Driven to the Edge: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance

by Morgan Black

  Teasingly, I run the head of my cock up and down along her wet slit, feeling how much she wants me. She squirms, tries to impale herself on me, but I don’t let her. I tease her up and down, then finally press just the very head of myself inside her.

  She cries out and I clench my eyes shut, hissing out a hot breath. She’s so hot and tight when she envelops me. I sink down into her, slowly, inch by inch, lost in the heat and friction of our bodies.

  When I finally bury myself entirely inside her, the feeling is indescribable. I nudge my hips forward, filling her with me, and she cries out and wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me even deeper.

  It takes a breathtaking moment before I can recover myself enough to start moving inside her.

  Pulling out deliciously slowly, I thrust into her, filling her with the entirety of me, and I grab her shoulders hard. She rocks against me, tilting up to meet me, welcoming me, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

  I’ve never wanted anyone so badly and I’ve never felt so wanted before.

  We rock together, establishing a slow, gentle rhythm. Like there’s no need to rush things. Which is insane, because rushing things is exactly what I want to do. I want to fuck her into the mattress so hard it leaves a fucking dent. But that doesn’t feel right, not for this moment. So I hold myself back, just barely.

  Thrusting into her hard and steady, I feel my balls start to tighten. I sink my teeth into her neck, biting gently, licking at the skin of her throat. She tightens around me, crying out, uninhibited, her head thrown back.

  It’s not going to be long now. I can feel the urgency building in my stomach. I pick up the pace, the sounds of our bodies slapping together the only sound in the silent room, coupled with the ragged gasps of our breath.

  Alicia, pinned beneath me, impaled on my cock, pulls me closer and begs me to come inside her.

  That’s all it takes. The second she says the words, I’m driving into her with wild abandon, thrusting erratically, grabbing a handful of her hair.

  “You want this,” I growl into her ear, locking my teeth onto her earlobe. My voice is a harsh whisper.

  “You want every drop of me inside you, don’t you.”

  She whimpers a breathy yes and that sends me crashing over the edge. I thrust into her one more time, forcefully, and feel myself erupt inside the hot, tight wetness of her body. I shoot load after load into her, each coupled with a shallow thrust, and midway through I feel her own orgasm run through her like an electric shock.

  Alicia screams, grabbing me tightly, her nails digging into my skin. She rides me through her own orgasm, her body spasming around my dick, and I hold her tight til we both come crashing down from the staggering heights of our pleasure.

  We hit the mattress, sweat-slicked, panting hard. I’m still inside her. I don’t ever want to be anywhere else.

  Unable to summon enough air to speak, we cling together as if for dear life. I brush my fingers through her sweat-damp hair. She turns and presses a tiny kiss to the inside of my wrist.

  I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t know what’s going on anymore.

  But now, I care if I live or die tomorrow.

  20

  ~ Alicia ~

  Despite the fact that so much between us changed, when I wake up in the morning, it’s just like the shitty hotel in Jean: Jake has already rolled out of bed. I can hear him bustling around further into the suite.

  Reclined on the incredible mattress, the smooth sheets wound around me, I stare up at the ceiling, which is decoratively molded, a small crystal chandelier dotted in the center of it.

  I stare for a long time.

  What am I getting myself into?

  Or more accurately, what’s gotten into me?

  Is it just frustration? I’ve played by the rules my whole life. I’m an honest person. Why am I suddenly breaking bad, so to speak? Is it just because there’s a little girl on the line, or does the prospect of it just... excite me?

  My body aches deliciously from last night. I was still a little tipsy, but I remember enough. I remember that I let Jake come inside me and I didn’t even care.

  This is not the usual Alicia Brennan.

  At least I’m still pretty sure my last birth control shot is still active. Pretty sure.

  Christ.

  I haul myself out of bed, feeling that ache in my thighs, and rise up to my feet.

  The entire time I’m showering, I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. But even if I have, what’s the option now? I told Jake I’d help him with his scheme to get the little sandy-haired girl back. I can’t go back on my word. I can’t put a child in danger.

  And besides, Jake would probably react... poorly if I rescinded my offer.

  I don’t want him to die.

  But I don’t want to die either.

  When I step out of the shower, dripping wet, the blue Oscar De La Renta dress is draped over the back of a chair, waiting for me. Jake helps me into it once I’ve toweled off, zipping up the final few inches until the fabric rests snug against my body. I feel like a movie star.

