Her Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Older Man Younger Woman Romance Read online

  I snap out of a waking dream and chase after him, climbing into the passenger side and silently taking Sparky when Damian thrusts him at me.

  “Good boy,” I whisper, moving my hands over his warm fur. “It’s okay. Good boy. You’re a good little boy, aren’t you?”

  As Damian backs the car out, Sparky hops onto his hind legs and places his forepaws on my chest, stretching out his sausage body so that he can lick at my face.

  Damian glances over, his lips twitching in a near-smile. “I think he likes you.”

  “I’m so glad he’s safe,” I whisper.

  I’m so glad you’re safe, I want to say, but I focus on Sparky instead, rubbing his body up and down and letting him kiss my face as much as he wants.

  Damian drives down the road, picking up speed but staying within the speeding limit, letting out a shaky breath after a few minutes of driving.

  “Fucking hell, if they’d hurt him …”

  “It’s okay, Damian. Look. He’s fine.”

  He reaches across and tickles him behind the ear, which I just so happen to be tickling, too.

  Our fingers touch and electricity sizzles up my arm, swarms into my body, dances around, and sets off a series of blinding fireworks. He keeps his hand there for a moment, his eyes searing into me, but not like the guards’ would.

  This is a good searing, a wonderful burning.

  He’s scorching me up from the inside.

  “Did you call that guy a pig fucker?” Damian growls a moment later, withdrawing his hand and chuckling grimly.

  “Yeah, it’s just what came to me,” I laugh shakily as my body dumps all the pent-up tension.

  “Well, it worked,” Damian says.

  “Are they …”

  “No, they’re alive,” Damian murmurs. “But they’re gonna be in the hospital for a while.”

  I let my head fall back on the headrest as Sparky clambers atop me, paws resting on my shoulders like we’re hugging.

  “What do we do now?” I ask.

  “Honestly? I don’t—”

  His words are cut off by the ringing of his cellphone.

  “I bet I know who that is,” he snarls, taking it out of his pocket.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Damian

  “Are you there, Damian?” Andrei says, his voice sharp and not as heavily accented as his brother’s.

  I feel Dakota watching me curiously, her hands buried in Sparky’s fur as she stares. After a moment of hesitation – she’s in this now – I put the phone on speaker and lay it on the dashboard.

  “I’m here,” I tell him.

  “Good, that is good,” he murmurs.

  I keep driving, keeping a steady pace, eyes flitting between the road and the rearview as I guide us toward the city. Soon it’ll be time to go west, but things have changed, and I need to make a pickup. A small voice whispers again to take Dakota to safety, but the thought of leaving her nearly turns me into a savage.

  “I should thank you,” Andrei says a moment later.

  I say nothing. In my experience, it’s weak men who feel the need to fill the silence with their words, as though by talking they can wish their realities into changing.

  I drive. I wait.

  I fight the urge to place my hand on Dakota’s face to feel the heat of her cheeks, the life essence of her.

  “With my little brother out of the way, I am free to rule the Bratva as I see fit,” he goes on. “Do not mistake me. I had love for my brother. But the heart cannot be allowed to rule in this world. A man must have his own code of ethics. I think you understand that. You kill men you have marked as evil for their deeds, and perhaps this helps you sleep at night. Me, I never leave a task unfinished, and this helps me sleep. That is why they call me Wolf. I never quit. I never stop chasing.”

  I laugh grimly. “Maybe they call you Wolf because you never stop howling. Why don’t you say something that actually means something, motherfucker?”

  He tuts. “Insults? I thought we were above this.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  I pause at the intersection, the traffic picking up a little here as it joins the road properly toward the city, not the country road we’ve been driving down. I signal and then pull out, rejoining the flow of civilization, hoping to lose myself in the anonymity of it all.

  The air is laced with winter cold, a few crystalline snowflakes dancing.

  “Is the girl with you?” Andrei asks a moment later.

  My whole body recoils at the thought of Andrei targeting Dakota. I have to focus hard on keeping my eyes on the road, my heartbeat pulsing so heavily it sends waves of urgency all through my body.

  “Why?” I snap.

  He laughs delightedly. “How strange, the fierceness in your voice. Does this girl mean something to you? I assumed you merely met her by chance. I am surprised you took her, in truth. You have completed jobs in the past and never stooped to rescuing damsels …”

  It’s true. Felix always taught me to drift in like smoke, do the job, and then drift out without taking anything, changing as little as possible.

  But not taking Dakota wasn’t an option, not when I felt my goddamn soul quivering at the proximity of her, as though it recognized its other half.

  Not when my seed flamed at the scent of her, as though it recognized its rightful home.

  “Give me the girl, Damian, and we will forget you exist.”

  Dakota sucks in a breath beside me. Her fear permeates the air of the car. I reach across and place a hand on her leg, squeezing briefly, but quickly have to let go when lust intrudes on the comfort and I get carnal ideas to slide further up that thick juicy beautiful thigh.

  “The girl?” I say, keeping my voice casual.

  “You didn’t expect that, did you?”

  “You have hundreds of slaves. I thought you’d be more concerned with avenging your brother’s murder.”

