Viper: A Hitman Romance

by Girard, Zahra

  His irritation is palpable. But I know I'll change his mind. I'm about to cook one of my specialties.

  We unload the groceries: scallops, arborio rice, parmesan, onions, garlic, lemon, asparagus, and some other veggies to make a salad.

  I set to work cooking right away. Dicing vegetables, chopping onions, mincing garlic.

  I set the salad aside. It's risotto time, now.

  And time for more scotch.

  Ryker and I both refill our glasses. It's like we've settled into our own twisted little domestic situation. He watches ESPN and I bustle about the kitchen. I'm the kidnapped housewife, he's the kidnapping killer, and it works. Lifetimes probably already made something like it into a movie.

  Onions and garlic sizzle in olive oil. Once they're browned, I throw in the rice.

  I stir it in the olive oil for a bit until it has some color, then, one ladleful at a time, I add some chicken stock while stirring frequently. Twenty minutes later, I add in the asparagus, some squeezes of lemon juice. Ten minutes after that, in goes a boatload of parmesan.

  To top it all — seared scallops.

  It's good.

  "Dinner's done, honey," I call out. It's sarcastic, but, hey, the domestic stuff is fun. And cooking's a stress-reliever, too, which I can still use right now even though I'm feeling more at-ease around Ryker.

  That image of him going 'Pew pew pew' to the policeman is something I'll never forget. And never not laugh at.

  "This smells delicious," he says. There's a note of appreciation in his voice that makes me beam.

  He sounds a lot less stressed, and I saw him more than a couple times look up from ESPN to check out what was going on here in the kitchen.

  I get him a plate, load it up with risotto, and top it with four perfectly-seared scallops.

  One bite later, he's smiling and grunting in appreciation. That smile just lights me up. I feel proud.

  "Jessica, you're the best hostage I've ever had. I may just keep you around once this is all over."

  "As your kitchen wench?"

  "Among other things." He grins and winks.

  That grin is rakish, his green eyes devour me, and I feel every part of me start pulsing with heat. I'm probably smiling too, but, at this point, I've had so much to drink I can't really feel my face.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RYKER

  I don't know what to make of this woman.

  Jessica Roan. What kind of puzzle are you? And just what are you doing to me?

  She pushes every single one of my buttons. And when she should be terrified, she's smiling instead.

  And when I should be able to pull the trigger and put a bullet in the head of some worthless punk like Mr. Hero, instead, I'm putting one through his shoulder and practically sending him on his way with some cookies and a gentle pat on the ass.

  All because of her. Because one look from her has me as gentle as a pussy cat.

  And god damn that woman can cook.

  The smells. The scent gets deep inside me, filling me, and reminding me that I haven't had a home-cooked meal in nearly a decade.

  The first plate she gives me disappears in a second. I mumble something complimentary to her. Then I wolf that shit down, go back for seconds, and contemplate thirds while drinking my umpteenth glass of scotch on the couch.

  She's sitting across from me, also on seconds, and looking at me expectantly.

  Other than flirting a bit when she serves me, I'm quiet. Well, not so much quiet, as I am fully occupied eating her food. Which should speak for itself, but I don't begrudge Jessica for wanting to be told that her food is delicious.

  "That was good. Real good. Where'd you learn to cook like that?"

  She is beaming. There's a blush that settles on her cheeks and chest, just above the incredible cleavage she's showing with that little black dress of hers. It's eye-catching and I shift in my seat, doing my best to cover up the tent my hardening cock is raising in my pants.

  "I've been mom and dad to my little brother since my Sophomore year of college. Getting a teenager to eat a home cooked meal is probably the quickest way to learn how to make something taste good."

  "So, you've been doing it all on your own?"

  Jessica nods, then takes another bite. "Mostly. He helps, too. We take care of each other. I don't think either of us would have made it without the other. Life can be really hard when you only have one family member left. But, it's just my luck that now I might find out what it's like to be totally alone in the world."

