Taken: A Dark Hitman Romance

by Sophia Hampton

  “You like that?”

  “It tickles a little.”

  “Like, uncomfortably tickles?”

  “No, not uncomfortable.”

  “Good. Hey. Can you turn the water on? I’m cold.”

  “This is my only pair of clothes.”

  She rips the rest of the shirt off like it’s on fire and starts to work on my belt buckle. She slaps it off in three moves like a trained expert, slipping my jeans down past my knees and tells me to do the rest because she doesn’t want to trip and break my neck in the shower she’s planning on using.

  The water is hot but just the right kind of hot. The air steams thick. Everything goes blurry and wet, soft and warm, and Mimi is all there with me. Her tongue in my mouth, her hand slipping over my body, cupping my butt, and bringing me close, so close that my penis slides against her belly.

  “Leon,” she says my name, over and over like it’s a kind of chant. “God—Leon, you’re the biggest I’ve ever seen. You’re so big.”

  “You like that?” I whisper fiercely, biting the tip of her ear. “You want that? Tell me you want it?”

  With one hand I cup almost her entire belly. I rotate it on her skin, her hot and champagne-soft skin. My fingers dip down, edging along the cleft just above her clit.

  “I want it,” she moans. “I want you.”

  My forefinger goes down her navel and massages the light pubic hairs above her clit. She moans louder, with indiscriminate words I don’t catch.

  I slip another finger down and ease the first one forward, then lightly run it over her clit. Mimi gasps, throwing herself against me. Her whole body is quivering. Her hand comes up to my mouth and I know what she wants me to do so I take her hand by the wrist and cover it in kisses, then open my mouth and let her put her fingers inside.

  I’ve got both fingers moving back and forth over her vagina, dipping in carefully and randomly. Each time I do it’s like someone is running a charge through her body. And each time she shakes against me she moans in my ear, and it’s like in that moan there’s something she’s tossing up, something that has settled down in the pit of her body for years, for much much longer than I’ve known her. And it’s something only I can bring up to the surface; that she needs me for.

  She takes her fingers out of my mouth and wraps them around my penis and starts to tug me with my own saliva. She’s got her rhythm down pat like she’s playing an instrument. None of the jerking hard hand movement like with bad hand jobs I’ve gotten in the past. Her hands are moving slow and easily just like mine are moving slow and easily, cupping her clit like she’s moving on my penis.

  “Are you gonna give it to me?”

  “I don’t know.” I slide in the first finger, and it goes in easy. She’s not tight at all. “I don’t have a condom.”

  “I’m on birth control. Don’t you dare worry about it.”

  “Then I still don’t know. I still don’t know what I’m going to do. Seven inches is a lot to take. Are you sure you want it all?”

  “I want it, Leon. You don’t know how much. I’ve been wanting it for so long.”

  “I don’t know. You’re right. Beg me for it. Beg me for it right now.”

  I curl my fingers and put the second one next to the first. She gasps, throwing her arms around me, stuffing her tongue into my ear.

  “I beg you, Leon,” she whimpers. “Give it to me. Give me all of it.”

  I bring in a third finger and use it to stroke around her labia while the other two massage her inside, stroking and curling up in a way that sends the same little spasms shooting through her body.

  “No,” I say. “I want you to beg again. Beg me to let you blow me.”

  “I beg you, Leon. Give it to me in my mouth. I want it more than anything else I’ve ever wanted.”

  “Get on your knees.”

  The water comes down in hot blasts, spraying over Mimi’s blonde hair. It’s dripping, golden and soft, and wet as I hold it in her hands while Mimi’s tongue slides out and over my shaft. Then she fits it all down her throat like it’s nothing and pulls out gently, working the tip with the edge of her tongue while her hand works round and round over the still-moist shaft. I’ve got to admit I wasn’t expecting her to be anywhere near the expert she is. I wasn’t expecting anything at all. Not from a girl as prim and girly as Mimi.

  She has her mouth on the tip now and her hand working the base while both my hands knot around her hair and rub her head.

  “Are you gonna cum for me?” Mimi rests her chin on my penis and looks up at me with those soft, brown doe eyes. “Would you like to cum in my mouth?”

  She starts to put me back in her mouth, but I stand her up and twist her around so that she’s up against the wall.

  “I’m not going to cum in your mouth,” I hiss into her ear. I scoop my hand down and find her wet spot. She tries to twist her head around and see what I’m doing, but I force her to face the wall.

  “You asked me for it. You begged for it. You begged for me to fuck you. You begged because you wanted me to make you mine. Well, you’re mine now, and I’m going to do with you whatever the hell I want to do.”

  I place my hands on her small, perfect breasts and squeeze. She twists her head around and licks me on the nose.

  “All of you? All seven? Is it going to hurt?” I can hear the excitement in her voice, and the nervousness and the desire, all mixing together into the drive that drives me closer and closer. My cock presses against the small of her back and my tongue runs along her shoulder blades.

