Damian
We sit on the balcony around the restaurant table, the glass cloudy with zigs and zags of expressive white darting here and there. The glasses are crystal and shiny and even the vase is the same glassy creaminess of the table, the stems of the roses partially visible through it. Sparky is asleep just beyond the glass door, curled up, eyes closed contentedly.
I look across at Dakota, her hair luscious and wavy down to her shoulders, her sexy-as-fuck face brushed here and there with subtle strokes of makeup, which only serve to enhance her natural features not create features from nothing. Her breasts draw me in, my cock giving a twitch when I remember how voluptuous they felt wrapped around my greedy cock.
She studies the menu, biting her lip in a way that drives me feral.
“It’s been a crazy couple of days,” she murmurs.
“The craziest,” I agree.
“It’s kind of made me want to devour a big juicy steak with some fries and onion rings.”
“That sounds delicious,” I agree.
“But I …” She trails off, her expression hardening, pouting her lips for a moment. “You know what? No.”
“No?” I ask, laughing a little at her sudden seriousness.
“I mean it,” she goes on. “I was about to go on this whole speech about how I should get a salad. But I guess being with you is starting to rub off on me, Damian, because I don’t want a salad and I don’t want to talk about getting a salad.”
“Good, then don’t get the goddamn salad,” I say passionately, recognizing that this is a big moment for her.
“Then I’ll have the steak, medium-rare,” she declares with a laugh.
“Good,” I grin predatorily. “I was thinking just the same. Except I like mine rare and bloody. I’m glad you chose something thick enough to keep those steakish thighs of yours nice and juicy.”
“Steakish?” she giggles. “Did you just make up a word?”
“You know what? I think I did.”
She smiles gorgeously at me, and then gestures around the balcony, although balcony undersells what is essentially an enclosed private paradise. The floors are heated and glass protects us from the lashing winds of winter this high from ground level. The night sky is right there for the taking, a bare touch away, and yet the only starlight that truly thunders into me is that in my queen’s eyes.
“This place is beautiful,” she says.
“Not as beautiful as you.”
She laughs. “That was quick.”
“Well, I was literally just thinking it,” I smirk. “Just give me a second and I’ll make our orders.”
I walk into the living room – pausing to give Sparky his deserved pat on the head – and then pick up the phone and make the room service order. It’s hard not to note as I do so that this place is fancier than most restaurants people visit, so I don’t feel too bad about dining my princess here and not out in public … where it’d be too dangerous anyway.
I return to her, leaving the door cracked slightly so we’ll hear the knock at the door.
“Are you sure we’re safe here?” Dakota murmurs.
I nod shortly. “In all the years I’ve been doing this, the Bratva have never hit anywhere like this hotel. They know they’d be signing their own arrest warrant if they did that. They may have paid off some low-level officials, but once you start with a place like this, the big guns get involved.”
“How long have you been doing this?” Dakota asks quietly.
I smirk, but it comes out shaky. I can feel it.
“About thirty,” I say.
“That means you started when you were about ten?”
“Thereabouts,” I say, nodding.
“Whoah,” she says. “That’s crazy.”
“I guess so,” I laugh grimly.
She folds her arms, staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“What?” she counters. “Are you seriously going to drop a bomb like that and expect me not to want to know more?”
I sigh, turning to the stars. “After my parents died in the plane crash, I went to live with my uncle and aunt. One day some bad men came to do some bad shit to my aunt, and something in me snapped. I defended her. I hurt one of the men pretty badly and I killed the other with one of my uncle’s guns. Felix was out at the time, so he couldn’t help. When my uncle saw what I’d done, I guess maybe he thought he’d harness it. Ever since then, I’ve been in the trade.
“But I had a rule from day one. I’d only ever take a contract on someone who’s done something worth dying over. If they’ve assaulted a lady, touched a kid, murdered an innocent civilian … then I’ll happily put them in the ground. But I’m not and I’ve never been some mindless thug who’ll kill anybody for any price.”
“How many men have you killed?” she asks.
“Is this your idea of dinner conversation?” I snap.
She flares right back. “If I’m going to be the mother of your child, don’t you think I deserve to know?”
Admiration dances inside of me when I see how fiery and sassy she is. I reach across the table and take her hand, feeling the heat of her.
“Twenty-nine, Dakota … well, thirty if that bastard back at the cottage didn’t make it.”
I expect her to flinch or pull away, but instead, she just looks at me with her brave eyes, the same way she looked at me back at Dobry’s estate.
“And they were all evil—the sort of men who’d break into an innocent family’s house and kill a little girl’s parents?”
I swallow, thinking about how hellish it must’ve been for her, to be there on the night it happened.
“Yes,” I tell her. “I’ll never let anything happen to you, Dakota. Ever.”
She squeezes my hand and stares at me in wordless thanks, a light smile whispering across her lips.
“What happened to Felix and your aunt?” she asks.
“Felix was killed on a job,” I say. “My aunt lives in Spain with her new husband.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she says.
“It’s fine,” I say, but there’s more rumbling emotion in my voice than I expected. “It was … It’s fine.”
“What, Damian?” she murmurs.
