Last Hit (Hitman #1)(30)
Author: Jessica Clare

It’s getting harder for me to concentrate; his fingers are hammering into my panties, and I’m losing control. I can’t keep his c*ck in my mouth. My lips are greedy for him, but my body is quivering and distracted, and my breath is coming in weird little pants. All the while, Nick is murmuring encouragement. I settle for rolling the thick, blunt head of his c*ck against my lips, letting the wetness move over them as I kiss it frantically and work my h*ps against his fingers.

Then, it’s there; that odd, wonderful tightening deep inside me that tells me I’m coming. I cry out, my body shuddering, and then Nick’s c*ck jerks in my hands. A warm spurt splashes across my lips, and then I realize he’s coming too. I pull back, but he continues to come, and it’s on my hands and face, and now his belly and jeans.

He cusses something again, and I feel his fingers slide out of my body. There’s an embarrassingly wet sound as they leave my sex, and then he’s rolling off the bed, heading to the bathroom.

And I’m left there, crouching on the bed with his sem*n splattered on my face and hands, my sex throbbing and slick from my own release. And I’m not entirely sure what to do. We didn’t cover this when we played around in the car.

To my relief, Nick returns a moment later, and comes to my side with a towel. Tenderly, he wipes at my face and hands. I can do it myself, but there’s a possessive look in his eyes that dares me to contradict him, so I don’t. He cleans me up, wipes down his belly, and then tosses the towel into the laundry hamper near the bathroom door. To my surprise, he returns back to the bathroom, and I hear water running. A moment later, he appears with a wet washcloth.

"Take your panties off."

I gasp. "Why?"

"So I can take care of you."

My face burns with embarrassment as I slide off my now-wet panties. Nick draws me close to him and moves the warm, wet washcloth between my legs, bathing me. His gaze is on my face the entire time, and to my horror, I begin to get aroused all over again.

"Are you sore, Daisy?"

His whispered words are embarrassing to me. "It hurt a little, but it wasn’t a bad hurt."

He brushes my hair away from my face and tenderly kisses my mouth. "I must remember to be more careful with you. You are treasure, and I don’t want to hurt you. I just…lost control of myself. I had to touch you."

"I’m glad you did," I say shyly, and I wrap my arms around his neck.

He gives me another long kiss, and then he nods at the bed. "Come. Now we sleep, da?"

And this time, when he pulls me against his side, I’m able to relax and go to sleep. I curl up against him and think that Nick being in my bed—and in my life—is the best thing ever.

I’m so glad I ran away. My hand pets Nick, but it’s not an exploratory petting, not like before. It’s a comforting, soothing, just-checking-to-make-sure-you’re-really-there sort of motion. I think of the circles under Nick’s eyes, and I feel a momentary stab of guilt that I’ve kept him awake. He’s exhausted, and whatever his job is, it must be taking a lot out of him.

I consider this for a moment. "Nick."

"Mmm?" His voice is sleepy, and he hugs me tighter.

"Do you still watch me?" It’s occurred to me that I work late hours, and he seems to know intimate details of my job.

"Da."

"While I’m at work?"

He is silent for a long, long moment, which means he is trying to cobble together a bad lie. After a moment, he heaves a sigh. "Da. It is not a safe job. I worry."

I sit up in bed, regarding him. "You’re exhausted. You can’t be up all hours watching me."

His eyes regard me in the dark, now wide awake. "You said you did not mind."

"I said I don’t mind if you watch me and I know about it. But there’s a difference between watching and stalking. I’m fine at work. They have security cameras and everything." I give him my most stubborn look. "I don’t want you watching me there, okay?"

"Is not up for discussion—"

"Nick," I say in a warning tone. "I’m serious. If you can’t respect that about our relationship, I don’t know that we can have one."

His eyes go cold. "Do you put an ultimatum on me, Daisy?"

"Yes, I do," I say. And my heart squeezes with pain, but this is important. "My father trapped me in our house for twenty-one years because he needed to control everything I did. The reason why we—why you and I—work so well is because you let me have as much control as I want." I reach a hand out and lay it flat on his chest, a silent entreaty. "But if you can’t respect my boundaries, you’re no better than him."

He is silent for so long that I know he’s angry. I expect him to get out of bed and leave. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks at me with those sad, tortured eyes and brushes a finger along my jawline. "Da. I do this for you, Daisy. I will only watch you here in your apartment. This is all right?"

"Yes," I say, relieved. "Spasiba."

He laughs, surprised at my Russian. "Why do you thank me?"

"For caring enough to care about how I feel."

He pulls me close again, snuggling with me on the bed. "I do not think you realize, Daisy. You are everything to me."

Chapter Eleven

DAISY

"Man, this weather is awful." Regan peers out the window at the pouring rain and recoils when it thunders. "You sure you want to walk to work? I can drive you."

"It’s only two blocks," I say, reaching for my coat. I shrug it on and then head to the window that Regan is peering out. It does look awful outside. I hesitate, watching the rain slant sideways. By the time I get to work, I will be soaked, and it will make for a miserable evening. There’s no point in taking the bus, though, not for a walk of two blocks. I consider Regan’s offer. "If you drive me, can you pick me up, too?"

