Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (28 page)

“Oh god,” I whimper, and for a second, I don’t know if I can take anymore. My body begins to quiver, and I’m filled with a sudden sensation I wasn’t expecting until much later. He’s only just barely hilted within me, but his cock was made for me with how quickly my nerves respond.

The beginnings of an orgasm start to unfurl within me, and I gasp.

Watching that glistening, muscled torso rippling over me through narrow slits, I moan and writhe, my body tensing as that pleasure builds. Mikhail’s like no other man I’ve known, and the situation is completely out there.

It’s so many layers of wrong and right done just so. My toes curl, and he’s only begun to pound into me. Again and again, that thick cock pummels my poor, pink pussy, his heavy, cum-laden balls battering against my pale rear as he hammers down.

And while his chest still gleams with perspiration, I can get a glimpse of his godlike cock glistening with a different kind of slickness: my own, and I’m so wet it’s embarrassing.

I’ve never felt like this before, and definitely never done something so risky, but it all pays off almost too quickly as my nerves tighten and then release, pleasure flooding me. I can’t believe it, but I’m trembling against him like a virgin, my screams echoing off the Spartan walls. My thighs tighten around his waist, but he’s too powerful to stay put.

Instead, he grinds into me, as deeply as he can, and it’s too much and yet perfect all at once, that pain and pleasure culminating into the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever imagined having.

Mikhail pummels me throughout my loud climax, pumping harder even as a gush of warm honey coats his shaft and covers his balls. That hefty sac of his slapping against me wetly now as he keeps me pinned beneath him, manipulating my legs as his cock throbs, swelling out and stretching me as he moans.

“Mmph,” he groans, “your tight little cunt was made for wrapping around my cock, you screaming beauty.”

I feel like I’m on drugs, the rush of his body taking me to new heights. His words tease me higher, and I’m squirming like a girl as each pulse, each thrust, sends a delightful aftershock through me.

Sex has never been like this before. I never dreamed it could be.

“Oh
god
, Mikhail,” I gasp, my throat raw from all my screaming, my mind emptied of everything but him. “You’re amazing!”

His steely body is like a freight train, and just works with such fierce precision. He pounds me through my climax, blasts the fog from my head as I squeal and moan atop his manhood. One of those thick, bulging biceps pushes into the base of my spine as he lifts me, still jackhammering into my raw pussy.

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to protect you…fuck you…breed you,” he growls into my ear before biting into my neck. “If you stay, that’s what’ll happen to you,
kotika
.”

It’s crass and dirty, and I’m hungry for more.

My head tilts to the side, giving him access to my slender neck, the skin there so delicate as he marks me as his own. Hours ago, all I could think about was getting away, but now I know I really want to run from my feelings. From my dangerous attraction to this killer.

I can feel my own body overheating, so hot as the perspiration builds between us and my breasts bounce, gleaming in the light as we rut. His Russian curses tickle my ears as he swells within me, and the mat strains beneath us.

He pushes me back down into the mat, pinning me down beneath his powerful arms and battering me with that thick trunk of a dick.

“You’re not done yet,” he promises with a gravelly husk, “you’re going to come on my cock one more time before I finish in you.” And it’s a promise he plans to deliver on as he reaches a thumb towards my clit, ready to torture that poor bud.

I’m already so overwhelmed with sensations, but he makes me feel so dirty. I want more, like a hedonist, and my hand grasps his, pushing him down harder. But then, before I can even get close, his free hand grabs my wrist, pinning it to the mat above me, all without skipping a beat.

His weight presses down upon me and our bodies writhe in unison as my slickness lets his fingers glide over my throbbing clit. We’re making a mess on the mat, my juices running down between my thighs and over his heavy sac.

But he doesn’t care, he’s enraptured with me, forcing his eyes open to soak me in as he tweaks my clit, circles it, prods me to new heights beneath him. He’s pounding so hard and fast it’s blinding, and I watch as his broad jaw clenches and his dick swells, stretching me wider, making it twinge and hurt a little.

“Come for me, little kitten, or you’ll be so sore you’ll not walk for weeks,” he growls in threat.

And his words... Those dark, dangerous words spoken in that delicious accent...

That’s the final nail in my coffin. My pussy tightens around him, milking him, knowing full well the risk I’m taking and how stupid I’m being, but needing it all the same. Good girls don’t get knocked up by killers. Good girls don’t take risks with dark and mysterious men they don’t know.

