Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(109)

I should just leave and break her heart. Make the motion quick, like removing a Band-Aid, but the second I said I’d stay, it was like her soul lit up the car. I’ve never had that kind of effect on people. I’ve never let myself get close enough to anyone...

“Better than my place,” she says as we close the door behind us. I lock it, then start to look around the room. I have to be able to navigate the room in the dark, just in case.

Alicia, meanwhile, heads right to the bed and takes off her ridiculously high heels.

“I don’t know how trophy wives do this. Six inch stilettos are for dinner and dancing only, not sitting in a car forever,” she says, but her voice is light and airy.

I can’t help myself, my gaze taken from the task of surveilling the room to look her over again. Her beautiful body is hidden beneath the pink yoga outfit I bought her but doing little to keep me from the memory of how she really looks beneath it all.

“There are worse things such women have to do,” I mutter, knowing where this is going. And knowing even more intimately what it is I have to do. For her own damn good.

“Yea, I’m sure spending sprees on someone else’s credit card is exhausting,” she teases with a flip of her long, blonde hair. She seemed so tired in the car, but now she’s perked up, her sense of humor returning. I force myself not to grin, though, and she cocks her head at me, her beautiful green eyes twinkling with mischief.

She thinks she knows what she’s doing, but she doesn’t. Sitting there like a vixen, leaning back just enough to show off the outline of her breasts beneath the stretchy fabric, her legs crossed so that I can see the curve of her ass, she feels like a temptress.

But I’m a man she doesn’t want to tempt.

I stride over toward her, reach out a hand. My calloused, ringed fingers sliding along her smooth, ivory cheek and back into her blonde hair. She tempts me, but she shouldn’t. I need to show her that.

“The kept woman of a mobster like me doesn’t just get to spend and relax,” I growl at her, my voice deep and menacing. I should know, I’ve seen many a man wet himself to my threats. “She has to earn it. Not just on her back, kotika,” I lick my lips, because as much as I’m being threatening, the thoughts are exciting me, “but on her knees.”

I watch her thoughts as they pass over her expression. Her curiosity melds into fear and desire all at once. It’s an intriguing mix, and her emerald eyes watch as I lick my lips and say the crass words. As a hitman, I have to be perceptive of everything, to every last twitch of a human face.

Usually it’s because I need to know when and how to kill someone.

This time it’s helpful, because I can see how excited she’s becoming, just by the flush in her cheeks and the way her chest rises and falls more quickly with her light breaths.

“Is that what you want?”

“That’s how it is,” I say, not exactly a direct answer, but it’ll do. I let my long fingers toy with her hair, my thumb brush her cheek and trace along her pretty face. “You didn’t think going down this road with me would be all sunshine and fairy tales, did you?” I ask, arching a brow and stepping in closer, my height advantage making me tower over her shapely form so menacingly. “Men like me demand a lot of their women.”

I’ve never been like this with women. In fact, I loathe the way the other mobsters push their girls around, cheat on them, use them. It’s the actions of tiny, insecure men.

But this isn’t for my benefit. It’s for hers.

She’s still trying to be brave, but I can feel the little tremor that tenses at her temple. I can see the way she looks towards the door, just for the briefest of moments before a smile touches her lips.

“I already survived round one, Mikhail.”

She’s still brazen, and I know I have to break that from her if I’m to knock any sense into her. So I move my hand around to the back of her head, knitting my fingers through her blond hair as I take hold. Then the pressure starts as I push her downwards, my free hand going to my waist, undoing the zipper on my pants.

“Then show me,” I husk. “Show me you’ve got what it takes to be a killer’s woman.”

Her body tenses for a second at the added pressure as she drops lower, but then she’s reaching out, one hand on my thigh, the other going for my cock as I let the thick, growing shaft loose of my pants. Her breathing gets harder, but she licks her full lips, and then she’s licking the tip of my crown, her eyes fluttering up to look at me as she does so.

It’d be the prettiest sight in the world, if it weren’t for what it means.