Sinful: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance (Guns and Glory Book 1)

by Nina Park

  So when he'd gone in there, and he'd smelled her skin and felt the way she pressed up against him, when she kissed him – he'd tried to resist her for a long, long minute, but he couldn't hold out. At least he'd managed not to yank her onto his dick and fuck her until she screamed and they both got thrown out of the shitty chain clothing store.

  He could not have her. He couldn't.

  As Alina slid out of his lap, she wrapped her hand around his cock, and he was throbbing hard again. Keeping his hips still instead of just pounding into her fist, or jamming her mouth down so he could come down her throat again, was a feat for which he was quite sure he deserved a medal. An Olympic one.

  Yeah. Resisting Alina Costa is definitely an Olympic event.

  "Not all of you seems to agree," she said and moved her mouth towards the tip of his cock again.

  In a move that made men around the planet cry out in disappointment without knowing why, Vincent pushed her hand off his cock and tucked his hard, leaking self back into his boxers before zipping up his fly. His balls were going to ache for hours, and that was just going to have to be okay. That's what happened when you fucked around where you didn't belong.

  You got punished.

  "Don't listen to that thing, it's fucking stupid," Vincent said. He stood up fast. Alina fell back from him, landing on her ass, an expression of supreme displeasure on her face. "Pick out what you're buying and meet me up front."

  "Aren't you going to stay and guard me?" The petulant tone in her voice pissed him off.

  "Try real hard not to get killed. There. You're guarded."

  He walked out of the dressing room, trying not to walk like his hard cock was begging him to turn around.

  If the boss wasn't in the hospital maybe, Vincent reflected as he walked towards the front of the store. Away from the tempting girl who was going to get him killed. Maybe if the boss was healthy, if he could get Nick to arrange a meeting and ask permission to – what? Court? Date? – something Alina, maybe it would be different. But with Frank in the hospital, this was asking for trouble. Vincent could just imagine the scene now: Walking into the boss' office, his capo there, and staring down the barrel of a gun as his crimes were explained to him. Right before his dick got shot off.

  Frank Costa did not take well to those who tried to take away things he considered his. If there was anything in the world he considered his, it was his baby girl. Alina was his only child. He protected her fiercely. If something threatened her, he would end the threat. That was why Nick had sent him to take care of Alina and keep her safe. If Frank woke up from the surgery and the first thing he heard was that Alina was gone, there wouldn't be a force on Earth that would keep any of them safe.

  His phone rang as he was heading towards the registers. Not the burner Nick had given him, but his regular phone. He checked the number; Dez. Dez was Frank's woman; she'd been around for a couple of years. Not everyone liked her; she'd come into Frank's life out of nowhere, and she'd worked her way into being a confidant fast. That wasn't always a recipe for good intentions. But the boss had mellowed since he had regular pussy in his life. Everyone liked that. Mellowed, but not so mellow that the Costa family was losing control of anything that it shouldn't lose. Just right.

  But there was no reason in the world for Dez to call him. For a moment, the sheer strangeness of that almost made him pick up the phone. Then he shook himself, remembering why he was where he was, and rejected the call. He powered the phone down, then pulled out the burner.

  "Yeah," Nick answered quickly and had his usual personal charm in place. The man was damn good at what he did, but a people person he was not.

  "Okay to talk?"

  There was a moment of shuffling, and then the sound of a door closing. "Go."

  "The package is secured," Vincent said. He felt like some kind of asshole stuck in a spy movie he didn't want any part of, but it was important to be quiet. The odds of two burner phones being bugged was small; that was the whole damn point of using them. But until they knew where the threat had come from, being cautious was going to be the thing that kept them alive. "What next?"

  He heard a sigh and could imagine Nick rubbing his fingers through his short brown curls. The dark-skinned man was clearly at the end of his rope. "Hide. Maybe for a while."

  Something deep in Vincent's stomach went cold. "What do you mean?"

  "I don't want to know where you are. I don't want to know what you're doing. I need you to keep her – the package – safe until I contact you. But it may be a while. I'm going to put cash and a couple of clean cards in a drop zone near your last known and get you the coordinates. But you're going to go to ground, and you're not going to let a damn soul know where you are."

  "Nick—"

  "Do not fuck with me right now. I am not in the mood."

  Vincent bit back the curse on his tongue. He hadn't lasted five minutes in a room with Alina when she was half dressed; what the hell was going to happen if they were trapped together for "a while"?

  "She's not going to like this."

  Nick gave a laugh that wasn't even close to humorous. "I don't care how you keep her in place. Make her ride your cock until she's too tired to move, or fuck her ass till she can't walk straight. I don't give a shit. Do you hear me? You keep her out of sight while I deal with what's going on. And you tell me if fucking anyone gets in touch with you or seems to know who you are. Clear?"