  Which is appropriate, because we’re about to do a lot of acting.

  I put the fake engagement ring in my purse, then turn to face Jake. He’s standing very close to me, invading my personal space. He smells like he smoked the rest of his cigar. He puts his hands on my shoulders and my body cries out to kiss him, touch him. But I hold back. There’s too much going on, not right now.

  “All right,” Jake says. “I’m going to take you to that camera store. I hope you know what you’re talking about.”

  A slight smirk curves up my mouth. My voice is surprisingly playful, almost flirtatious.

  “I know a thing or two,” I say.

  We head downstairs. I try to calm the shaking in my hands.

  Photo Warehouse occupies the greater portion of a city block in one of Vegas’ retail districts. It makes sense, in such a tourist heavy area. We pull up outside and I mentally run through the list of what I’m going to need.

  It’s easy to conjure up a mental checklist of photo gear, because I carried so much of it around for so many years. I sold all of it to keep the creditors at bay, but I can still recall packing up my kit every time we were shooting on location.

  Erik always offered to carry my bags. I try not to get angry the second he slips into my mind.

  I take Jake down the far aisle from the door, toward a big glass display full of various DSLR cameras. The store stocks the usual: Canon and Nikon mostly, with some Olympus and Sony and other brands. Today, I’m going all out. If I’m going to pretend to be the type of photographer who’d storm a casino and demand a shooting location, my gear has to look the part.

  “Are you sure your credit card can handle all this?” I ask Jake. He’s eyeballing a Nikon rig in one of the cases, a curious lift to his eyebrows.

  “I’m a wealthy man,” is all he says.

  We’ll see, I think. I can spend a lot of money on photography gear.

  I start with the basics: the latest Canon 1D X for the camera body. For the lens, I grab a nice 35mm prime and a ridiculously overpriced but quality 24-70mm. I’ll be able to get more of the architecture in this, I catch myself thinking. Then I remember I’m not actually going to be taking any photos.

  I pick up a bit external flash, not because I’d normally use it for an indoor fashion shoot, but because it makes me look more professional. A big ol’ camera with a giant flash attached to it is what most people think when they think professional photographer.

  Lastly, I grab accessories: memory cards, cases, a tripod, lens hoods, filters I’d never actually use, and lens cap holders.

  “All this stuff for a prop photoshoot?” Jake asks, incredulous.

  “Why, going to break the bank?”

  “No, just... a lot of effort.”

  I turn to him, tripod under my arm as we carry our spoils to the front desk, where the cashier already has a sizable pile of boxes waiting f
or us.

  “This gear needs to look used. Lived-in. Just in case we come across someone who has even a slight clue about photography.”

  And okay, yes, I’m kind of wondering if Jake will let me keep it all. After we get out of this. If we get out of this. There’s a lot of question marks hovering over the end of my day.

  My jaw just about hits the counter when the shop rings it all up. Jake calmly passes over a debit card--not even a credit card, a debit card--and now I believe him when he says he’s a wealthy man.

  It takes us two plus a sales assistant to carry all the gear out to the Maybach. Which is good. I hope that if I pile myself down with bags and tripods and accessories, I’ll look harried and stressed enough that people will buy our story.

  Back at the hotel, while we’re unwrapping everything and charging up the camera, Jake asks me a question that catches me off-guard.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, hovering over me while I peel lens filters out of their little plastic packets, tucking them into the bag.

  I glance up and say yes without a second word.

  He stares at me, hovering nearby, alternating between just staring at me and staring at me while pacing back and forth.

  I can tell he’s unsettled. I am too. Deep down, I’m nowhere near as confident as I feel. But if Jake’s plan goes right, I won’t really be in any danger. I’ll be taking the elevator back down and bouncing out the second he kicks the dangerous part of the plan into motion.

  I want to do something good. I want to help him. Maybe I want the excitement, too. I don’t know.

  But I am sure I want to do it.

  I’m breaking into this casino with the man who kidnapped me only two and a half days ago.

  How quickly things change.

  21

  ~ Jake ~

  It’s time.

