She’s my queen.
And I’ll always respect that.
“I can’t believe they let you bring a dog in here,” Dakota laughs as we ride the executive elevator up to the penthouse suite, cradling Sparky to her chest.
Sparky’s head is perked up, his nose puckering frantically as he tries to inhale all the scents of the different floors we pass on our way up, up, up.
“Well, they didn’t want to at first,” I say. “But I just pointed a gun at the guy and after that, it was pretty simple.”
She gasps. “Damian …”
“I’m kidding,” I laugh grimly. “I did something much more civilized. I bribed him.”
She laughs and throws me one of those hot-as-fire looks, the looks that go straight to my manhood and flood it with tension. But then that’s not saying anything special, considering that every gesture, every minor tic of this walking sex goddess does the same.
“Most women wouldn’t laugh at such a serious crime,” I tease. “Bribery’s no joke.”
“You’re right,” she sasses. “There must be something very wrong with me. You should run while you have the chance. I’m crazy, Damian.”
I laugh grimly and pull her close to me, enveloping her and Sparky together, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and hugging her close.
“You’ve made me crazy, so I think it’s only fair you’ve gone the same way.”
The doors beep open to display a hallway decorated in sleek rugs, the floor beneath bone-white marble. The décor is modern and elegant, with wire-thin silver chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and glinting crystal-pale light.
Dakota’s mouth falls open as she turns to me, mouthing What the heck.
“You like?” I grin like a wild wolf.
“Um, yeah,” she says, as we make our way into the living room.
“This place is bigger than most houses,” she gasps.
There’s a tusk-white piano in the corner and the entire far wall is lined with floor to ceiling windows looking out upon the city, the lights glittering below just as they glitter above, the stars winking down at us. There’s a glass display cabinet with fancy chinaware and a wall panel that looks like it holds a massive TV. Through another door and we’re in the kitchen, with more white marble for the island and shelves that are built into the walls.
“This place …” She shakes her head, smiling at me across the kitchen island. Sparky’s pawing at one of the cupboards close to the ground, tilting his head at me, moaning softly. “I guess we’ve found out which one’s the fridge, huh?” she says.
I kneel down next to the hound and stroke him under the chin.
“Smell something you like, boy?”
I open the cupboard and realize that it’s the fridge door like Dakota guessed. Inside there’s a bunch of snacks and booze, with Sparky’s nose immediately magnetized by the beef jerky.
“Deluxe,” Dakota laughs, reading over my shoulder. “Since when could you get deluxe beef jerky?”
“Since now, I guess.”
I tear open the packet and hand Sparky a generous helping. He snatches it and wriggles his way through the suite, finding a quiet corner to devour it.
“He deserves a treat,” I say, standing.
Dakota folds her arms, pushing up those squeeze-me breasts of hers. “I didn’t say anything.”
“I know,” I murmur.
“I think you feel guilty that we don’t have any dog food for Sparky,” Dakota teases. “I guess we learned who the bad cop parent is going to be, at least.”
That just does it for my manhood.
It damn near explodes at the word parent, a visceral reminder that to become the parents we both want to be, I’m going to have to pommel and spank and pound my curvy personal fuck-toy.
I surge forward without thinking, palming those breasts, pushing her up against the counter so that I can squeeze them together. She gasps and stares at me, head tilted, like prey who hasn’t realized what’s happening to her yet.
I slide my hands down her body, and then back up, under her shirt and to those warm-as-fuck tits. Under her bra, and then I’m twisting her and kissing at her nipples with my fingertips, playing with them, playing her like she’s my goddamned instrument.
She sings for me, grinding against my leg.
“Jesus,” I snarl. “Are you going to cream just from this?”
“I—don’t—know,” she moans.
“But you want to try,” I snarl. “No need to answer. That wasn’t a fucking question.”
I rub her nipples faster, using the friction to power the song-like notes that come moaning and shivering out of her full lips. I squeeze and palm and massage, leaning back and regarding her as she twitches and rides the pleasure.
Then her moans pick up and her twitching becomes a wild dance, her mouth open in shock and lust all mixed together, her cheeks blazing the red of a hundred fires.
“Oh …”
“That’s it,” I growl, lightly tweaking those hard pricked nipples. “God damn, I can just imagine sweet milk creaming out of these. I bet it’ll taste so good.”
Her breath hitches and she lets out a hollow gasp.
“You like it when I talk like that, eh? You like it when I talk dirty to you?” I growl.
She bites her lip, moaning, trying to meet my eyes but too caught up in her pleasure to focus. Her eyes are filled with stark tears of near-release.
“Just imagine,” I snarl, always touching, always bringing her closer to the edge. “I’ll throw you on the bed and tear off your shirt with my teeth. I’ll find your horny hard nipples and bite into your breast, bite the gorgeous meatiness of them, and then I’ll suck – hard – I’ll suck until your nipples are burning, giving me your sweet milk.”
Everything pauses for a few moments as she hovers in the pleasure, and then finally she lets out a long song-like moan and collapses against me, whimpering.
I ply the remains of the pleasure out of her from behind, rock hard cock pressed against her ass cheeks, hands still toying with her big meaty breasts.