She gives me a thumbs up and then just as quickly frowns. "Oh. I’d have to borrow your phone. I dropped mine yesterday and now it won’t work."

I glance out the window again, at the furious storm, and then I reluctantly pull my phone out of my pocket. I don’t want to give Regan my phone. It’s my only connection to Nick while he’s out of town. I’ll miss his sweet, thoughtful texts that make the hours at work pass faster. But it’s either that or sit in soaked clothing behind the counter all night. With only a little hesitation, I hand her my phone. "If Nick calls, just let it go to voicemail."

"Of course," Regan says, pocketing my phone and not even glancing at the screen. "There’s no dirty selfies on here, are there?"

"What? No!"

"I’m kidding, I’m kidding, Pollyanna." She waves a hand at me. "I’m not going to look at your phone. Don’t freak out. I won’t even use it. Just call it when you’re ready to be picked up, and I’ll hop into the car. I promise."

I nod. "I trust you." She’s my only friend besides Nick. Of course I trust her.

"So…you and Nick are pretty serious, huh?" She turns away from the window and heads to the counter to grab her car keys.

"I think so."

"He’s your first serious relationship, isn’t he?"

I nod, though I can feel the blush stinging my cheeks.

Regan puts a hand on my shoulder, the look on her face serious. "I know you’re pretty innocent, Pollyanna. Do we need to have a birds and the bees talk?"

"I know how sex works, Regan!" I can’t believe we are having this conversation. Regan’s not more than a year older than me. Sexually, though, I suppose she is vastly more experienced than I am, even after my few encounters with Nick.

"I’m just looking out for you, girlfriend." She pats my shoulder. "I’m glad to hear it, though. Don’t let him pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do."

"Nick’s not like that," I protest. If anything, I am the one pressuring Nick into more sexual experimentation than he’s asked for. I’m just so eager to experience all of what life has to offer that I can’t hold back. I’m greedy with him. He offers me kisses, and I want more. "You don’t have to worry."

"I can’t help but worry," Regan says as we step out of the apartment and into the hallway. "You’re just so sweet and innocent. I kinda thought you’d be with, I don’t know. A different type than him."

"What do you mean, his type?" Now I’m curious what she thinks.

"I don’t know. I just pictured you with some nice, equally innocent, sweater-wearing mama’s boy. Not one that runs around on a crotch rocket."

I think of my Nick, with his tattooed hands and strong body and eyes that can be so cold…until they look at me. Then they have all the warmth in the world. "He owns a sweater," I mumble. At least, I am pretty sure he does.

"Like I said, I’m just looking out for you," she says, and there is concern in her eyes as we head down the hall and down the stairs. "I know it’s none of my business, but I feel a bit like an older sister around you, and I’m just trying to make sure you don’t get hurt."

"Nick would never hurt me," I say softly, and I know it’s the truth. He keeps warning me away from him, as if certain I will wake up and realize he is bad for me. He doesn’t realize that I love his differences. I don’t mind that he’s had a hard, ugly life before we met. I know what it’s like to not want your past to define you. Only the present matters, and in the present, I am with Nick, and he is with me, and what I feel for him can’t be contained by regular words or thoughts.

"Once you meet him, you’ll see what a great guy he is." I think it’s sweet that Regan is concerned. She is a good friend. She voices her concerns, but in the end, it is still my choice, and I have made it.

I feel nak*d without my phone in my hand. Surely I can surely go a few hours without Nick’s texts, though I already feel their loss keenly.

"So are you expecting a call from Nick?" Regan asks. "Want me to call you up at the gas station if he calls?"

"I don’t know that he’ll call me," I tell her honestly. "He’s out of town."

"Business?"

"I think so."

"What’s he do?"

"Computer stuff," I tell her. Nick hasn’t really said too much about what he does, and I haven’t asked. It’s clear that he doesn’t want it to define him, and I understand that. I am no more just a gas station employee than he is…well, whatever he is.

From what Nick has told me and his sense of shame at his profession, I suspect it is something not entirely legal. Perhaps he pirates movies and sells them on the Internet. Maybe he is a hacker. Either of these is possible, and neither matters, though I do worry that one day his calls will be from jail.

But Nick is a grown man. I don’t want to control him any more than I want him to control me. So I haven’t broached the subject. When he wants me to know more, he’ll tell me.

"Well, regardless," Regan says as we get to the bottom of the stairs. "If he calls, I won’t answer."

"Thank you," I tell her. And a moment later, I add, "But you’ll still call me and tell me, right?"

She laughs. "Will do."

With my phone and Nick to text, a night at work never seems to drag.

Without both, the hours tick by slowly. I stare at the security monitors for an eternity—the most boring television viewing ever, even compared to PBS—and think about Nick instead. Does he miss me? Is he thinking about me? Is he texting me and wondering where I am? I should have texted him to let him know Regan has my phone. I didn’t think about it, and now he’ll be wondering where I’m at. Poor Nick. His evening will be just as lifeless as mine.