I realize I’m clenching my fists as I rest them on the table so that when Dakota reaches across to supportively pat my hand, she’s actually touching a gnarled fury-filled bear’s paw. I unclench it with an effort and let her hold my hand, though the fire racing around me makes holding hers back impossible.
“It’s nothing,” I say, turning back to the stars, focusing on them, and trying to slow my breathing.
She stands up – her chair scraping on the floor makes me look – and walks around the edge of the table. She drops into my lap, throws her arms around my shoulders, and glares at me. She glares at me hard. She glares at me like the only woman I’ll ever need, demanding an answer from me.
“It is not nothing,” she snaps. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be acting so weird. So why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what’s going on, hmm?”
“Since when did you get so feisty?” I smirk, gliding my hand up the sweet sweat-tinged coolness of her thigh.
“Nah uh,” she giggles, impishly slapping my wandering hand away. “Until you bare your soul for me, you never get to touch me again.”
“Jesus, Dakota,” I growl. “Don’t you think that’s a little rough?”
“I think I’ve made myself clear,” she laughs.
“Clear as a goddamn knife to the heart,” I say, smirking despite myself. “I’ve never talked about this before. Well, except with my aunt and Sparky. But then … not this, not what I—”
I stop, some sort of mental block rising in me, making it difficult to push out the remainder of the words. I laugh at the absurd effort of it, far more difficult than any weights I’ve ever lifted, any men I’ve ever fought.
Dakota takes my face in her hands and guides my gaze to hers, staring sternly.
“Mister, it�
�d be one thing if you genuinely didn’t want to talk about this. But I can tell that you do and you’re stopping yourself. What is it, macho pride? Or something else?”
“Something else, I think,” I say, a volcanic quaver in my voice. “I just …”
“It’s hard?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
“Well, I’m right here.”
I grab her hips and move against her, making her feel my solid slab of manhood through my pants and her skirt. She might think she has the power right now, but the dampness of her crotch tells me the truth, that she’s just as boiling-horny hot as I am right now.
“I can feel that,” I tell her.
“Hey, what did I say about touching?”
I smirk. “Tell me you don’t like it and I’ll stop.”
She brings her face close to mine. “I like it,” she whispers. “But I also want you to feel like you can talk to me.”
A pause. A challenge.
And I find myself accepting.
“It’s just … it was a stupid mistake, Felix made,” I growl, the force of my words shocking even myself. “It was a simple job. This bastard ran a money laundering operation. To the outside world, he was a bar owner and the leader of some two-bit biker gang. In reality, he worked for the Mexican Cartel and he was ingratiating himself into the town so that they could set up more money-laundering operations. So all Felix had to do is wait—just fucking wait for the bastard to close up, go to bed, sneak in there, get the job done.”
“What did he do instead?” Dakota murmurs.
“He went in there when the place was open,” I say, my voice coated in bitter acid. “He marched in there and confronted the guy and had the whole place on him in two seconds flat. It was stupid and—and Jesus Christ, Dakota. I’ve never said this before, but I think he wanted to die. I think that was his way of opting out. He let the life get to him. Maybe that’s why I was going to retire after this job. Maybe that’s why I bought the farm.”
“The farm?”
“Well, a property in California. Don’t think I’ll do much farming. Maybe I’ll open a gym. I don’t know. Hey.” I pause, turning to face Dakota again. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you, on the farm?”
“Damian, are you asking me to move to California with you when this is all over?”
I smirk, stroking her face, feeling the shape of her smile.
“Yeah, it looks like I am.”
“Then the answer is obviously yes,” she says. “And thank you. For sharing with me. I know it was hard for you.”
“Yeah, I guess when you’re on your own long enough, you start to forget what it’s like,” I say. “But even that’s bullshit. I don’t think I could talk to anyone apart from you.”
She wriggles against me, her ass cheeks clutching at my cock.
“Now who’s breaking the rule?” I smirk.
“Damian,” she whispers.
There’s something in the way she whispers, the singsong quality of it.
“Yes?” I growl, hardly daring to hope.
“After dinner … you know, I think we should—” She giggles. “I’m ready, that’s what I’m trying to say.”
I grab her hips and pull her down so that there’s as little space as possible between her fine ass cheeks and my throbbing cock.
“Hallelujah,” I growl, bringing my lips to her neck.
The knock at the door interrupts me.
“Well,” Dakota says. “I did say after dinner, right? And that smells delicious.”
“You can smell it from here?”
“Can’t you?”
“No,” I say. “The only thing I can smell is that hot tangy pussy of yours.”
She flushes and wriggles out of my lap – probably knowing I wouldn’t be able to stop myself otherwise – and I walk to the door and get the food.
Sparky trails after me, alert to the scent of the steaks. Once I collect them, I have to admit that she’s right.
They do smell pretty damn good.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Dakota
I walk into the bedroom with his hands at my hips, one hand leaving me for a bare moment to shut the door. Sparky is lying in a heap in the dining room, under the table with several cushions he’s claimed and definitely will try to take with him when we leave.
So it’s just us, me and my man in this giant bedroom with the giant bed in the middle, the sheets fine silk, the floor cover in fur rugs, the whole place screaming of decadence.
