Assassin by Day

by Tessa Robertson

  “And why would you want to do that?” I ask demurely. Wooing hasn’t happened in like ten years. I deserve a little flirtation.

  Dylan rolls his eyes. “As if you don’t know.”

  I pick up the discarded books and walk by him. “Better explain it to me. It’s been a while,” I divulge, purposely bumping my shoulder into his.

  His hands are on me before I can move an inch. The books in my arms tumble to the hardwood with a thud.

  “I like being around you,” his husky voice informs.

  “Oh really? And why is that?”

  Gently, he pulls on a strand of my hair. “Because every second I’m near you drives me crazy.”

  Hmm, could be better, but I’ll take it. Glancing to the books at my feet, I slide them away and move a step closer. My mind buzzes on our secluded spot. The looming bookshelves will veil any provocative act we achieve, but the books sure as hell will wobble from their homes. You’d think I’d be all about humping and dumping, but right now, all I want is to make out with Dylan. Like hardcore, teenager macking until my lips bleed.

  “Rory, are you in today?” A voice asks from the front door.

  A whoosh of cold air circulates through the room like a plague, but I maintain my spot. Blinking, I can’t help but notice Dylan’s long eyelashes. Mascara companies would sell souls for those bad boys.

  Pushing beyond my body’s rampant urges, I answer, “Yeah, I’ll be right with you.” My eyes never leave his mouth as I utter the words I wish would disappear right along with my unexpected visitor. I don’t get many of them, but when I do, they’re always at the worst times.

  “I’ll gather the necessary items for your heater,” Dylan informs, pushing off the bookshelf. A row of books tilt on their side at the act, weeping his abandonment.

  I nod and saunter away from him. Giving him the satisfaction of my reaction would only further his already arrogant nature. No, if he wants me, Mr. Lumberjack needs to do a lot better than disrupting my book organization. My body desires dedication not sly flirting.

  Watching Dylan pull on his hat, I recognize the hint of longing in his eyes as pure as a blue moon. It seems his wishes mirror my own. I smirk. This will be fun.

  ***

  It’s tea time again in the wilderness of Colorado. I can’t complain. The annoying shriek of the teapot reminds me of my impending visitor. I pull out our usual mugs and lean against the counter. Dylan is putting the final touches on the heater.

  “It better fucking work this time,” I say to the empty room. It’s too bad the pretty appliances don’t get more use. Rarely do I venture to cook since the diner is across the street.

  The door screeches open and I turn my head towards it. Dylan’s heavy footfalls register when it closes. He’s clumsy at times, but I like it about him. Makes him more predictable and always easy to hear.

  “Done,” he announces, advancing to my personal bubble.

  If this was any other person, I’d shove them away, but I like the proximity. It sends ripples through my frozen tundra of a heart.

  “Great, thanks.”

  Dylan’s hand catches my wrist, and I automatically yank it, my memory flashing to when Alexei did the same act. When he holds me in place, I see my act wasn’t successful.

  “Rory, you must know why I come see you every day,” he says as he stands, still gripping me.

  My conscious screams to get away from him. All the times Alexei yanked and slapped me overwhelm my circuits, but I can’t move. Dylan’s hold is too powerful.

  I close my eyes and fight the urge to grab the knife hidden in the drawer behind me. There are weapons within arm’s reach throughout the place.

  This isn’t Alexei. I tell myself. He isn’t going to hurt me. I don’t know for certain. He could hurt me. He could fucking slaughter me and no one would miss me. Okay, I take it back. Nickolas would. I try to stay calm and use meditation breathing. Fuck that shit. It’s not helping.

  Dylan’s hold eases at last and I slide my eyes open to see his questioning brow. “Are you okay?” He moves closer, his six-foot-four-inch frame advancing until his toes touch mine.

  Looking up, I see his face is a mixture of concern and desire. Two things I adore on a man’s face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just not used to—” My voice trails off. What am I supposed to tell him? I’m not used to a man grabbing me without the intention of inflicting harm? I meet his gaze. He’ll know if I lie.

  “You can tell me.” He releases my wrist and cautiously wraps his arms around my waist. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear. I could never do that.”

