Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
His skin is smooth under my palm. This is the moment. I could dig my fingers in, break the still-fragile scar tissue, and draw his blood. Instead, I simply rest my hand over the wound, savoring the feel of him. I’ve never liked cuddling, but Victor is huge and powerful, and the basest part of me registers him as safe. He’d never allow anyone to hurt me. He’d reserve that right for himself.
Sleep is rising to claim me. I try to fend it off, muttering, “I should’ve aimed for the heart.” I slide my hand up to his left pectoral. He presses his own hand on top of mine, forcing me to feel his heartbeat thundering in time with mine.
“You may not have aimed for it, but you hit it all the same.”
Lula
It’s dark in the bedroom when Victor wakes me, rolling me to my side so he can raise my thigh and slide into me.
“You’re nuts,” I mutter into the pillow. I don’t know what time it is, but it feels like the middle of the night. I half doze as he uses my body, only waking when he grunts in satisfaction and folds me into him, kissing the top of my head. I settle in his arms, trying to decide whether the wetness between my legs is his fresh cum or my own arousal.
“Finished?”
“For now.” He kisses my forehead. “Sleep. You need it. I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat.”
“I want pancakes.” I let sleep claim me again.
At our next meal, he makes me pancakes and lets me wear his shirt the whole time. When I’m full, he pulls me into the hall where he’s set up a wooden dummy and teaches me to slash and cut with a knife. “I’d prefer you never need to fight in close combat. But better to be prepared.”
He has me throw knives at a target until my arms are tired and rewards me with a shower and an easy, slow fuck against the tiled walls. Then he uses a straight razor to shave me. Once we’re clean and dry, he props me on all fours in the bed next to a black towel with a tube of lube and a small black plug on top of it.
He strokes my bottom. “Are you going to fight me?”
“I don’t know.” I glare at him over my shoulder. “Are you gonna put that in my ass?”
“Would you prefer to do it yourself?”
“What do you think?” I let him plant a hand between my shoulder blades and push me down so my cheek is flush with the bedspread, my ass high in the air.
“Push out,” he orders and probes me with lube-coated fingers before replacing them with the plug. I blow out a breath at the alien feeling, but it’s not so bad. What’s worse is how he uses his free hand to play with my pussy, and how quickly I grow wet for him.
“Now what?”
“Now a reward.” He twists his fingers into my pussy, finds the rough wall above my entrance, and rubs it. “Do you want me to tie you down?” But I’m already rocking into his hand, the plug adding another dark dimension to my climax.
Much later, he makes me what I think of as a late lunch—thick steaks cooked to perfection. He sits on a bar stool next to me and feeds me bite by bite. And I let him because the meat is too amazing to refuse. Melt-in-the-mouth buttery.
It’s super weird sitting on a stool with a plug in my ass. But it’s not that bad. At least I’m not bound with clamps on my nipples.
It’s the little things.
He pours me a glass of wine, a Châteauneuf-du-Pape that’s beyond compare to my cheap merlots. I lounge in the armchair, tipped onto one hip so I don’t jar the plug in my rear, savoring the smooth but complex red while he does the dishes. Just another episode of Life with a Hitman: Domestic Edition.
It’s been a while—at least a week or two—since I’ve had anything alcoholic to drink, so a few sips go to my head.
“You’ll be happy to know I made contact with men who can find Stephanos,” Victor tells me, speaking over his shoulder from his spot at the sink.
“You did?”
“Yes. They have not yet led me to him, but they will.”
I stare at the ripples in my wine. Having this conversation with Victor is weird. I’m used to thinking of him as an enemy united with Stephanos.
“I asked them who the mole is.”
“Did they tell you?”
“No, but I will tell you when I find out.” He dries another dish. “Your cousin is looking for you.”
“Of course he is.” I can imagine my cousin now, standing with arms braced on his desk, barking orders to his men, and only taking breaks to comfort Leah.