“That was crazy,” she gasps. “I can’t believe that worked.”
I turn her around and crush her lips with mine.
“I can’t wait to find all the different ways to make you cream,” I whisper when the kiss breaks off.
Her eyes blaze, but there’s something else there, a tremor of hesitation.
She’s not ready.
Soon.
I hope.
“But first, shall we order ourselves some food? Even if we can’t go out, Popstar, I’m taking you on a date.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dakota
I stand at the edge of the bed, staring down at the dress with a dreamish blanket draped over me. Always, at the edge of my mind, I feel a niggling that tells me soon I’ll jolt awake and still be in Dobry’s clutches. Or perhaps I’ll wake up back at the cottage and find that the men got the best of Damian.
Something—anything to wreck this magical closeness, the way we can recede from the world, even if for a little while, to just be together.
I never thought I’d have that with a man, and especially not with a silver fox protector like Damian.
The dress is black and lacy at the cleavage and across the hem, the sort of sexy dress I’d never have the courage to wear.
Or the reason to wear.
Damian ordered it the same way he’s ordered everything this evening.
A phone call and a bribe.
He’s currently on the balcony, moving things around to make us our own personal restaurant. He wants this to be as much like a real date as possible, and so do I. But as I gaze down at the silky sexiness of the dress I can’t help but imagine him breaking into wild laughter the moment he lays eyes on me.
“Okay, okay,” I imagine him saying between gulps of laughter. “Maybe we should stick with the baggy stuff for you. I was wrong.”
I chide myself, interlocking my fingers. After everything that’s happ
ened, surely it’s selfish of me to still be concerned with such unimportant things as my self-image, and yet it’s still there.
I think I could be in hell and still be worried about my waistline.
But Damian’s helping me get through that, isn’t he?
Knock knock.
“Yes?” I call out.
“Just checking that your fine ass is in that dress,” Damian snarls. “I can’t wait to see how amazing you look.”
I listen closely to his tone of voice, trying to detect any sign that this is a cruel trick.
Absurdly, I envision an army of high schoolers waiting outside the door with him, ready with pointed fingers and cocked-back, guffawing faces.
“Screw this,” I hiss under my breath, gritting my teeth.
I tear off my clothes quickly and pull on the dress without giving myself any more time to hesitate. I wriggle into it and feel the fabric squeezing against my flesh, and then I find the hairbrush at the vanity unity – an exotic hairbrush with a handle of carved exotic wood – and brush my hair hurriedly.
I glance at myself in the mirror, hair falling in waves to my shoulders, body squeezed into the dress, thighs on display.
I take a deep breath.
“Okay,” I call. “I’m ready.”
The door opens and Damian prowls in, his eyes aimed hard at me as he stalks forward.
I turn shakily. “What do you think?”
“Is there really any doubt?” he says.
“Well, yes.”
“Wait, what?” he snaps. “You’re being serious? You don’t know how fucking smoking you look right now? Jesus, those thighs could chase a man into his dreams. And by man, I mean me. Because if any other man – ever – tried to touch those thighs, those creamy fuck-toy thighs that belong to me, I’d put him in the ground. Do you understand? Who do you belong to, Dakota? Say it.”
“You,” I say, my sex tingling, my nipples aching from his magic in the kitchen. “I’ll always belong to you, baby.”
“Good girl,” he growls, smoothing a hand through the iron of his hair. “We better get out there quickly. With you looking like that, I’m damn close to skipping the main and going straight for dessert.”
“Oh, what’s for dessert?”
He bares his teeth like a wild beast and closes the distance between us. He’s wearing a steel suit he also had ordered up. It fits him snugly, the silver hugging his bulging arms. Freshly shaved and smelling of his natural manly musk, he stares down at me, a subtle smirk on his lips.
“You’re really just an innocent virgin, aren’t you?”
“Oh,” I murmur, cheeks blooming red. “You meant …”
“You’re dessert,” he says.
I giggle, slapping his chest playfully. “I guess nerves are making me slow.”
“Nerves?”
I grab onto his shoulders, feeling the stony security of them beneath the suit. They’re so hard, completely unyielding, as though his flesh really is carved of rock.
“I’ve never worn a dress like this before,” I tell him.
“Oh,” he says, his hands gliding to my hips and squeezing. “Well, you look gorgeous. Beautiful. Majestic. Fucking angelic.”
I laugh. “Didn’t realize you were such a poet.”
“I don’t want you to think I only want you for how much of a fuck-queen you are,” he growls. “It’s just I’ve got this thing, you see, and it’s pretty hard and pretty ready to drive into that tight little hole of yours, and this thing won’t leave me alone and …”
I laugh and he chuckles, and then something crazy happens to me. I don’t know where it comes from, this sudden influx of confidence. Maybe it’s the laughter or the relief that swims through me when I see the lust and desire – and not disgust – in his pale haunted eyes.
I smooth my hand down to his manhood, squeezing onto it through the front of his pants.
He sucks in a savage breath and I gasp at my own boldness, but then I see the tension moving through him, the freaking power I have at this moment.