  I wish I could believe him and spill my guts so he understood. I wish I could crawl under his skin and know nothing would hurt me again. “I can’t.”

  His warm breath graces my brow, advising that he’s too close. I inhale and regret it. He smells like firewood and wintry winds. Damn, he smells like a picnic in the woods.

  Before I know what’s happening, he tilts my head up and presses his lips to mine. I panic at first and urge myself to pull away, but my body won’t let me. His lips are too warm and taste of vanilla.

  My eyes flutter shut when he moves his mouth against mine. His hand remains on my chin, but when I give in and kiss him back, he digs his fingers into my hair. Startled at the intrusion, I pull back and gasp, but he’s right there to swallow my hesitation. He lightly tugs my head to him, and I readily allow it.

  His coarse beard tantalizes my mouth as he deepens the kiss. His tongue against mine is pure sin. My heart beats furiously as I tangle my tongue without recourse. His scent intoxicates me, but his tongue possesses me like an opiate.

  When he slides my body flush with his, I nearly lose the tightly wound control I’ve kept these past months. It’s been so long since I felt excitement rush through my veins. The hard lines of his body thrust upon mine sends delirious chills over every inch. I know without fear I’m already soaked.

  His hands wander up my sweater, and I resist the urge to strip to nothing to let him fondle every part of me. All I want is to feel his skin against mine. When his hands find my stomach, I shrink back. He feels so foreign, yet familiar at the same time. He doesn’t let my action stop him. Instead, it seems to encourage him.

  He snakes his hand up my stomach, blazing a trail until he reaches my breast. Of course, I’m not wearing a bra the day Dylan makes his move. I’d be lying if I said I forgot to wear one on the days he visits.

  He smiles against my lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were expecting me,” he teases before sucking the air from my lungs with his kiss.

  I can’t breathe. He won’t let me. It’s probably his plan to consume my oxygen so I can’t resist him. As if I have a choice. My body needs him. It has since I met him and every damned day since. I desire him, and I can’t stop the way my hands cling to his strong shoulders. The things display months of heavy lifting. Muscles on a guy are a weakness. How can they not be? I want a man who can toss me onto a bed, not the other way around.

  His hand caresses my breast and my body ripples in response. The increasing pool between my legs begs for him. He breaks free from my lips and starts kissing down my neck. As the oxygen makes its way to my brain again, I think rationally. I shouldn’t let him seduce me like this.

  I open my mouth to object, but he chooses that second to engulf my breast in his mouth. I stagger back, but he catches me with his steady arms. My body arches toward him, enticing him to continue his journey over my body. His tongue swirls around my bud and I moan in response. I bite my lip to prevent me from doing it again, but he’s ahead of me. He plunges his free hand down my pants, and I buck when he unexpectedly parts my legs.

  “Dylan, we shouldn’t,” I mumble before he goes any further. His only response is to playfully nip at my breast and slip one finger into my drenched core. I noisily pant when he adds a second and rhythmically caresses me.

  I clutch his shoulders and cling to him as he slides them in and out. “Ohhhh.”

 
His innocent act is more than enough to persuade me against ending this.

  “I don’t think you want me to stop,” he concludes against my chest. He moves to my other breast and licks my bud. It stiffens under his care. He lifts his eyes to me. “Do you?”

  I stare back into those possessive eyes. How could I turn him down when I don’t want him to stop? I slowly shake my head and he grins.

  “I didn’t think so.” He straightens to his full height, his hand still between my legs. He captures my lips with his, massaging his fingers in me as he does. My hips act without thought and sway toward him.

  As badly as I don’t want to make connections in Verde, I want Dylan as deeply in me as possible. His kisses mesmerize me. Fuck, he makes me forget why I hate men.

  He leans my back to the wall, his eagerness obvious through his jeans. His seemingly ginormous, hard shaft makes my body pulsate for him.

  “We can’t,” I remark when he unbuttons my pants.

  “Then why are you taking my jeans off?” He slides my pants over my hips.

  I look down and see my hands impatiently unbuckling his belt. It’s like I have no control of my body. Dylan drugs me with his kisses, and I’m acting instead of thinking. I’m starved of sex and this man whets my appetite with a singular glance. My nympho is emerging. God help us both.

