The Assassin's Wife

by Nikita Slater

  “Blyad, this is going to fucking hurt,” he grumbled.

  He glanced back out the door and sized up the men taking wild shots at him. One particular gentleman was quite large. He could do nicely. David cleared his throat quietly, made a loud pained sound, then lunged away from the door, giving the cartel thug the opening he would need. Thankfully, the lumbering idiot took David’s invitation, crashing through the door, shooting wildly.

  David was on him before he could blink, twisting the man’s gun from his now broken fingers and crushing his windpipe in an instant. His compatriot’s must have realized that he had not killed the intruder as they began shooting into the room once more. David used the bigger man as a crude shield, before shoving him toward the window, twisting sideways at the last moment to use his bulk to shatter the window. Luckily, David only had to listen to the man’s choking sounds for less than a second before they landed on the pool tiles. Unfortunately, for his new Columbian friend, he was on the bottom.

  David rolled and strode away before those within the house figured out what happened and blazed to life. Already the lawn had come alive with lights and shouting men. David was an expert at hiding in plain sight. He strode purposefully across the wide expanse of the estate as though he belonged nowhere else in the world, responding in rapid-fire Spanish when spoken to, and with bullets when common language didn’t work. By the time he made it back to the Southern edge of the property he was down to seven bullets. He considered it a bonus that he hadn’t had to use his knives. He preferred the eloquence of bullets to the caveman tactics of a blade, though he was proficient in both weapons.

  He’d made it out with fewer bullets and more noise than planned, but the goal was ultimately achieved. The mark was dead and David was alive. The Moreno Columbia job would end up becoming the Tokyo night club all over again; a legend among assassin circles. He snorted. He preferred to keep his jobs quieter, but sometimes they did not go as he wished.

  He crouched at the base of a tree at the rendezvous point and awaited his pick-up with impatience. Adrenalin pumped through his veins and blood ran down his forearm, soaking into the cuff of his fine, black shirt and dripping off the ends of his fingers. He unbuttoned the cuff and tore the fabric away from his arm, inspecting the damage. It was a shallow wound. A stupid wound that should not have happened. He should have killed the fucking woman when he had her in his sights.

  He flexed his arm until the veins popped and used the edge of his shirt to wipe the dripping blood from his skin. He unwound a leather band from his wrist and wrapped it around his arm just under the elbow, tying it tightly to keep the blood flow at a minimum until he could get back to the hotel room and properly take care of the wound.

  First though, before he took care of his wound, he needed to take care of something else. He needed to fuck. He needed to fuck his wife, right fucking now. Where was that goddamned transport?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  All she could think about was the possibility that he might die. What if someone killed him? Why had it never occurred to her in all that time that she was running away from David that his job was dangerous? Yes, she’d been scared, but she loved her husband. She had always loved her husband. If the thought of him being hurt had once crossed her mind, she probably would have started running toward him, instead of away from him.

  God, she was so confused! Should she stay with him and hope he had told her the truth when he promised with his touch and his eyes that day in the studio that she and the baby were safe? Or should she do what she knew was best, protect their unborn child, and lie to him?

  She paced back and forth past the end of the bed, listening intently for the scrape of the lock. Over the past hours of his absence she had showered twice, washed her hair twice, shaved almost every inch of her body twice. Unnecessarily. She had brushed her hair over and over. She had brushed her teeth over and over. When endless grooming had finally become demotivating, she had tried to settle down with a magazine and ended up turning the pages to shreds, which now littered the trashcan. She thought about trying a book next, but decided she’d better not in case it turned into confetti under her nervous fingers.

  Tasha had changed three times in her agitation, deeming each outfit uncomfortable and inappropriate. She had worn a sophisticated silver cocktail dress, then tossed it away, scoffing at herself. David hadn’t allowed her to leave their room once since their arrival almost three days ago. What need would she have of a fancy dress? He would laugh at her when he returned. Why had she even packed such a silly garment?

  It was his fault, she thought in annoyance, he was the one that had filled her closet at the cabin with such frivolous things. Where in the Canadian wilderness would she wear it?

  Next, she had put on a pair of yoga pants and a sports top. She’d immediately yanked the ridiculous outfit off. Too restrictive! Finally, she had settled on a sleeveless mid-thigh length, light purple dress. It flowed with her movement as she paced and was perfect for the weather if David ever allowed her to go out of doors.

  “Oooh,” she moaned, pressing a hand against her chest as she twirled on one foot and walked smoothly across the room in the other direction. “Come back to me, David!”

  She nearly jumped out of her skin when, seconds later, she heard the door. Her eyes snapped up as the lock turned and the door swung inward. David stepped in, filling the room with his intense presence in an instant. She wanted to rush to him, to check him all over, to yell at him and to beg him to never leave. Instead she stood frozen to the spot, barely breathing. Every thought fled her brain as he stepped slowly into the room and closed the door.

  Thunk.

