The Hitman's Possession (A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Book 1)

by Tia Lewis

  “You know, that’s the first place most men will look.”

  She gave me a look somewhere between a smile, a grimace, and a pout. It was a look that only Wendy would be capable of, with her subtle freckles, and bewitching blue eyes.

  But that didn’t change what I would say next.

  “Someone powerful wants you,” I warned.

  “At my apartment? Who was there? What did they say?”

  “Relax. Just some goons, but they were only feelers.”

  “Feelers?” She sat silent for a few moments. “Did they mention me? Did they say anything about me? What exactly happened?”

  “Chill.”

  “I can’t relax! You just said somebody is after me!” Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh, my God! Are you going to kick me out? I got nowhere else to go!”

  “That depends,” I replied. I was thinking about her cleavage, about the glimpse I had just gotten when she put the locket away. I bet she had juicy tits and pink nipples perfect for sucking.

  “On?”

  “I can’t have a woman living here if it’s just for show. What can you do for me?”

  “What can I do?” she asked, creasing her forehead.

  “Let’s not play games. I know you understand me. I like to fuck hot women. You’re the sexiest woman that I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what it is about you…”

  “Thanks. I guess.”

  “So, you want my protection?”

  She nodded hesitantly. “Yes, or I wouldn’t still be here. I mean this isn’t exactly fine living.”

  “Well, I want something in return.”

  “Are you always this dirty-minded?” she asked. “Do you ever have a thought that doesn’t involve sex?”

  “Yeah, all the time; sometimes I think about killing.”

  “You’re literally telling me that if I don’t do sexual things for you, you’ll kick me out?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And I gotta say, I find it amusing that you’re pretending that you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

  “Who said I would? You're basically this crazed killer disguised as sex on legs."

  My laugh was diabolical as I leaned into her, so close she could probably smell the little bits of dried blood that never truly washed away, that seeped into your hair and skin and stayed with you for years.

  “Every look you give me. Every movement you make with that fine body of yours. Every time you say my name—that says it loud enough,” I whispered, staring intensely into her eyes.

  “I told you before, I’m not a whore,” she replied softly, her eyes unable to leave mine. “I already did what you wanted before.”

  “And I told you before, I don’t work for free. They’re some really dangerous men after you. I know that you’re scared. You need me. So, because of that, I want to make you my fuck toy. I want to use your body, how and when I want.”

  “Whoa. Wait a minute,” she leaned back from my face.

  “I’m a no bullshit type of man. But you don’t have to pretend like you won’t enjoy it.”

  “You’re so full of yourself!”

  "Just honest."

  “You want me to be your sex slave in this grimy asylum? What if I just walk out right now?”

  “I dare you,” I devilishly grinned. I loved this.

  “Well, what if I just go to the police? They’ll protect me and go after…”

  “Good luck with that,” I smirked with my arms folded. “They’ll write up a report and ‘investigate’ while you wait twiddling your thumbs. Who’s going to protect you in the meantime?”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “I don’t have any problems with the Russians, as long as the bastards stay out of my neighborhood and keep to themselves. You’re the one with the problem, and you’ve yet to tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Don’t you have a wife or a girlfriend?” she asked. “What if your girlfriend walks through your door right now and sees me? What then?”

  “I never have girlfriends, and I’ll never have a wife.”

  “What? Never?”

  “Never,” I answered.

  “So you’re a virgin?”

  For a second I thought she was serious, but then I saw her devious smile.

  “Yes, I’m a virgin. I’m a pretty little fucking flower just waiting to be plucked.”

  She tried not to giggle despite the danger and the craziness of everything going on.

  “You can be funny when you want to, Liam.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Do you always ask women to be your… ‘fuck toy’ after you save them?”

  “I never save women.”

  “Not the heroic type?”

  “Nah.”

  “You saved me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was bored and I couldn’t stand the sound of your screams.”

  “They were that annoying? Perhaps, I should have sung, ‘Help me! Oh, please help me!’” she sang, and her melodious voice only made my cock twitch.

  “Perhaps but you’re getting away from the point.”

  “You can’t just expect a woman to agree to something like this on a whim.”

  “I can when this woman is in a situation as fucked-up as yours.”

  She fidgeted with her long blond hair. “You’ve already gotten your release...”

  “You think a man is satisfied with just that? You think I could look at you and only want to do that? No, you’re too goddamned sexy for that. I want all of you. I want to fuck you, over and over, hard, and I want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

  Her face flushed; her eyes widened.

  “Maybe I don’t want that,” she breathed, but her body was starting to betray her.

  “You can lie if you want. But I know you’d be happy if I fucked you right now, right here.”

  “Absolutely not!” She denied it and looked away.

  “No?” I shrugged again. “If you want, you can take your chances on the street with the Russians. That’s no trouble for me.”

  I stretched my arms and continued. “Take your chances on the street or comply with my demands.”

  I bit my lips and leaned into her, so close I could have bitten her luscious lips. I saw her chest rise and fall, smelled the scent of lust emanating from her and saw her toes curl around the edge of the coffee table.

  “What are you doing?” she breathed.