  “It will, at first. Are you scared?”

  “No. I want it. I want to hurt for you. I want to take all of you inside me.”

  I dangle the end of my penis against her asshole before moving it further down, in line with her clit.

  “Yes, yes,” her voice strangles the words out. “There. That’s it. Oh God, I can feel you.”

  She puts a hand back to adjust me. “Right there. That’s it.”.

  And slowly, with the water still thundering down on us from overhead, and the whole place so damned fogged up by the heat that I can’t see three inches in any direction, I slide into her inch by inch. Three inches, then four. Mimi whimpers and I come back out.

  “Was that too much?”

  “A hair too much.”

  “There’s still a long way to go, you know.”

  “Are we halfway there?”

  “Not even.”

  She laughs. It’s the best thing I’ve heard all week. She laughs and turns around and throws her arms around my neck and ropes me into one of her wet, soft kisses. It’s like swallowing some beautiful drug. A kiss like that can make you forget everything. Can even make you forget the feeling of hot water raining down on your skin or the sounds of Mozart coming from right above you, or the feeling of a beautiful girl’s body moving so closely against your own.

  Mimi breaks off the kiss abruptly and moves some wet hair away from her face and smiles. The pleasantest smile I’ve ever seen. That’s just the right word for it. An everything is absolutely perfect smile. A sleeping in on a rainy Sunday morning smile. A post-sex we’ve still got wine to finish smile.

  “And a job well done, sir,” she says promptly.

  “What?”

  “That’s how employers talk when they give out their Christmas bonuses. ‘Thanks for the good work, Mr. Bosch, and a job well done.’ ”

  “So this is my bonus?” I kiss her on the nose.

  “Bonus. Raise. Incentivizer—”

  “I don’t think ‘Incentivizer’ is a real word.”

  “—and promotion,” she finishes with another smile. “If you’re lucky.”

  I think about asking her what she means by promotion but all of a sudden she’s kissing me again, and it’s not even a full minute later until I’ve forgotten to ask the question. I’ve got a feeling that I’ll find out soon enough.

  Chapter 12

  Here’s the thing about Stitches and girls— when a guy tucks a lo
aded Item into his belt, lights a cig, and tells his piece he’s gonna be back later, she thinks there’s nothing sexier in the world. The reality is, though, if you so much as bring a loaded Item into the room, or an unloaded one, and try acting like it’s no big deal around a girl—even one you might’ve known for years—the first thing she’s gonna do is scream bloody murder. After that, there’s a whole list of shit she’s liable to do, from calling the cops to trying to bite your ear off like poor Fox, to grabbing the Item away and aiming it right back at you.

  The thing is, it’s not just the Item. It’s the fact that if you’re a Stitch, nine times out of ten your girl doesn’t know you’ve got it. Simple truth is making hits is sexy only if you’re James Bond. Meaning if any of us ever gets any actual feelings for a tail, first things he’s gonna do is put as much distance between her and his work as he can, up to and including bailing out of town or dropping the whole business altogether. You’ve got your exceptions, sure thing. My boy Garrett’s got a Stitchette he met at a bar and pulled out right under her boyfriend’s nose after he saw the guy slapping her around. Told her that night what he did and where he kept his Item and who he’d killed and she said that’s all cool with her long as he wasn’t into dope.

  But that’s so rare it’s almost unmentionable. Fox. Boot. Dags. Don. All my guys have had girls get out of the scene soon as they smelt the powder.

  Which is why, long story short, this whole situation is so fucking bizarre and amazing and unsettling. It’s like one of those modern art things Mimi pointed out to me when we were back in the gallery. She’d read the plaque sure enough. Some guy had gone through Brazil or Peru or somewhere or another where there’s a bunch of this garbage and collected every foil wrapper he could find. Candy wrapper or sandwich wrapper or just leftover bits of junk. The guy spent three years hiking the country looking for his bits and pieces of junk. He finds a couple million and takes them back to his studio and spends another three years going through each and every one with a bunch of photo processing chemicals until they’re all nice and shiny and good enough you could straight eat off of them. He sinks another year into it gluing these wrappers up on a giant wooden block and carves it into this incredible portrait twenty feet by thirty. It’s of the president of Brazil or Peru picking his giant, shiny nose with a giant, shiny finger, which is supposed to be sort of funny but unsettling at the same time.

  “You’re comparing us to that giant sculpture of the guy picking his nose?” Mimi says when I tell her what I’ve been thinking. “That’s the best you can do?”

  “I’m just trying to explain what it’s like. I don’t know if it’s accurate. It’s just a shot in the dark.”

  “You honestly think the incredibly good-looking, incredibly loving girl you’re being paid to watch over, who’s sucked you off in the shower and told you how much she worships you, really wants to hear herself compared to a bunch of trash some guy spent six years turning into even bigger trash?”

  “You’re making me sound like an idiot.”