  Vincent's heart was racing. He tried to tell himself that it was because of the situation which had clearly devolved even since he'd left the city; not because he'd just been given fucking permission, and his dick was now on fire with the need to go back and fuck the girl up against a wall until she saw God.

  It wasn't what Nick had meant. Nick was providing examples. Nick couldn't give him permission to fuck the boss' daughter because Nick wasn't the boss. And maybe if Vincent repeated it to himself enough, his goddamn dick would listen.

  One of the sales assistants was watching him now. Vincent gave the kid a smile and a wave, then walked away to stare at some jeans. There was a pair on a mannequin up on the wall. The sign called them curvy cut; on the mannequin, the waist didn't fit right, and the ass was weird. But they would look goddamn good on a girl with enough ass to fill them out.

  He'd noticed the size on the clothes Alina was picking up. Before he thought better of it, he picked out two pair – one black, and one a light denim blue – in the same size and stuck them under his arm.

  "Clear," he replied to Nick. "Something you need to know."

  "Yeah."

  "Got a call tonight, on my other phone. Shut it off now, but it was from Dez."

  Nick cursed hard. "I'm off, right now, done talking. Do not talk to that woman. I'll be in touch."

  There was a beep as the phone disconnected, and after a moment, the screen went dark. And before he had a second to process any of it, he saw Alina walking out of the dressing room with a pile of clothes in her arms. He walked back towards her, telling himself to keep a neutral expression in place, but all he could think was that Nick hadn't said that Frank was still alive.

  The expression must not have worked. Alina went completely still when she saw him. He forced himself to smile as he walked over to her. He pulled her close, even with all the clothes in her arms, and tipped her chin up to his. He kissed her hard, making his dick ache even more, and feeling her shake in his arms from tension.

  As he pulled back, he whispered, "No updates." Then asked in a clear tone, "Find everything you wanted, babe?"

  Alina had been raised in a family where appearances mattered more than anything when one was dealing with people outside the family. She turned on a bright smile that no one else would have seen through.

  "Absolutely," she replied. "That dress you liked is my favorite, of course."

  "And did you find the matching panties?"

  Her eyebrows went up and she play-slapped him on the chest. "You dog."

  He made a low snarl sound, and he s
aw her pupils flare wide. She was intrigued by him, still. That was good. He liked that quite a lot.

  "I found these," he said, holding up the jeans. "Thought they'd look good."

  She studied them for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, they'll work. Thank you."

  "We ready to go?"

  She nodded. He followed her to the register, but he didn't bother to hide his appreciation as the cashier rang up – basically an entire wardrobe. Half a dozen dresses, T-shirts, the jeans he'd picked out, a couple of skirts. Bras and panties too. Some were plain cotton, but many more were lace – held together by nothing but good thoughts of tearing them off at some future point. The red ones she'd been wearing in the dressing room, the ones that were clearly wet from her, were mixed in the pile. The cashier – a guy – made a horrified face at them, and Alina grinned.

  She picked them up and held out the tag for the cashier. "Here, let me help you with that."

  The cashier scanned the barcode with a hand that was shaking just a little, and then Alina turned towards Vincent.

  "Here's your trophy," she said. She traced the soaked panties down his chest and tucked them into his front pocket.

  She cupped his cock through his pants and didn't try to hide it; when she turned around, she leaned back into him so that her ass was pressed up against him. He put his hands on her hips and held her there, shifting just enough to grind against her. The cashier was staring at them like he was watching a porno unfold in front of him – and, hey, maybe he was.

  Vincent knew that they were attracting way, way too much attention, but at the same time, he was going to die if he didn't get off again, so it was just a matter of keeping time for now.

  The cashier finished ringing up Alina's purchase, and everything got crammed into three big bags. Vincent felt a bit like the stereotypical harangued husband as he carried everything out for Alina, but he found himself not minding too much.

  Alina followed him out to the car and climbed into the passenger's side as Vincent loaded the bags into the back, along with the toiletries Alina had already picked out. By the time he got into the driver's seat, she was laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes.

  "So do you think that guy is jacking off behind the counter right now, or do you think he went to the dressing room to do it?"

  Vincent cracked a smile. "We definitely made it obvious where it happened."

  "That room reeked of sex."

  "You complaining?"

  She laughed again. "You know I'm not." The laughter, the flirting, all of it disappeared inside of a minute. Alina looked at him with quiet, terrified eyes. "Tell me if my father's dead."

  He took a deep breath. "Alina—"

  "Shut up. Yes or no. If you're not sure, say no. I don't want to know unless you're sure."

  "No."

  "Then take me to a hotel and fuck me. I'm going to die if you don’t fuck me."

  Vincent was entirely sure that he did not need her to ask again.

  Chapter Five

  The hotel was nice – nicer than Alina had expected. She'd thought that Vincent would most likely take her to whatever was closest; instead, he drove into the center of what passed for a city, in this tiny little suburb, to a nice, chain hotel with gorgeous balconies and landscaping visible from the street.