  “You’ve thought about having my cock inside of you. I can see it. You’ve thought about what it would be like to have me fuck you from behind. You’ve thought about how it would feel to have my hand spanking your tight ass while I drill your pussy. So, either lie to yourself or give in to what you truly want. The choice is yours.”

  I leaned back, and she let out a long breath like she’d been holding it in.

  Wendy nodded, biting her lip.

  “Okay…”

  “Okay?”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  “You’re making the right choice,” I sneered, relieved that she finally gave in.

  “So, what do you want?” She bit her lip again.

  “Right now? I want to sit here and relax for a little while. Maybe get a beer.”

  “So, you did all of that talking, and now you just want a beer?”

  “Yeah. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Best believe, I will use you whenever and however I want. You will see.”

  She crossed her arms and pretended to be upset. I knew that if I were to go between her thighs right now, she would be wet. I knew something else, too. If the Russians tried to take this sexy spitfire away from me, they would have one hell of a fight on their hands.

  5

  “Yeah. Yeah,” she moaned.

  “You like that huh?”

  “Yeah,” she said by way of agreement, and I pictured her biting her lip to keep from giving me the satisfaction of anything more substantial. The downside of fucking a bitch doggie style―yo
u can’t see their face all screwed up in pleasure while you fuck them into next week.

  Fortunately, that’s pretty much the only downside of doggie-style.

  Her pussy milked my cock with its warmth, and I dug my fingers into both sides of her hips. She was so wet and inviting. A velvet sheath custom made for the steel rod I was punishing her with, or pleasuring her with. It alternated back and forth with each time I drew back until I was only just barely inside her… before slamming back into the hilt, so deep and so forceful that my balls slapped against the inside of her thighs with a smacking sound.

  I grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair in one hand, wove its tangled strands between my fingers and wrapped it around my fist, using it like reins as I rode her. I tugged sharply, and her head jerked back, a loud breathy moan escaping her attempts to be restrained and remain in control. It was addicting, and I followed it up with a sharp smack on her ass, the pale flesh reddening beneath my palm and her whole body jerking, quivering as she let out a startled yelp.

  “More,” she begged, and ever the gentleman, I complied.

  I rode her hard and unapologetically, savoring the feel of her every fold contouring itself around my cock like it was taking a mold that would forever preserve the memory of me inside her.

  “Such a filthy whore you are,” I panted, sweat glistening on my chest. Time lost meaning when I was caught in the grip of a pussy of exceptional quality, and this one was perfection. I couldn’t say how long I’d been fucking her, but we were both red and feverish, breathless and intoxicated. I smacked her ass, again and again, first one cheek and then the other, sharp, stinging slaps that made her moan and quiver and whine deep in the back of her throat.

  “Please. Liam.”

  Her inarticulate pleading cut off as I wound her hair further and further around my fist, my hand winding its way deeper through the forest of her tresses until I gripped her hair at its very base, right at the scalp, forcing her head back until she was staring straight up at the ceiling. The arch of her throat was a crescent moon. The arch of her back was feline, her fingers clawing desperately at the sheets puddled obscenely across the bed. I drove my hips downward, adding power to my next punishing thrust and fucking her into the mattress. She sobbed, desperate and filthy and God it was such a beautiful sound. My cock throbbed even harder inside her.

  “Tell me,” I growled. “Tell me how much you love being taken like this. Being fucked like this. Being such a fucking whore for me.”

  “Yes, Liam,” she keened, shoving herself back up against me, grinding herself against me.

  I leaned my whole weight into her, pinning her against the mattress, her slight body writhing against me. Every motion was exquisite friction along the length of my shaft. I shuddered, gripping one of her delicate shoulders and squeezing as I lowered my mouth to her ear.

  “No instruction needed baby,” I breathed into her. “You’re a natural whore if I ever saw one. And I know whores.”

  She moaned and bucked, an animal beneath me, a needy, wanton, desperate little slut. I raked my fingers down her sides, pushing up against the bedspread, chest elevated so the cool night breeze passed between us. I raised my ass, hips pumping back and forth as I pistoned in and out of her pussy. My knees spread her thighs further, my hands reached under her and found her tits. I pinched and squeezed her nipples, and God did the little slut love it. Never had a man treat her like this before, huh? I bet she’d never been given an opportunity to discover how rough she loved it, needed it. I’d have to remind her to thank me later.

  I could feel my orgasm swelling inside me, my balls drawing up tight near the base of my cock. It was starting to take a toll, holding off as long as I had. The mechanics of fucking, shit, I could go for hours. But being this deep inside her, feeling her heat enveloping me, it was enough to make a man cum in a matter of minutes, and I’d been restraining the urge for far longer than that, reluctant to deprive my cock of the home it had made for itself inside her.

  I held off a little longer, just long enough that the tightness in my balls started to turn to soreness, my need for release making its frustration known.

  “Tell me how bad you wanna feel my cum, baby. Let me hear how much you need me to leave a part of myself inside of you,” I panted.

  “Yes, fuck yes, Liam,” she moaned, squirming her ass against my abs. “I wanna feel you cum, I need it, I need it, please!”