  “Oh, if you do not give me the girl, I will hunt you down and kill you both. I will take her in front of you and then I will slit her throat, I will slit your little cur’s throat, and then – only then – I will kill you. But all of that can be avoided. Give me Dakota Clark and you can disappear forever, just like you wished.”

  The lights of other cars pass back and forth as I join the traffic of the bridge, a whole army of them, with the city rising up in glittering obelisks ahead of us. This conversation feels strange so close to the real world, away from the world of death.

  “You were tracking me before I took her,” I point out. “You must’ve for your men to already be at my motel room.”

  “Yes,” Andrei says. “Loose ends, you see. I knew you were going to kill Dobry this evening. It is why I sent him so much good vodka. You should be thanking me so that they’d be sloppy. But … Do you believe in fate, Damian?”

  I grind my teeth from side to side, almost certain I can sense a change in Dakota’s scent.

  I glance at her again.

  She’s biting her bottom lip and her cheeks are pricked red, her eyes wide and staring honestly back at me, staring at me like the future mother of my children.

  I never believed in fate before I met her. That’s the damn truth. But I’m not going to share that with the Wolf.

  “Get to the point,” I snap.

  “That girl, Dakota Clark, it is a fateful turn of events that saw you take her when you could have taken any number of slaves. It might just save your life. Dakota belongs to me, you see.”

  “What? What the fuck are you talking about?” I growl, almost roaring that he’s dead wrong.

  She doesn’t belong to him. She belongs to me.

  Forever.

  “I won’t go into details,” Andrei says, the first hints of impatience shivering into his otherwise calm tone. “It is enough for me to say that this girl is mine in every sense of the word. Even before we picked her up, she belonged to me. So return my property and you can go free.”

  “No,” I snarl. “Never. Do you hear me, Andrei, W
olf, whatever the fuck your name is? Never.”

  “What is she to you?” Andrei snaps.

  Everything.

  “You seem to think you’re talking to the Bratva or the Mafia or some other scumbag criminal,” I say fiercely. “But you’re not. You’re talking to me. To Damian fucking Drake. And if you’ve done your research, you’ll know I’m not the sort of man to deal in flesh.”

  “This is a mistake—”

  “I will kill a hundred of your men to stop you from taking her—a thousand. I don’t care.”

  He tuts again, making me want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyeballs explode out of his goddamn head.

  “You are a hitman, an assassin, not a soldier. Do you truly believe you can take on my army?”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” I say.

  “Now listen—”

  I open the window and toss the phone, hard, over the barrier of the bridge so that it goes sailing into the river below.

  His words resound around my head.

  She belongs to him? Who the fuck does he think he is?

  “Motherfucker,” I roar, slamming my fist against the steering wheel.

  “What did he mean?” Dakota whispers, her voice tangled with fear.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” I say. “You have no idea?”

  “No,” she says, shivering.

  She cradles Sparky close to her chest and something in me melts when I see my dog curl up in her arms, reality flitting for a moment and a baby taking his place, our baby.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I growl. “I won’t let him have you, Dakota. I swear. I’ll die before that happens.”

  “Why?” she whispers. “Why would you do that for me, Damian?”

  I almost blurt it all out, that she’s mine, forever—she belongs to me.

  But then I hear the words in my mind and something strange happens. They repeat, but only this time it’s in Andrei’s voice.

  She’s just had one killer say that she’s his property.

  How will she react to me telling her the same thing, even if it’s true, even if I’d never hurt her?

  I don’t reply. I focus on the road.

  I expect Dakota to prompt me, but then she just sighs and turns to her window as we continue to drive over the bridge.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dakota

  I sit on the motel bed with my knees to my chest, my arms wrapped around them squeezing tightly.

  The past few hours wash through my mind like an impossibility.

  We went into the city, to a rundown bar and then into the back, down a secret elevator, and into a small room lit with stark electric-blue light. I held Sparky to my chest as Damian went around the room, tossing guns and bundles of cash into a duffle bag until it was heavy with it.

  Then we left, climbing back into his sedan and speeding out of the city, taking a path north.

  I glance around the motel room, the digital clock telling me in blood-red letters that it’s four o’clock in the morning, and yet my body is too wired to allow me to sleep as if any second the door is going to bust open and Andrei is going to come barreling through.

  His words bite sharply into me every time I remember them, confusion following the terror.

  He wants me?

  Why?

  I’m was just one of their many slaves, another random face in their depravity.

  The room lies in semidarkness, lit by the bedside lamp. Everything is neat and clean, and yet there’s a motel smell in the air like the carpet has been vacuumed too many times, and now it’s letting out all its old smells in revenge.

  I sigh and my gaze flits to the door that connects to Damian’s room.

  “Interconnecting rooms,” he told me, nodding at the door when he led me in here. “If you need anything, just knock. I’ll keep a lookout. You’re safe.”

  Then he left me, Sparky trailing at his feet.

  The heater hums from the corner, but the cold still creeps into my body, causing me to shiver. The only thing that warms me is thinking about Damian, the way he saved me from Dobry, but also his confusing comments in the car.

  I won’t let anything happen to you.