  "I'm sorry," I say.

  My arms around her before I even realize it. Being alone is part and parcel of my job, but it's not easy, even if it's necessary to protect the ones I care about.

  "There's nothing to apologize for. I just have to be there for him and do the best I can."

  "He'll make it," I say. I want him to make it. I want Jessica to have someone. And it echoes in my voice.

  Jessica leans into me, her head nuzzling into the crook of my shoulder and her eyes looking up at me. "Thanks. I know there's nothing you can do, but it still feels good hearing that."

  I'm rock hard, yet this woman is turning me into a softie. How the hell does that work?

  Those eyes are just begging for me to come in and kiss her. And so is the view down her dress. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph those tits are ridiculous.

  "What about you? Do you have anyone?"

  Those eyes are just begging for me to have her. They're like magnets to my iron-hard cock.

  "No one. You can't be in this business and have those kind of liabilities around."

  I know that better than most. Hence, taking this high-paying mission for the repulsive Michael Drax.

  "Is that what all they are? Liabilities?"

  "Maybe it's the other way around. I can't be in this business and care about people. I'm a threat to their safety."

  "Come on. You've never cared for anyone?"

  The way she's looking at me, I know any lie I try to tell her would die on my tongue. So, I shake my head instead.

  "No one. Jessica, if I got close to anyone, they'd become a target. And the people that'd target them do not miss."

  She rolls her eyes. "What about me? I definitely felt something last night in the parking lot. You didn't have to try and pick me up at that bar. You could've just pulled a gun on me instead."

  She squeezes my leg, high up on my thigh, and blood pulses in my cock. I feel lightheaded. It might be the scotch, or it might be the fact that most of my blood supply is currently coursing to my crotch.

  "So why did you flirt with me? Why did you sing to me?"

  "I improvised. I could've pulled a gun on you, yeah, but I decided to have a little fun instead…"

  "Fun?"

  "It isn't often I get paid to pick up the most attractive woman at a bar. So, yeah, I wanted to have a little fun."

  "Fun, like this…?"

  I open my mouth to answer her, but the sound of my zipper coming undone shuts me up.

  She pulls me out of my briefs. I'm rock hard, and her hand looks small circling around my cock. Jessica hesitates for a second, looking at me.

  She licks her lips.

  She opens her mouth.

  Every nerve in my body explodes at the wet, warm sensation of her mouth around my cock. The world goes black for a second, then I force my eyes open again. Looking down, she's looking back at me, eyes still wide.

  "What are you doing?" My voice is vibrating deep in my chest, a long, low rumble.

  "Improvising," she says, taking my cock out of her mouth for just a second. "Having fun."

  She swallows me again.

  Heat pulses through my veins. All I can feel is the back of her throat against the head of my cock and her tongue stroking up and down my shaft.

  Her hand grips the base of my cock and gives it one long, slow tug.

  I groan.

  "Is that what this is?"

  I slid my hand down her back, down the smooth silk dress, until I reac
h the hem and lift it up. Underneath, it's the barest whisper of panties that easily slide away from her smooth pussy.

  She's wet, dripping.

  I tease the edges of her pussy with my fingers. Slowly caressing her smooth lips before applying gentle pressure to her clit. She shakes at my touch, like my finger's just hit a release inside her for all the tension that's been building between us.

  And god damn, the sigh she makes while her head bobs up and down on my cock has me so hard it almost hurts. She's only able to take me halfway, but fuck if she isn't trying for more.

  "Don't you like improvising?" she asks.

  "Fuck yes."

  I stand. Jessica kneels in front of me, latching her lips around my cock. She is voracious, and my eyes shut again while I savor the slick sensation of her throat around my cock.

  "More," I growl.

  Gagging, she bobs her head forward, swallowing me deeper. The tight walls of her throat grip my cock like a vise and she's got me to the base. No one's ever done that before.

  She pulls back, popping me out of her mouth. Saliva runs down her cheeks and she grins at me, proud.