  "Do you have a reservation?" she asked as he got out of the car and gathered her bags. She took a few things to keep him from carrying absolutely everything.

  "No."

  "Are you sure you can get one?" In the city, it was easy to trade on her name to get the kind of attention she wanted; a dozen hours away, no one had heard of her father, or what he did, and it was unlikely that anyone would even care. She would never, no matter what, ever be one of those chicks on the news screaming "Don't you know who I am" at some bored looking service person. She just wouldn't ever let it happen.

  "I have cash," Vincent replied, in the same confused tone she had when people asked her how she'd gotten a table at the new restaurant on the street – gentle bewilderment that the world didn't work the same way for everyone.

  He walked up to the reservation desk and asked after a room. At first, the clerk told him that they were booked, but when Vincent pulled out a money clip, with a hundred-dollar bill slid separately over the counter to be tucked into the clerk's neat little vest, there was some more dedicated tapping on the computer's keyboard.

  Suddenly, there was a suite on the top floor available. They did want a credit card for room service and such, and Vincent produced one. It was the same one he'd used to pay for Alina's new wardrobe at the store; maybe it was some sort of card that was unconnected to her father's finances. Many of the men in his sphere maintained separate identities; it was easiest when they needed to move sums of money around quickly without attracting attention from regulatory agencies.

  The clerk handed over two key cards and asked if they needed room service now.

  Vincent grinned and pulled Alina tight against him. "No, I've got enough to eat for now."

  The clerk's cheeks flushed bright red, but it didn't stop her from shifting from foot to foot. Alina wondered for a moment just how many people were going to be masturbating tonight, thinking of her bouncing on Vincent's cock. How very much she hoped that one of those people masturbating – instead of living the dream – would not be her.

  Vincent had grinned when she'd told him to take her to a hotel and fuck her, but his mood had softened during the drive. She could guess that two things were happening; one was that she'd seen him on the phone, and she was positive that whatever was happening related to her father. He'd said that Daddy wasn't dead – but that just meant that he didn't know about it if he was. Which wasn't the same as really knowing. Still. When you were the daughter of mobsters, you knew in a personal way that it was never over until you saw the body.

  But it was hard not to think that his reticence was going to get the better of him. He'd certainly been a willing participant while they were together in that dressing room, but he'd said several times that they couldn't do this again afterward. When she'd come out of the dressing room, he'd watched her like he was going to devour her with delight, but then he'd cooled down again, hard and fast.

  They took the elevator up to their floor. Alina pressed against the side of him, but Vincent didn't take the bait. He didn't step away, but there was none of that tense hunger that she'd felt when he'd touched her zipper.

  She wasn't entirely sure if she was disappointed or relieved. After all, she should be the one pushing him away. He was the walking representation of everything she didn't want, and she wasn't supposed to forget that just because she got really horny when she was hungover. But at the same time, the idea of him buried balls deep in her made her cunt feel so open and empty that she forgot how to breathe.

  Finding the middle ground on this one was a challenge.

  She'd expected the elevator to let them out on a hallway, but when the clerk had said "Suite" she'd apparently meant "penthouse". The elevator opened into their room. Specifically, a small living area, with a galley kitchen visible on the other side of an open-plan floor. As she walked into the room, she could see double doors into a bedroom with a huge bed. There was a smaller bathroom off the main living area, and she assumed there would be a master bath through the big bedroom.

  Alina had stayed in some incredible hotels with her father when they'd traveled for her breaks, but this was much more than she'd expected from a ten-story building in a suburb.

  "Wow," she said aloud.

  "Are you hungry?"

  She glanced back and saw Vincent carrying her bags into the bedroom, studiously avoiding her eyes.

  "I'm sure I can get someone to bring us up whatever you want to eat. Would that be good? I figure you've been up most of the night, you probably want to rest—"

  She stepped into his path as he buzzed out of the room. Vincent was just over six feet tall, and the fact that she stopped him with a finger on his chest was kind of amazing
in its own right. He stared down at her, swallowing hard.

  "What are you doing?" she asked.

  He turned away from her and went to the kitchen. He pulled open the small fridge and sighed with relief. "They have beer. You want a beer?"

  Her stomach turned over; she couldn't remember what she'd had to drink last night, but she knew without question that there'd been a lot of whatever it was. "Pass."

  He nodded, cracked off the top of the glass bottle he’d pulled out of the fridge, and took a long pull. He rested two fists on the kitchen counter and was clearly trying to collect himself. She was as taut as a loaded wire, but there wasn't any way to rush him. She was sure of that much.

  "Heard from Nick," he said, after a little bit. "Things at home are a problem. He couldn't tell me much, but he said we're going to ground. He'll get in touch when it's safe for us to come out."