  The lock clicked into place under his fingers. He took a few more steps away from the door. Toward her. Tension swirled in the room. Death and violence radiated all around him. She could see it on his face, which was no longer his usual look of blank expressionless. It held something else. Something she didn’t want to define. Because, god help her, she was responding to whatever was happening to him. He was looking at her as though he would devour her, eat her and crush her. Maybe all at once. And she wanted it. She could feel herself growing wet. Warmth filled her lower belly and her nipples became hard, pushing against the soft fabric of the dress. His gaze was locked on her chest. He knew she was responding the raw, intense lust he was directing straight at her. Her dormant libido was finally waking up and it was not in the sweet, gentle way she had imagined.

  She could smell blood. She frowned, worried that he was hurt. She licked her suddenly dry lips and opened her mouth to ask him if he was bleeding. He didn’t give her the chance to speak.

  “Take off the dress, Natasha,” he growled.

  She gasped, her eyes dilating in response. His voice was like a whip, snapping at her from across the space that separated them, it was so filled with dark tension. She tried to force her brain to move, to process his words, but she felt frozen in the presence of such a predator. Such intense, swirling, violent emotion. Her heart pounded so loud she was certain he could feel her vibrations from across the room.

  “The dress, now!” he snapped, anger leaking into his voice. He yanked his jacket off his shoulders and dropping it to the floor.

  Her shaking fingers flew behind her to the zipper between her shoulder blades. She had to struggle a little to reach it, her fumbling fingers making her situation worse. Finally, she managed to pull the zipper all the way down her back, just past her panties. She reached up and slid the wide purple straps down her arms and tugged until the dress landed on her hips. His gaze never left her body as the garment fell the rest of the way to the carpet.

  She could see that the sleeve of his shirt was ruined, torn up the side and pushed back. A leather band was tied up just under his elbow. She gasped when she saw the jagged wound that ran the length of his forearm. It was crusted in blood so dark it looked almost black. She lurched forward, intent on running to him, but he stopped her.

  “Stay where you are, Natash
a,” he barked. Then his hot, obsidian eyes flicked down her body, landing on her barely covered pussy. “Panties.”

  Her breath came out in a sharp gasp. “But, David,” she pleaded softly, “you’re hurt…”

  “Take. Them. Off.”

  She jumped. The tone in his voice was one that she could not argue with. His usual quiet insistence was gone, his accent was much stronger, more guttural than usual. He had become a monster. But this version of David was not new to her, she had seen him before. Twice, in their brief marriage, before she’d run away from him. She just hadn’t understood where he’d come from. Now she understood. This was the man that had come to her bed after he’d killed someone – or perhaps many people. God help her, those times had been the best sex of her life. David could not contain the aggression on those occasions. She knew she should be horrified. Should probably insist he go shower away the blood and the death and then let her take care of his wound.

  She would not. And not only because he wouldn’t give her a choice – he would fuck her no matter what she said to him now. But because she wanted it as bad as he did. She wanted the monster unleashed. She wanted the man behind the carefully controlled assassin.

  Heart pounding in her chest she dipped her fingers into the edges of her panties and slowly slid them down her legs, leaning forward, purposely allowing her hair to fall forward, covering her actions from him. His growl of annoyance was enough to tell her she was correct. His restraint was nearly gone.

  She stood up slowly, flicking her hair dark back to flow over her sleight curves, revealing her pale body to his hungry razor-sharp gaze. Taunting the beast. She could feel the slick fluid between her thighs, knew she would be ready for whatever he planned on doing to her. The thought had her biting her lip to keep a moan from bursting through. She kept her hands at her sides, her fingers open, despite her need to cover herself, even a little, from the fierce penetrating stare he was treating her to now. No man could do intense like her David.

  “On the bed, Natasha,” he said, his voice once more a lash in the sinister quiet of the room.

  As she moved gracefully to the bed, she wondered about those last seconds as his victims saw him before they died. This man she now faced as she kneeled on the bed and turned toward him. Were they frightened? Or did they embrace their imminent demise, knowing an angel of death would guide them? The power radiating from him was thick and palpable. It enveloped everything. It had called to her from the very beginning of their relationship. It had both urged her to run far and fast from this man, while simultaneously capturing her and binding her to his side. Thank god, when David had finally come for her in a professional capacity, he had not been able to follow through. His obsession for her would always allow her life to continue.

  He stepped toward the bed, pinning her with his relentless dark gaze as he unbuckled his holster and dropped it guns and all, then wrenched his shirt from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor, heedless of his injury. She flicked a glance toward the jagged gash, hoping it wouldn’t cause permanent damage. It was his left arm, not his dominant hand. She wondered if he was in pain, if she should try to help him.

  “Eyes, Natasha,” he gritted out, his voice a deep crack.

  Her eyes snapped back to his face, her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. He seemed angry that her attention had drifted for even that tiny second. She jerked her head in a quick nod and kept her eyes on his face while he dropped his hands to his belt. She could see his strong fingers moving in her periphery, sliding the leather through metal then pulling the belt through the loops. The sound made her shiver, reminded her of the way he’d promised to punish her body, the terrifying anger he’d played out across her flesh with the candle wax when he’d finally gotten his hands on her after two long years of searching. Of the weeks that followed as he’d simultaneously tortured her body while coaxing her into orgasm after orgasm. God, the pleasure he’d given her had almost been worth the fear and the pain.