So maybe I am a little bit bad, deep down, and he’s just teasing it out of me. Along with a whole bunch of explosive pleasure.

His neck tenses as he watches me, and as I scream out again, he pummels me with his cock, swelling inside me as he barrels his way towards his own finale. This ruthless, cold-hearted killer, all muscle, sinew, and murderous-intent, holding me as he hammers into my pussy.

“You’re going to take it,” he growls, and that thick, battering ram of a cock explodes inside me, shooting thick gouts of creamy seed. A deep, dark, velvety moan of pleasure escapes his lips as he shudders, emptying his loins into me.

And then his mouth crashes against mine, burning hot, lust tracing from his tongue to mine. He’s not gentle, his every motion speaking of just how powerful his emotions for me are. Not even the calm and in-control Mikhail can hold them back, and that sends another illicit thrill up my spine. He’s opened the Pandora’s Box inside of me.

There’s no turning back now
, I tell myself.

But fate has a way of throwing you.

I
lift
her body up into my arms, because somehow, it just doesn’t seem right to let her to wake up on a gym mat. Her sleep schedule is still wonky, but she was clearly exhausted after the ordeal she’s been through.

She’s a damn frustrating woman. I left her door unlocked so she could leave, and I could be free of her. But she stuck around instead. Broke down my last barrier. And that is dangerous for us both.

Carrying her into the bedroom, I lay her beautiful figure out with care. She sends a pang through my heart when I think of how I was about to let her wander off, get herself killed, just so that these feelings might finally subside. Shame fills me as my heart beats quicker.

A coward’s way out.

That’s what I tried to take. To wash my hands of responsibility. But her blood would’ve been on my hands regardless, and it’d never wash clean. I know that.

Looking down at her, those long, beautiful tresses framing her face, her body beautifully angelic in the nude, I know I have to make the hard choices. For her sake.

She can’t stay. I can’t play the role of lover.

I
wake
up to the drab grey sight of my prison’s ceiling, though it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. As much as I feel embarrassed for making a pass at the man who abducted me—and then giving into passion and sleeping with him—I just want to feel his comforting touch.

Rolling over, I reach out, but he’s not there.

I look around and see that the room is empty. Only me. And I feel a loneliness deep down that hurts my heart.

Abandonment.

I crave his warmth wrapping around me, taking me again with such reckless abandon. It’s so unlike me to give in so readily, so eager to just have him take me. Maybe it’s the isolation of this place, I try to convince myself, but I know that isn’t it.

There’s something deeper within me that pulls me to him. For the first time, I actually have feelings for someone. More than lust or a high school crush, something deeper and darker than I could possibly bring myself to understand. I want my life to be tied to his, always.

But now he’s gone, and I don’t know what that means. Back in my cell, left to wonder about how he feels. Does he regret it? Is that why he brought me back here and left?

I push myself out of bed, my thoughts quickly growing morbid. Of course he regrets it. To him, I’m just some floozy who got in over her head, a distraction. He thinks of me as his troublesome obligation, so of course he’d extract some payment.

Plodding my way morosely to the bathroom, I expect to see bags under my eyes, but aside from the hurt lingering in my green eyes, I actually look healthy and rested. Maybe I did just need to get laid. Maybe I used him, just like he used me.

But even as I try to convince myself, I know it’s a lie.

By the time I finish tidying up, I hear the sounds of my large protector returning. His footsteps thud in the hallway outside before the door swings open and he looks in on me. That rugged, handsome face of his is completely serious.

There’s no trace of the passion that was there the night before, and I feel my heart constrict in my chest.

“You didn’t spend the night.”

“I had to arrange a few things,” he says, stepping inside and handing me a brown paper bag with a travelling cup full of coffee, I presume. “We’re taking a trip.”

I notice that he’s dressed in a nice maroon shirt, unbuttoned at the collar where some of his dark hair pokes out, and a black jacket over top.

He almost looks ready for a date in those dark denim jeans.

And my life suddenly explodes with color, and I smile instantly. It’s like all my fear and apprehension have been completely melted away within a second flat.

“Really? We’re leaving? Ohh, are we going somewhere warm to hide out for a few months until the heat dies down?”

“I’m going to drive you out of state, to a place I know well, to be safe with some people I trust,” he says with that hard stoicism of his. “As soon as you’re ready, I’ll take you out to the car and we’ll be done. You can eat breakfast as I drive,” he explains, laying down the sack and coffee upon the table.