Lit by the wall lights, making everything coppery and dreamy, he guides me to the bed and then spins me around, pushing me onto the sheets.
I sit down, pouting up at him, my heart chasing my anxiety through my body, pounding, but there’s another pounding. It comes from deep inside of me, between my legs, my womb, or my soul or whatever the heck it is.
It’s there.
It’s real and it won’t take no for an answer.
I feel my pussy getting so wet the old me would’ve been embarrassed, worried that he’d be disgusted.
But I see the way his expression turns more feral when he reaches down and sliding his hand up between my thighs and pushes my panties aside, stroking the wetness from my hole to my clit.
“Fuck, you’re already so creamy,” he groans, his breath hot against my ear.
“Yeah,” I moan, twitching against his finger, guiding my clit to the tip where he drives the firmest.
“Eager tonight, aren’t you?” he snarls. “Your body knows what it wants. Your body knows what to do. You’ve just got to listen to it, my horny goddess. Do you understand? Just give in to what your body wants. Just moan. Just twerk like a horny little thing. Just cream. Squirt. Now.”
He grinds his whole palm against my sex, driving the heel of his hand against my clit so hard I’m shocked when there isn’t pain, just the hard press of his pleasure imposed upon me.
I grab his wrist and twitch against him and feel my eyes roll back as I shiver and bounce like a freaking possessed person.
The orgasm thunders between my thighs and my juices squirt down all over his hand, over my own fingers where I’m gripping his wrist.
The heat explodes at the base of my mound and spikes up through me, as though his cock has suddenly exploded inside of me without me realizing it.
I look down through my tears of euphoria and see that it’s still his hand, and then up into his face.
I pause when I see the way he stares at me, pale eyes watching.
“What?” I whisper, the orgasm tremors getting quieter, and then receding altogether. “Did I look stupid?”
“Stupid?” he growls. “You looked like my own personal nympho. But just mine, do you understand? I want you to be addicted to my dick and have those needy tits sucked and that clit played with and fucking punished, but only by mine. Say it. Now.”
“Only you,” I moan, realizing that Damian is becoming the animal version of him again.
And I freaking love it.
“Cunt out. Tits out. Ass out. Now.”
He steps back and starts tearing at his own clothes like a beast who’s suddenly realized he needs to be naked.
I ride the wave of the moment.
And say fuck it to all the self-doubt out.
I start tearing at my own clothes the same way.
Between snatches of our clothes, we exchange glances, both of us getting hungrier and hungrier as more items are removed.
But at the base of it all, there’s this whisper telling me I won’t be able to do this.
I won’t be good enough.
I won’t be brave enough to take the whole massive meaty length of him.
“No more thinking,” he snarls, stepping forward so that his cock bobs near my face. “Lie down. I need that hole. I need that fucking womb.”
He grabs my arms and carries me onto the middle of the bed, climbing on with his knees, so tall he can still hold me clear off the mattress in his solid hands.
He grabs my thighs and pulls the
m apart, staring down at my pussy with fascinated eyes, and then grits his teeth, his whole body shaking.
“Are you ready?” he growls.
He rears up like a bear claiming his mate, his eyes twin moons of paleness as he glares, harder and harder each moment.
“Popstar,” he snarls. “Tell me you’re fucking ready.”
I almost gasp out that I’m not, that I’m terrified I can’t take him. I almost scream at him to get away because I can’t do this, but then I feel my womb pulsing, making my sex even wetter, my lips tingling with the phantom anticipation of his throbbing massive dick.
“Yes,” I whisper. “But maybe take it slow … just until—”
“Of course,” he says, eyes fixated on my pussy as he grabs his shaft and starts guiding it toward my hole.
He pushes aside my lips and then thrusts up, snapping his gaze back to mine as my pussy lips scream with the tension of him.
“But once I feel your little hole open up for me, I’m pounding it hard. Because I own you. So open up for me, Dakota. Do it. Do it now.”
My pussy lips shift and then it’s like I’m suddenly on fire. The place between my legs sings in a way I’ve never felt before, the sharp starry burn moving through me, telling me that I’m ready.
I can take him.
Oh, God, yes, I can take him.
He cocks a smirk, both savage and shaky, ready to snap his predator’s teeth at any second.
“I fucking knew you’d open up for me. Our bodies need it. Our bodies won’t let us do anything else. You’re ready for this big dick, aren’t you?”
“Y-yes,” I say, grabbing at his shoulders, as if I don’t I’ll fall off the bed and off the world.
Everything in me pulsates toward his cock sliding deeper and deeper into my sopping wet hole.
“Oh—just fuck me, Damian. Just do it. Just take me—”
The words come from some primal place. I don’t even plan to cry them out. They just bubble up within me as though my womb has learned to control my speech, as though she’s running the show now.
And I feel myself passing control and pulsating and gyrating into the moment, grinding up and down his cock as he pushes it right up to the hilt.
“Uh,” he grunts, shoving deeper, tickling my pussy lips as he rears back, stares at me, down at my tits, and then back into my eyes as though he’s seeing me for the first time with each new look. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy look right now? But something’s wrong.”
Her Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 10