  “After a whole morning spent thinking about other possible comparisons you might have made, the way you choose to flatter me—your incredibly adorable, incredibly sensitive princess—is to compare me to some guy worming around in his nose-hole looking for gold?”

  Mimi puts an arm around my shoulder and starts to rub my back. “The master flatterer,” she coos. “The bard with the long dong. The wooer with the long hooter. The cunning—”

  “At least give me a chance,” I say, “to shut my mouth and never say anything again.”

  “Oh, no, sweetheart. I couldn’t let you do that. How would you lick me off, then?”

  Her hand curls around me, and she’s got me suddenly tangled up in one of those long kisses again. It’s all tongue and lip and impossible to escape from because her mouth is keeping you interested at every point. And even if you could find a way to get yourself out, everything else in you is telling you not to.

  “Sweetheart,” Mimi breaks off, breathless. “Can I give you a blowjob?”

  “Right here?” I look around, a little started with her. It’s not even eleven in the morning, and we’re sitting in the Mercedes in the somewhat crowded parking lot of Ricky’s Diner. “There are people coming out.”

  “Let them come out. They’re not going to see anything.”

  “You want to do this right here?”

  “I’d do it anywhere. This is just where we happen to be now.”

  Her hand is already unzipping my jeans. I lean the seat back and keep the engine running. Mimi’s hands trail my shirt, back and forth like a cat massaging a lap, and then dive under to ride up past my abs.

  “I can’t believe your body,” she says. “I just don’t. No one’s that stupid-jacked.”

  She crawls over onto my seat and straddles my chest, kicking off her heels. She tosses her head to the side and throws her blonde hair over one shoulder, then eases up with her thighs and gives herself some room to wiggle my jeans down. My cock pops out, straight and rigid.

  I swear I see her lick her lips. She dips in and kisses me fully on the mouth and then makes a path with her kisses downwards until her chin is touching my cock. She touches it playfully with the fingers of one hand. They’re cool. They’re always cool. I flinch and tighten my core. Mimi’s sitting up straight again, and she fits her fingers in her mouth one by one to moisten them.

  She starts by kissing the tip, lightly and gently, before she moves her hand over my thicker shaft. Her hand clasps over my root, and she starts to move back and forth, rocking horse gently, while the little pecks she’s giving deepen into real kisses.

  “I give good blow jobs, don’t I?”

  “The best.”

  I lean my head back on the seat and give myself up to her hands, her lips, her tongue, and her mouth. She fits three inches in, four inches. Comes out and scrubs her bottom lip with her teeth and smiles at me, and goes right back down.

  The convulsion starts in my core. Like a bunch of butterflies suddenly taking off. Each new time she comes down and goes in further she raises my chest off the seat. Soon I’m gone. Transported. I feel myself working up, enough to go off.

  “Don’t—don’t…”

  “Don’t stop, sweetheart?”

  “Don’t stop. Christ almighty. Don’t… stop.”

  All the pressure makes words difficult, but I don’t care. I don’t need words. Just Mimi’s lips, her full, wet lips sucking me off.

  “Are you about to cum, sweetheart? Do you want to cum in my mouth?”

  “Yeah,” I can’t get it out in anything more than a whisper.

  She wraps my dick in one of those deep kisses, and I’m holding back with all I’ve got and not giving a damn who’s walking by or if anyone’s even seen us or any of that crap. Then all of a sudden all I’ve got holding me back isn’t enough as Mimi brings me to a pitch and I cum. Mimi takes it like a champ. She doesn’t miss a drop. She even licks the tip, like she’s cleaning the end of a popsicle.

  “You’ve got a beautiful cock.” She rests her chin on my chest; her new favorite position. “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

  “Nope. Never.”

  We sit like that a little while longer. It starts to rain, and I’m not really worried about any happy families wandering around the parking lot looking for their car and finding a half-naked bodyguard straddled by a little blond-headed pixie. It’s even nice. I haven’t done anything in a car since I was in middle school. Even Mimi telling me I had a beautiful cock is sort of nice, though I’m still not at all sure how to take it. Probably the same way I took the giant wrapper sculpture.

  The forecast for the whole week shows rain. Nothing but cold rain. A possible mix of ice and sleet. It’s only early November, but northern New Hampshire is already having some scattered ice storms and there’s more on the way from what we see on the forecast.

  No way in hell I wanna take Stefan’s Mercedes to New York with weather like that. Mimi doesn’t have a p
roblem with it. “Not much of a musical girl, anyway,” is how she puts it to me, though I’ve got a feeling that isn’t quite true.

  “We’ll drink up more of the local culture,” she pronounces. Her chin is still on my abs. She likes keeping it there while I take deep breaths, her head rising and falling.

  “You wanna go back to the modern art museum? Or try the exhibit of indigenous photography?”

  “Where did you learn about the exhibit of indigenous photography?”

  “When I was with you.”

  “Oh.” The rain beats down harder. It beats down like a bunch of kids throwing pebbles at our car. “You’re serious about those museums?”