“Sure, well...not like I have much here to pack,” I say with a roll of my eyes, heading to grab the few things I have scattered about. “And I’m assuming we’re probably not going to stop off at my place to get my luggage.” I’m trying to keep things light, but the fact that I can’t read him at all, that I don’t know what he’s thinking, is throwing me off.

Especially since he looks so damn good today.

“I’ll give you money to buy whatever you want where we’re going,” he says, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a wallet. He flips it open and slides out a credit card, offering it to me. “There’s no limit, just try not to make a huge scene once we’re there,” he explains.

“So don’t go
Pretty Woman
on you. Got it,” I say with a sly wink. Tugging on the casual yoga jacket he’d brought me earlier, and slipping into my dangerously high heels, I look like a pampered housewife leaving rehab.

But there’s definitely pep to my step, and I grab my coffee, heading towards the door.

“Road trip time!”

He leads the way on down out of the building, locking up behind him. We come out onto the street, where a beautiful black sedan awaits us, shiny and new, looking like it just rolled off an assembly line. Mikhail pushes a pair of sunglasses down over his eyes as he keeps watching, but makes it to the passenger side door before me to hold it open.

“Be natural, calm,” he assures me as I stand at the edge of freedom once more. Though not quite.

But it’s a step up. And the fresh air is wonderful, so I slip into his car and relax back into the plush seat. It’s roomy and reminds me of traveling in the back of the limo with Mr. Gallego. I have to push that thought aside, though. I’m still not ready to grapple with that.

When he slides into the driver side, I give him what I hope to be my most radiant smile. “Haven’t you noticed? I’m always calm.”

Mikhail gives me a bemused, uneven smile as he starts up the car and we begin to pull out.

“It’s not a joyride—you need to get away from here. Away from all of this, where it’s safe,” he explains as the city passes me by. “I have people very close to me out of state who can keep you secure, away from prying eyes, as this all blows over. These are good people. Solid like the earth.”

“I get it. I mean, I don’t. This is way over my head, and you aren’t exactly a giving conversationalist, but... I trust you. I know it must be really serious,” I say. I know it’s important to him that I understand he’s not trying to be a jerk keeping me locked up. At least, I think so.

My words seem to reassure him, because my Russian giant of a man quiets up and keeps his eyes ahead. He takes us through the concrete jungle of New York with great care, no cop in the world having reason to stop us.

As we come to the bridge leading out of the city, a toll booth looms, and we wait in line.

“So how do you know these people?” I ask, just trying to drum up conversation.

“The leader of this club is my brother,” he says in his gravelly, low voice. “He has full run of the area. All his people are loyal, committed. They are to be trusted.”

Though thoughts of being hidden among a...
club
are more than a little upsetting to me. I know what he really means.

“So we’ll be staying with a
gang
, is what you’re saying?” I ask with a little more panic in my voice than I intended.

He shushes me silently as it comes our turn to pay the toll.

“We’ll be staying with friends and family,” he informs me as the toll booth operator watches with particular interest to us both. Maybe it’s the car. It does stand out, even in this crowd. “And don’t call it that when you’re with them. They’re sensitive to that,
da
?”

I keep quiet until the window is back up and we’re on the move again.

“Right, but how is a
gang
going to be safe for me, Mikhail?” I ask, earnest in my fear. Everything about my life, ever since the party, has been terrifying. And the only constant has been Mikhail. Quiet, imposing, in control...

I should trust him more, especially after last night, and so my hand reaches out to rest on top of his. I can feel the thick, bulging veins upon the back of his powerful hand jutting out so prominently. They remind me of another part of him, a more private part, that pulsed with blood and veins.

“I know you wouldn’t take me somewhere unsafe,” I finally say, taking a deep breath.

His gaze flicks down towards our hands, then over at me.

“A
gang
as you call it—a family—is the only thing that will keep you safe, my
kotika
,” he says. “These are good people. Not like me. They do what they do because they must. They do not deal like mobsters,” he explains to me patiently.

“I have a feeling that if you weren’t a good person, I’d be dead by now,” I murmur, not ready to admit that fully. It sends a cold shiver up and down my spine just saying the words, a pit of heavy dread in my stomach. My hand tightens upon his, and I relax.

“You presume upon my character too much,” he says, but he leaves it at that as we settle into the rest of the drive. My mind is left to wonder at all the ways in which he thinks himself not a good man. And of what that means for our future.

I’m so distracted I barely notice the maroon car that’s still behind us. I recall glimpsing one just like it since the moment we left the toll bridge.