  Shivers ran through her body leaving a wake of tiny bumps in their path, as she waited desperately for his harsh touch, knowing he would make it so good for her. How could it be otherwise? David never left this wife unsatisfied… even when she was bad.

  Her eyes remained locked to his, sparkling blue entwined with harsh black while he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and shoved them past his strong thighs. Her mouth watered. She wanted to take him into her so much she trembled with the need. He bent and removed shoes and socks before sweeping his underwear away. He stood at the bottom of the bed, seething with barely leashed energy.

  Finally, she disobeyed his order, dropping her eyes to the part of him she wanted most. His cock was long, thick and hard, waiting impatiently for her. She crawled slowly toward him, knowing if she moved quickly she would snap his fragile control. His harsh breathing mixed with her short, soft gasps creating a symphony of need around their tense bodies as she reached out to touch him, tentatively placing her hand against his hip.

  He shoved his hands forcefully into her hair, crushing the long strands beneath his demanding fingers and jerking her forward as he stepped up to the bed, slamming her against his naked body. She winced as her scalp burned under his touch. She knew he couldn’t be gentle. Knew he was unravelling in front of her. He used her hair to turn her face up to his and she could see the way his pupils dilated until they almost completely covered his irises, drowning them in darkness. He bent over her, swooping down to cover her lips in a searing kiss.

  Tasha whimpered, the only sound allowed to escape before he devoured her whole. He licked, sucked and ate her mouth until she was gasping and squirming against him, begging for air. He released her for a second, controlling her movements, turning her head to the side for the moment it took to have a sip of air before he brought her head back around for more of his crazy, intense kisses. Though David had made love to her like a wild animal in the past, he had never kissed her with such intensity.

  He seemed wild above her. Natasha had to fight his embrace just to breathe. But as soon he let her up, he would drag her back down and she felt herself drowning willingly. Though she was dizzy, didn’t know which way was up and which was down, she was beyond excited. Her heart thundered in her ears, her blood rushed in her veins as his tongue swept through her mouth, delving into the velvety recesses, stealing everything within.

  He gripped her hair and pulled her back, giving her a moment to suck air into her starved lungs. She stared up into his taut, savage face. “Mine, Natasha,” he snarled into her face. “You belong to me, always, vsegda!” He repeated the word in Russian, like a promise, shaking her so she understood. “Will kill anyone that tries to take you.”

  “Da, David, no one will take…” she tried to assure him, a little frightened of the intensity pouring off him like a crashing wave, but he slammed his lips over hers once more, twisting her head back until she could go no further. Until there was no escape.

  He pulled her back and then shoved her down his body until she crouched on her hands and knees on the bed. He used her hair to turn her face up toward him. He cupped her chin, gripping her hard. “Mine,” he said again, through gritted teeth. Then he thrust his hips forward, bumping his erection against her cheek. “Suck,” he demanded, his voice guttural.

  She gasped at his demand, her eyes rolling up to his face. That was all he needed. He released her chin, took his cock in hand and pushed it into her open mouth, stretching her wide with one long thrust. Her tongue slid under the base, moist and silky. He snapped his teeth shut allowing a groan to escape from between lips pulled back in a taut grimace. When she reached up to grasp the base of his penis with her hand, he smacked her and barked, “Hands on the bed, Tasha!”

  He must really be struggling with control, he never called her by the shortened version of her name! She quickly placed her hands on the bed and wiggled her butt forward on the bed to ease the intense ache in her pussy where she desperately needed to be filled. Her eyes watered from the sensation of ha
ving the broad crown of David’s cock slide relentlessly forward toward the back of her throat. She panicked and tried to back away, but he held the back of her head, forcing her to take him. She moaned against the feeling of his hot, hard cock slowly filling her mouth. The vibration made him fist his hand in her hair and throw his head back with a shout of ecstasy.

  “Blyad!” he snarled and then said some other not so nice things in Russian that made Tasha smile around the thickness of his cock as he pulled it back and then drove it right back in.

  Tahsa was beginning to learn just how much she loved sucking her husband like this. She loved the control it gave her over his pleasure. The way he looked when his hands and jaw clenched in anticipation as he struggled for control while she danced her way in and stole it from him. She loved the steel, velvet feel of him on her lips and tongue. She wanted to choke on him until he came down her throat with his fist at the back of her head.

  He had other ideas, apparently. Just as she found a rhythm that suited her, and judging from the grunts coming from above her also suited her husband, David pulled her off his cock. She cried out as she flew backwards, airborne for a second before her back hit the mattress. Then he was crawling between her thighs. She barely had time to process her new position before her knees were being shoved back into her shoulders and his tongue was deep in the dripping folds between her legs. Her back arched and she shrieked, twisting away from the intensity of the sensations he was suddenly forcing on her. He clamped hard hands on her waist and dragged her back to him with a snarl, using his wide shoulders, to shove her legs back open when she would have clamped them shut.