  "Like that?" she asks.

  "That's a start."

  Leaning forward, I grab her by her arms and wrench them behind her back. S

  The handcuffs are in my back pocket. They come out to play and snap around her wrists, cold hard steel locking tight around her wrists.

  This is my house. She is my captive.

  One quick motion and I lift her to her feet and then push her backwards on the couch.

  She knows what I want, and her legs are spread even before I'm on my knees in front of her.

  I dive right in. I explore every wet fold, every groove in that sweet pussy and her breathless moans are music to my ears.

  I slide my hands up the back of her legs, grabbing her by the ass and pulling her tighter against my face. Her scent fills my nostrils and her taste overwhelms my tongue. It is pure sex — unadulterated, intoxicating.

  Pale-white, silky-smooth thighs clamp down around my face and her lithe legs lock behind my back. I'm locked in the best prison on earth with a throbbing-hard cock and a woman hotter than anything in my wildest wet dreams.

  This just might be the best job I've ever had.

  My tongue has her squirming and shaking like she's forgotten how her body works. Her thighs flex against my face, her hips grind her pussy up and down against my face, slicking everything they touch with the primal mix of my saliva and her juices.

  She's ready to explode and I need release.

  I stand.

  "Are you ready?" I ask.

  But I don't even wait for her hurried nod. We are improvising, after all.

  I take her. Slow at first. She's tight, every inch of her is warm, wet heaven and it takes every bit of willpower I have not to fuck her into oblivion.

  But it's hard to keep control. The way her wet walls grip my cock puts me in an out-of-body state. The way she's looking up at me, eyes half-open, perfect tits bouncing out of her dress, pale legs locked around my back; it's intoxicating. I'm drunk on Jessica Roan.

  "Fuck me harder," she moans.

  I don't think I've heard anything more beautiful in my entire life.

  I pin her tight against the couch.

  I'm a piston inside her tight pussy, filling her with my thick cock until she squeals. I adjust my angle, hitting just that spot that she lets out a soft 'ooh' before her world explodes and I get to watch as her eyes flutter open and shut at a thousand times a second and a blushing glow covers her from tits to cheeks.

  "Fuck," she whispers. "Fuck fuck fuck."

  She's still shaking. Aftershocks rock her body.

  Time seems to slow and I love it, because I'm going to savor this moment for the rest of my life. I'm about to climax, but I bite my lip and fight on because there's one more thing I need.

  I pull out. It's the hardest thing I've ever done.

  "What?" is all she manages to moan.

  She wants it. Even this split-second is too much for her to be apart from my cock. She's looking at me like I just murdered a puppy right in front of her.

  "Get up. Turn around." My voice is so guttural I hardly even recognize my self.

  She flips over. Every inch of her is curvy and gorgeous. Pale plump ass and puffy pussy lips. Just the sight of it has my cock aching to pop.

  I grip her by her hips with one hand and guide my aching cock into her with the other. As soon as I'm inside, it's game on. No more slow and gentle, this is pure fucking lust.

  I grab her by the chain of the cuffs, pulling back on it hard.

  She shouts for me to go harder. Cum is boiling inside my cock and my only thought is how deep I can bury my dick inside her before I let loose.

  Turns out, it's pretty deep.

  Deep enough to make her squirm. Deep enough that she's howling for me to come. Deep enough that I feel her ass pressed tight against my stomach as every single hard inch of me is exploring her from the inside.

  Jessica is shaking. Her legs shiver and the only thing holding her up is my grip on her hips and handcuffs.

  I take a moment. I spank her, again and again, and admire the ripples that cover her plump ass.

  The ass on this woman.

  And then it feels like every bit of me is flowing into her. My feet go numb, and this tingling heat lights me up from my toes to the top of my head. My world is her, and the indescribable feeling she brings out in me.

  I'm on the couch before I know it, panting. She collapses next to me, and we're both covered in sweat and our own juices.