I start moving my hand up and down, feeling the tangled hardness of his flesh, his massive manhood all twisted in his boxer shorts.
“Holy heck, you really like that, don’t you?” I gasp.
“Damn fucking right I do,” he says, voice shimmering in his pleasure.
“I want to stroke it,” I whisper, anxiety and bravery clashing horns inside of me, shattering, spreading … and then settling when I focus again on the way Damian’s expression shifts in his bubbling desire. “I want to make you feel how you make me feel.”
“I don’t want to waste any more of my seed,” he growls. “But goddamn, Popstar, I’m not going to turn you down. I don’t think I could ever do that.”
Suddenly my hands are fumbling with his belt, but they’re clumsy and I end up wedging the buckle against the leather of the belt, twisting it up so that I can’t pull it loose.
With a savage snarl, Damian reaches down and yanks it, snapping the buckle and tossing it to the floor where it clatters metallically.
I grab his pants and pull them down, eyes widening as the immense size of him springs free. He seems so huge when I look at him like this, not twisting my gaze over my shoulder like last time.
He must be ten or eleven freaking inches, his shaft thick with veins going up the base. The end is swollen and huge and glistening with a drop of precome that makes my insides all fuzzy and tingly.
How am I ever going to take that huge thing?
“What do I do?” I whisper. “I want to make you come.”
“And you’re asking me what to do?” he says with a growling shimmer. “You need to think carefully about that. Because I might just take you up on the offer. And once I start on those pouty lips of yours, I won’t be able to stop. Do you understand, Popstar?”
“You want my l-lips?”
“Get on your knees. Now.”
I lower myself to my knees, the marble floor digging painfully into my knees and Damian must see me wince because he quickly grabs a cushion from the bed and hands it to me. I smile up at him, warmth blossoming across my chest to think that, even amidst all this carnal closeness, he’d think of something like that.
“Now you need to open your mouth as wide as you can,” he says, grabbing the base of his shaft.
“Okay,” I whisper, nerves writhing again now.
But I can see how hungry he is in those fjord-blue eyes of his.
I can see it in the way his cock throbs and twitches.
I open my mouth wide and look up at him, subtly learning that he likes it when I open my eyes wide for him, that it turns him on somehow. He reaches down and slides his hands through my hair, finding knots that the hairbrush didn’t catch, but stroking softly enough that he doesn’t cause me any pain.
“Now … push those fucking tits together,” he gasps, bringing his cock closer and closer to my face so that I can smell his precome, so close that I’m almost certain I can see my reflection in it for a delirious moment.
I grab my breasts, still sore from his pleasuring hands, and push them together for him.
“Now I’m going to fuck that mouth,” he snarls. “Do you understand? Are you going to let me fuck your pretty little mouth?”
“Yes, I want to—”
But the moment I stay yes, the civilized Damian is gone and the beast has taken his place.
Pulling my head forward, he drives his cock at my lips and pushes it until my mouth is filled with the taste of him.
I cough and he pulls out, his eyes utterly captivated.
“I’m fine,” I whimper, my sex getting so wet I’m worried it’s going to start dripping down my thighs. “Keep going, Damian—”
The beast doesn’t need any further encouragement, his cock becoming a hammer as it drives in and out of my mouth.
All I can do is keep my mouth open wide and gaspingly take as much of him as I’m able, fighting off the urge to cough when his engorged head smacks into the back of my
throat.
He doesn’t get the whole thing in.
There’s no way he could, it’s so huge.
But that doesn’t seem to matter as he keeps thrusting, as I grab onto the hard muscles of his hips and move my head in time with his thrusts, sucking him as he fucks my mouth, over and over.
“I need to see those tits,” he gasps. “Get—them—out. Now. Do what you’re told, Popstar.”
I grab the dress and yank it down, freeing my bra, and then I pull it down and let my breasts spill free.
The hunger in his eyes explodes anew and he grabs my shoulders, throwing me onto the bed and then positioning me with eager hands so that I’m in the right place.
He leans down and grabs my breasts, pushing them on either side of his enraged hot wet cock, fucking my breasts faster each second, pumping his hips.
“In my mouth,” I gasp, letting the moment guide me.
It’s impossible to feel silly or disgusting or any of that self-hating crap in a moment like this when Damian is obsessed with me when I’m the only person who even exists to him.
I bend down and open my mouth so that his tip can reach it as he fucks my breasts.
“You—dirty—fuck—fuck …”
I catch his tip and he holds it there, growling as he fires his hot load into the back of my throat.
I choke and cough and then swallow, the tanginess of it nowhere near as off-putting as I always assumed it would be.
The saltiness of it dances around my mouth as I swallow more and more, and then he stumbles back, heaving in savage breaths.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters.
“Did I …”
“Quiet,” he commands. “You’re perfect, Popstar. And after a performance like that, it’s time you started fucking believing it.”
I’m ready, I almost blurt out.
It’s the truth.
Or does it just feel like the truth because I’m on a high after what we just did?
Maybe I should wait until after dinner, when I’ve calmed down, to consult the lust angels inside of me and see if they’re ready to spread their wings.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Her Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 9