  Always leave a bitch wanting more, and so taking that as my cue, I pulled myself out of her with a groan. The sudden jarring shift from her volcanic heat to the cool breeze flowing through the room was all the stimulation I needed. I barely even needed to touch myself before I erupted, spilling myself all over her ass and waist and thighs.

  I collapsed on top of her with a sated grunt, feeling myself on her skin, my mess caught between us, making us both hot, sticky and filthy. She moaned beneath me, needy and spent all in the same breath, but all I had energy for at the moment was a throaty chuckle as I smacked her ass one last time.

  Lying in bed that night, I thought about what I could do.

  As I saw it, I had two choices ahead of me now when it came to Wendy. I could keep her as a pet, fuck her when I wanted, and protect her if any shit came up. Or I could find out exactly what the hell was going on with her and the Russians. I knew the right choice was to just let it slide. No point in poking the Russians. Just keep to myself, head down, get on with my work. But my curiosity had been piqued now, and I could hardly pretend that I hadn’t found her surrounded by three Russian gangsters. Somebody wanted her dead.

  The right choice was to stay out of it, for sure.

  “Damn it,” I muttered. I leaned up and shouted. “Come here!”

  A minute later, she walked through the door wearing gray sweatpants and a baggy white T-shirt that went down to her knees. Even wearing this, she looked hot. The sweatpants were tight, and I could see the curves of her petite body.

  “You don’t have to bloody shout,” she replied, standing in the open doorway. “I’m literally fifteen steps away from you.”

  “You’re on birth control, right?”

  “Yes. Is that why you called me?”

  “No. I need you to tell me everything,” I said. “Don’t hold anything back. I want to hear every last detail. I need to know who’s after you, why they’re after you, who to kill and in what order. You understand?”

  I sat up shirtless in bed and watched her. The look that was on her face was an expression I was familiar with. I had seen it dozens of times on the faces of men I was sent to kill. It was the fear that came with knowing too much about someone dangerous.

  “Well, first can we talk about why you look like the sculpture David by Michelangelo?”

  “Stop bullshitting me,” I retorted. I was not in the mood for her bullshit.

  “Fine,” she mumbled, smoothing down her white T-shirt. She walked across my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Outside the apartment, the lively nighttime sounds filled the air: barking of dogs, car alarms, police sirens, and raised voices. “I have to use the bathroom first.”

  She dragged herself from my bed and went to the bathroom that was located between my bedroom and the living room. I heard the wooden lid clank against the porcelain toilet and then a loud “Eww!”

  I loudly yawned, cracked my neck and got out of bed. I reached inside my black boxers, adjusted my balls and made my way to the bathroom.

  “What?” I asked, reaching up to the bathroom door frame.

  “The toilet won’t flush,” she turned up nose attempting to flush the toilet again. I could see the dirty water gurgle up and Wendy shuddered with disgust.

  “Move,” I said, pushing her out of the way.

  Wendy breathed a sigh of relief and brushed past me. I bent down and opened the bathroom sink. I located the cleaning chemicals and a toolbox and grabbed the tools that I needed to fix the plumbing issue. She watched me from the door with her arms folded and attempted to make small talk.
/>
  “Is this going to take long?”

  “Nah,”

  “What’s wrong with it? I hope you don’t think I that…”

  “It’s just old pipes.”

  Minutes later, I came out from under the sink and flushed the toilet.

  “Fixed.”

  “Thanks,” she said, as she twisted a blond strand of her hair around her finger.

  I brushed past Wendy and made my way back to my bedroom. I plopped back down on my bed and rested my arm behind my head as I listened to her pee and wash her hands in the bathroom sink. She emerged from the bathroom and sat at the end of my bed next to my feet. She deeply sighed and stared at the ground.

  “Liam?”

  “Yes?”

  “You don’t even know my real name,” she kept her eyes averted like her words were embarrassing.

  “Okay,” I shrugged. I’d been around plenty of women whose names I didn’t know.

  “My name isn’t Wendy,” she said. “It’s Tess, Tess Britton. I’m from Epsom in London. I’m nineteen-years-old. I went to Oxford University last year and studied psychology.”

  I laughed. “How the fuck does a college student from England get pulled into Russian shit in Boston?”

  “Try to pretend to be a little sympathetic please.”

  “Well, tell me everything then.”

  I waited in silence.

  She sighed. “I had a boyfriend who had a lot of money,” she went on. “He was Russian and went to Oxford as a foreign-exchange student. Well, I admit I was a little star-struck with all the money and the glamor of it all. I got into Oxford on a scholarship. My mother died when I was twelve, and my father left way before then. So, I was sent to live with my sick grandmother, and she didn’t have much money. We basically struggled to make ends meet.

  “So, I worked incredibly hard in school and eventually got accepted to Oxford. But the other students at the University...” she shook her head. “Some of them really hated me. Pure hatred. Like I was their worst enemy because I didn’t come from money, I guess. Since I wasn’t raised with a silver spoon in my mouth, I was treated like an outcast. The constant torment lured me into a deep depression.”