  She whirls, and next thing I know, she wraps her lips around my cock.

  I want to shake her off. The sensation is more than I can take.

  But her lips and her eyes hold me in place.

  She's sucking me hard again.

  My cock doesn't need much encouragement. With a woman like this, with her curves, the effect is almost instant.

  I take a deep breath, steady myself, and I'm ready to go.

  Jessica slithers up my body and we lock lips. I can taste myself on her. I can taste her, too. This woman is better than any liquor or any drug, and I'm happy to be an addict.

  "Upstairs. Bedroom. Now."

  "Yes, sir."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JESSICA

  Do my legs still work?

  Nature wakes me up. Everything's sore. Except for a few parts of me, which are just numb.

  My legs are the latter.

  I think I forgot my name while he was fucking me.

  Which was fine, because I sure knew what his was. My throat is still raw from screaming it over and over again.

  Ryker is next to me in the bed, in the deep kind of sleep that only comes about after downing a ton of scotch and having sex until you pass out.

  I was in that same kind of sleep.

  Thankfully, the handcuffs are on the nightstand and not on my wrists. Not that they weren't used. First on me, then on him.

  I shiver in delight just thinking about it.

  I can't even describe how hot it was having every raw, powerful inch of him entirely at my mercy. Thinking about it makes my sex thrum with lust. If he woke up right now, I could probably suck him hard again and we could have even more fun.

  Hopping quietly to get the blood flowing back into my appendages, I quietly make my way to the bathroom. While I'm sitting there, I realize that my mind and my body are both thoroughly fucked at this point.

  I don't know who or what Ryker is. He's more than just my kidnapper at this point, and I'm more than just a regular captive. Things are complicated. Because, as much as I should be frightened of him, I keep seeing flashes of a man who's so much more than just a hired killer.

  I know he has a secret. I know I want to help him. I know I care about him.

  This isn't Stockholm syndrome. That doesn't happen overnight. And it doesn't start with a jaw-droppingly handsome man picking you up at a bar.

 
Beyond that, I know nothing about him aside from the fact that he's the most terrifying thing on this earth when he's angry. Oh, and that he's about as well endowed as a thoroughbred and has the endurance to match.

  Other than that, he's a total mystery. But he's one I want to solve. Or at least explore for a while longer.

  I wash up, and I go back to the bedroom. He's still asleep.

  There's a whole novel of scars and tattoos written on that body of his. A life story that he's kept to himself out of the well-founded fear that he can't trust anyone.

  I sit and read him by moonlight.

  And I wonder.

  According to him, there's no one close to him. No one in his life. The only things he keeps close are his guns and his money.

  So, then, why give it all up? Why retire? Especially since he seems tailor-made to be the perfect hitman.

  That's what I can't understand. It's like death deciding to hang up the scythe so he can go farm sunflowers in Kansas or something. It just doesn't make sense.

  As I'm watching him sleep, I know I need to find out more. There's a reason I work evidence analysis for the FBI — I'm good at figuring out these kind of questions.

  I head upstairs. I take each step super slow. Partly because making noise would mean waking up Ryker, and partly because my legs still feel like they're made out of half-formed jello.

  The office door is unlocked. It opens quietly.

  Inside is the perfect picture of military organization. It's a drill-sergeant's wet dream. There's a bookshelf of combat field manuals, language books, and other non-fiction pieces, all organized alphabetically and by subject.

  The desktop is empty. Dust-free, spotless, and solid — its metal and seriously heavy-duty. It could probably even take a few gunshots and still hold onto its secrets.

  Fortunately for me, it's not locked.

  The first drawer is empty except for a few pens, paper clips, and some rubber bands. There's a wicked-sharp letter-opener in there as well.

  The second drawer is full of files, manila folders, and dossiers on people ranging from war criminals to CEOs to heads-of-state. And all of their dirty secrets. I flip through a few of them, some of which have handwritten notes about everything from their taste in prostitutes to what brand of cigar they prefer.