  Dylan kneels before me, guiding my legs from my pants. He leaves my underwear on and nudges his nose between my legs. “Mm, you smell amazing,” he compliments, standing.

  Oh, fuck. I have zero motivation to leave. I couldn’t stop if the building was on fire. His power over me is curious. No man does this to me. No man makes me feel like a stranger in my own skin. The way Dylan touches me is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. He doesn’t want to merely have sex with me, he wants to fuck the living hell out of me.

  He pulls my sweater off my head and tosses it to the floor. I yank his jeans down and he kicks them away. His dark red sweatshirt is chucked before I can rip it off him. His lonely green boxers remain, attempting to conceal his jutting member.

  I lick my lips subconsciously then lift my head. His eyes are dangerously dark. I peruse his near nakedness. He’s beautiful, if a man can be beautiful. Not too fit, but not without definition to his muscles. He’d make any woman weep with anticipation just as I am now.

  “Are you sure we should? What about what people will say?” I’m apprehensive of what I’m risking. I’m supposed to be a nun in Verde. Oh, but my habit is torture when I see this devil of a man.

  He tugs at my arm, pulling me to the edge of the couch. “I’m very sure. I’ve wanted you since I laid eyes on you,” he announces, kissing my chest. “Screw what people think. I only care about what you think.” Tenderly he pulls down my underwear. “What you feel.”

  He’s right. I shouldn’t care what anyone says. They aren’t a part of what we’re doing. I deserve a little happiness after months of desolate despair.

  Guiding his hand to my aching core, I stifle a moan when his hand encompasses me. I slip my hand beneath his boxers and hold back a whimper. “Then let me feel everything you can give me.” His hot member scalds me when I envelope it in my hand.

  Dylan jaggedly pulls his boxers down then rubs his fingers over my clitoris. I gasp at his touch, but further dissolve into him. He knows what he’s doing. I know what I’m doing. I don’t want to play. We can do that later. Right now, I want him and badly.

  I crudely plunge my hands through his hair and meet his lust-glazed eyes. “Fuck me, Dylan. Fuck me now.”

  Without hesitation, he leans me against the wall so my toes are off the floor, and buries himself in me. I arch my back at his force and wrap my legs around his torso. “Ohh, damn!” I moan as he thrusts.

  He doesn’t halt his movement. In fact, he speeds up his tempo and my head hits the wall at his vigor. I drag my nails along his back, loving the way he groans as I press harder. “Fuck, yes,” his gravelly voice manages, furiously pounding into me.

  I’m ready to shatter when he kisses me, but hearing him enjoy me and feeling what he does to my body is more than enough to send me over the edge of oblivion. I clench my legs and drench him with my orgasm.

  “Yes! God, yes!” I scream as the bliss refuses to ease. It keeps going like a year’s worth of pent up tension.

  He bites my neck, making me squeal from the pleasure. I’m fully soaked. It drips out of me and slides to Dylan. I nibble his ear and he groans. He’s so close. I can feel it in the rough way he jousts his hips.

  When I catch his lips with mine, his resilience wanes. He empties himself into me, exasperating any opposition. Burying his head in the nape of my neck, he lets out a satisfied sigh. That sound only makes me want to screw him again and again until I’m sick of him.

  He leans his forehead on my chest, breathing heavily. His body jolts another time as he holds me steady against the wall.

  With slow movements, he lowers me enough so my feet hit the floor. As if I can feel anything in this moment. My body buzzes from the thrill he created. That was the first of its kind. This mountain man made me crumble like an avalanche. My ears hum from the after effects like a gushing river. If this is Colorado sex, I’m never leaving.

  To my astonishment, Dylan is still inside me. I didn’t have time to completely enamor his length before he screwed me. All I was thinking about was sex. Sex after so fucking long. I can’t believe what happened mere moments ago. I don’t come that fast, but it could’ve been due to my chastity.

  Not only is he the town’s handyman, he’s unquestionably the sturdiest man in the valley. I can’t help but study his form. His arms are on either side of my shoulders, trapping my escape. Not like I have anywhere to run to. This is my apartment. Okay, sort of. It’s not, but I’m rambling.