  He just left it at that, but I wanted to throw myself at him and slide into his lap, taste his lips and grind hotly against him, panting, hungry for his touch. I wanted to see if I could make his manhood hard by grinding my ass against his crotch, pressing my breasts up against his muscled chest, finding his lips …

  It’s silly, it’s crazy, fine.

  But then this whole thing is downright crazy.

  I force myself to lie down and close my eyes, trying to focus on breathing slowly, letting the exhaustion of my body translate to my mind.

  But my mind has different plans, and the moment I shut my eyelids and bring myself into darkness, scenes start to play out in the depths of my consciousness.

  I imagine Damian walking in here in a pair of shorts, his bare chest massive and muscled and glistening with his lust-fueled sweat. He stalks across the room the same way he stalked up to that man outside the motel, as silent and deadly as the hitman he is.

  “I saved you,” he snarls. “Now you’re my prize. Get those clothes off—now. I won’t ask again.”

  Then he grows impatient and dives onto the bed with his ferocious speed, grabbing my tights and tearing them free.

  He yanks my skirt down and slides his hands all over my bare flesh, squeezing, not caring that I’m curvier than most women.

  He finds my sex and cups it, softly at first, but then I slide my hands through his iron hair and beg him to do it faster, harder …

  I try to fight the urge, but something has awoken inside of me, through the blood and the violence and the craziness.

  Hope.

  Hope that I can finally be rid of the hell that was Dobry’s estate, hope that I can stay alive, that I can not only survive but live.

  And what is life without desire, without heat, without longing?

  I slide my hand under my skirt and down my tights, past my panties, and start softly toying with my clit and my lips, rubbing up and down as my mind disappears into the imagined scene.

  “Suck me,” he snarls, glaring down at me with those hard eyes. “Suck me until I tell you to stop, Dakota, you beautiful fucking goddess. Get me nice and wet for your desperate little cunt.”

  We stayed in shared barracks at the estate, so of course, I never had the chance to touch myself, to please myself.

  And neither would I want to, not with the ever-present possibility of the guards swaggering into the room.

  Something is wrong with you, a voice hisses in my mind. You saw a man shot in the face a few hours ago, and now you’re doing this?

  Fine, then.

  Screw it.

  Something’s wrong with me and I don’t give a damn, because disappearing into dreams of Damian is so much sweeter than thinking about everything else.

  In my fantasy, I’m not nervous or scared. I know exactly what to do as I perch nakedly on the edge of the bed, bringing my mouth to his manhood, engorged and veined and swollen as I open my lips wide and take him, all of him.

  In my dream I grab onto his hips and suck him hard, looking up at him to see how much he wants it, to see how valuable he finds me as I bob my head up and down.

  I feel so freaking sexy as the fantasy warps – my fingers are stroking my clit fast and hard now, my pussy beginning to burn up from the inside – and I’m bent over, looking over my shoulder at him.

  “Fuck me,” I moan, shaking my ass far more confidently than I’d ever be able to do in real life. “Take hard, Damian. Take me like you own me.”

  I slide my finger down into my hole, pushing in and feeling how absolutely soaked I am. Nobody has ever gotten me this wet before.

  No thought, no touch, nothing has ever brought me this close.

  But thoughts of Damian cause a river of hot lava to swell in my center, making two of my fingers slid
e in easily.

  I move them quickly, teasing myself, imagining as forcefully as I can that its Damian’s massive cock instead.

  And then I lose myself in the delirium, my mind shifting so that – in the lust-filled dream – there are many Damians, three, four, five … too many to count.

  They surround me with their pale eyes and their grim-set lips and their massive, swollen cocks, and suddenly I’m pleasing a whole room of Damians, moaning and bouncing and sucking and—

  Knock knock.

  I let out a panting breath, the orgasm barreling into me at the exact same moment as the knock, opening my eyes as it twists and warps through me, causing my belly to go tight and my pussy to pulse and make my panties even wetter.

  “Y-yes?” I call, the pleasure coursing through me like electricity.

  “It’s me,” Damian says.

  “Y-yes?” I say again, the only word I’m able to summon, apparently.

  I take a deep breath, removing my hands from my panties and shivering as the last tremors of the orgasm pass through me.

  Guilt pricks at me when I wonder what Damian would say if he knew what I’d just done, and who I’d done it over.

  “I heard … moaning,” he growls. “I thought maybe you were having a nightmare.”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say.

  “Is the door unlocked?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I say, heart, thundering in my ears.

  “Okay, I’m coming in.”

  He pushes the door open, wearing a black T-shirt that wraps around his muscled frame. His bare arms display the fine cuts of his biceps. His hair is swept to the side and his icy eyes bite into me as he strides in, looking down at my face, jaw tight, fists clenched.

  He’s trembling, I note, shaking like a volcano about to explode.

  “Are you okay?” I murmur, sitting up.

  “No,” he snarls. “Not one fucking bit.”

  I stand up and walk to him, close enough I can smell the musky manly scent of him.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I think you know,” he snarls, walking even closer to me. He stops, staring down at me, raising his hands as though to touch my face. My heart pauses. My skin riots with a thousand sensations. “It has something to do with those goddamn noises you were just making.”