8Z:
Are you watching me now?

Nick:
Da. Do you want me to stop? For you, I will. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. I treasure your opinion above all things.

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him "yes, stop," when I realize I am breathing shallowly with excitement. The fact that he watches me feels naughty and wicked, and I love the feeling. It's scandalous to consider, and I think that is why I enjoy it so much. I do want him to keep watching me…but I want it to be on my terms.

D8Z:
We need a signal, I think. If you're going to watch me, let me know first.

Nick:
Anything you desire, kitten. I am yours to command.

D8Z:
My father and I had a signal when we knocked on the front door or called, so we knew who it was. I want a signal to know you're there. So I know.

I am in control, I realize. If I don't want Nick to watch, I can shut my window. I can tell him to stop. I think he would. For the first time in my life, I am running the show, and I feel heady with the power of it. I control Nick's happiness with a mere thought.

It is all at my discretion entirely. Knowing he watches me changes nothing…except perhaps it makes me aroused to think he's watching me, even now. My hand touches the waistband of my jeans again, and I think of stripping them off in front of my window, all so he can see from afar.

Will he come in his pants again at the sight?

My breath catches; I am panting, and my nipples ache. I want to tell him to come over so we can explore sex some more, but it's not a good idea. I have to work tonight, and if he comes over, I won't want him to leave.

Across the street, at Nick's window, the blinds open a bit, and there is a bright flash, like that of a mirror reflecting light. It flicks once, twice.

Nick:
That is my signal to you. Anytime you are curious if I watch, look out your window. If I am, I will give you a signal.

D8Z:
I see it.

I see it, and I wonder how much of me he sees. I smile at the window and touch my fingers to the glass as if to say hello.

Nick:
I wish your hand was on me and not the window, dasha. Meet me tonight.

D8Z:
I can't. I'm working.

Nick:
Tell them you quit. It is not good job for you.

I shake my head at the window, as if to silently say, "I'm not quitting." Always, he suggests I quit, and I ignore it. He doesn't know what it's like to see two twenties in your wallet and realize there is no more coming in. I text him again, not wanting to change the subject.

D8Z:
So if I ask you to stop watching me, you would?

Nick:
Always. You mean more to me than anything.

His words make me warm, and they fill me with pleasure.

D8Z:
I'll let you know if I want you to stop. I'm only allowing this because I like the thought of you watching me.

Nick:
Oh? You like it?

I grow bold and smile at the window. I'm incredibly aroused at the moment. I keep thinking of last night, the hot feel of his flesh under my hand. I can't wait to experience that again. I decide I want to play with Nick, leave him wanting me and distracted.

I face the window and my hand slides to my breast. I cup it, picturing his hand there, and gasp at how good it feels to tease my own nipple.

And then I look at my phone, waiting for a response from him.

It comes an eternal moment later.

Nick:
Daisy…do you tease me?

I feel a sense of glee mixed with my desire. He's realized what I'm up to.
Want me to give you something to watch
I text back, feeling so bold and pleased with myself. I want to do this. I'm nervous but excited at the same time.

It takes an agonizing year for his text to come back, but it returns.

Nick:
Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see you touch yourself for me. Words cannot describe what I am feeling right now.

My breathing comes shallow and thin, and it's rasping with excitement. I think of Nick touching himself as he watches me. Does he have binoculars? Is he holding them in one hand and grasping his penis with the other? I shudder at the thought of that and pull my t-shirt off before I can second-guess myself and let shyness take over. I'm wearing one of my new bras, and it's lacy and white and so pretty that I feel sexy just wearing it. I'm glad I chose it today, and I bite my lip as I ease one strap down my shoulder, my other hand still clutching my phone.