  My high is hurriedly leaving me, but Dylan isn’t. His head rests on my shoulder as if it was made solely for that purpose. This form of connection makes me uncomfortable.

  Stray flecks of sunlight stream in the window and splay over his body. He looks fabulous in this lighting, but it’s not a surprise to me.

  Thirty seconds pass without his movement, and I begin to wonder if he fell asleep. Many of the guys thus far fell asleep directly after sex, so why did I expect anything less? I roll my eyes and fidget. As much as I love sex, I’m not a fan of the mandatory cuddling after the deed. It could be because I was never given the opportunity to crave it. Slick and quick is my tune. There is less heartache there.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles, his beard tickling my skin as his fingers trace my bellybutton. For some odd reason, Dylan piques my soul.

  Finally, he kisses my neck then takes a step away. Instantly, I feel less whole without him inside me. “I normally have more self-control.”

  Taking another pace backwards, he switches on the light. He stands in his magnificent naked glory, searching my face as if I’m supposed to tell him what to do next.

  The hell if I know. I don’t know my next move, let alone his. Why is it up to me? Damn, men are infuriating. Can’t two people screw and that’s it?

  I clear my throat and push back my hair. Words are the last thing I want to use my mouth for. He opened my sex box. All I want is crazy, hot orgasms until I lose consciousness.

  His eyes scan my body. He needs to stop. “Do you want me to go?” he questions, moving his gaze to the heap of clothes.

  Yeah, it’s not what I want him to do, but he should leave. My life is already mangled enough to add a fuck buddy to it. He’s supposed to hold me over until Nickolas returns. My eyes slide over him, silently hungering for more. Why do I crave him even after completion?

  I spot my sweater and move to the couch. Slipping it over my head, I search for my pants. Where the hell did they go? I peek over at him. He’s waiting for my answer. Well, I don’t have one. I pull my sweater down and it barely covers my ass.

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll go,” he forces out, shuffling to the other end of the couch.

  I watch in silence as he
collects his clothes and separates his from mine. Hey look, my pants. I cross my legs and lean against the couch. It’d be easy to let him go. He wouldn’t come back, that much I’m certain. Men don’t enjoy being rejected, chiefly after coitus.

  I tilt my head and keep my eyes glued to him. The simple act of watching him scrounge for socks is adorable. I spot my nail marks on his back and hold back a smirk. Thank God he hasn’t put on his shirt yet. That’d be unfortunate. He finds his other sock. Dammit. It was by my underwear. He slips the socks on then his boxers, and I frown when he covers his slapable ass.

  I should want him to go. After all, this was a setback. One that wouldn’t have happened if stupid Nickolas would’ve at least left me a dildo. Dylan’s muscles knit tightly as he moves. I could write a sonnet about those abs, but I’m no poet.

  Now that I’ve tasted what this stud can give me, I don’t want to starve anymore. He held back tonight. I sensed it in his touch. He has so much to give. Fuck, I want to see his wild side, to cause so much havoc he begs for me.

  He’s buckling his belt when I speak in a hushed tone. “Stay,” I’m almost as surprised as he is when the words escape my lips. He pauses his hands as though he isn’t sure he heard correctly. Well, I said it, so I might as well mean it.

  Padding to where he stands, I gingerly trace down his chest with my index finger until I stop at his belt.

  “Please,” I say louder this time. I’m hesitant at how he’ll react. He makes love like an animal, but speaks as softly as fresh snow.

  “I want you to stay.” I lace my arms around his waist. Dear God, I can’t believe my own ears. I’m desperate for attention and he gives it to me in multitudes.

  Dylan looks uncertain, but manages to push my hair behind my shoulder. His silvery cobalt eyes search me until he moves his forehead to meet mine. “I think I can do that,” he replies, wrapping his arms to circle my hips.

  “Okay.” I take a breath and ignore the dull ache in my bones. Being connected to a man, even if solely for sex, muddies things. It’s why I left Virginia. Well, and a few dead bodies. Still, Dylan has no idea who he shares his body with.