  Tension winding through my body in every step, I walk with Alicia down to the car. She’s in that navy dress that hugs her body incredibly, weighted down with all her photography gear. I dressed a bit messier than my usual, let her fluff my hair up a bit. I’m a hoity-toity model who’s hired her for new portfolio shots, and I have to look the part.

  Whatever gets us in that building.

  When we reach the Maybach and throw all our stuff inside, Alicia and I both pause outside it. Neither of us is really sure where we stand. Neither of us knows what’s going to happen just a few hours from now.

  It’s like standing on the edge of a long, high drop. And not being able to see the bottom or even know whether there’s a bottom at all.

  So instead of saying anything grandiose, I squeeze Alicia’s shoulder and thank her. Then tell her good luck.

  “We’re going to need it,” she says with a short, sarcastic laugh. I hope not.

  We park the Maybach ourselves rather than going the valet route. I pack the uzi, both Sigs, and a substantial pile of ammunition in my little silver case. They’ll likely think it’s clothes or more photography crap. They are welcome to keep believing that.

  Alicia gathers her things and gestures toward the door.

  “I’ll go in first and make a harried scene,” she says. “Just stay back and look pretty.”

  First time in my life anyone’s ever told me that.

  I follow in behind her as she hustles through the expansive front doors, into the smoky glass foyer. She puts on a peeved expression, heels clacking imperiously on the polished floor. The young man at the front desk looks alarmed when he catches sight of her.

  However, once she’s nearer, she softens. She reaches the desk and frowns down at him, camera under her arm.

  “I have the world’s biggest favor to ask you,” she starts. The kid looks up, captivated.

  “I’m Alicia Munroe, shooting one of my clients this afternoon. We had a floor booked at the Venetian but they fucked up our booking and I can’t shoot there.”

  I told her to specify the Venetian. The Császár boys hate the guys who work there. If nothing else, it’s a slight edge.

  Alicia takes a deep breath, folding her hands together. I have to say, she pulls off the stressed-bitch-just-barely-keeping-it-in-check act very well.

  “I know how spectacular your rooftop gardens are. And I also know they’re VIP only. And no, we don’t have a reservation. But I’ll be in and out in forty minutes and you’ll never know we’re there.”

  I stand in the background and look pretty.

  The kid resists at first, but I can tell it’s the token resistance that he just wants to be able to tell his boss he offered. Then he says he has to call his boss for any permissions of that nature. Alicia nods several times, encouraging him.

  He picks up the phone and dials in to someone. We stand around and wait. The lobby is relatively deserted; not surprising considering the hour is still young. Vin hasn’t called with any additional details yet, so it seems like we’re going in mostly blind.

  We can handle that.

  It’s a long, tense wait, but finally the kid sets the phone down. Alicia bends toward him, smiling hopefully.

  The kid nods just a bit, relief plainly written all over his features.

  “Yeah,” he says. “My boss says head on up. Take the elevator to the top floor, we’ll radio in to the guys. There’s a private function going on up there later; they’re still setting up. You’ll need to be out by four.”

  Alicia thanks him effusively and I tip him with a hundred on my way past. We stroll up toward the elevator, burdened down with our bags, and part of me can’t believe this is happening.

  I’m so close to Eloise. So close to the men who killed my brother. Soon, it’ll all be over.

  The elevator glides open to a lush, sparkling paradise. Augustine’s has a series of intricate, famous rooftop gardens. The foliage is exotic, the temperature humid, and it’s the perfect place for a photoshoot.

  A security guard in a drab black suit stops us on the way out. He looks us over, then radios in to let the front desk know we’ve arrived.

  “Thank you again,” Alicia says. “So much. Where’s a good out of the way place?”

  It doesn’t really matter where we set up. We’ll pose and take photos long enough that everyone absorbs us into the background, and then I’ll peel off to do my recon. If I hear from Vin beforehand, great. If not, I’ll just work my way down, floor by floor.

  The guard directs us along the perimeter of one garden, the high glass ceiling of the greenhouse sparkling with moisture. We pass servers in white jackets who bustle busily from one location to the next, pushing trolleys and setting up a buffet in the center atrium. There’s no food out yet--likely won’t be for a few hours--which is kind of a shame. Otherwise I’d totally try to nab a dessert or something.

  “This will be perfect,” Alicia says when he leads us into an area lined with carved stone benches. It’s all very expensive-looking. Very green.

  “Thanks,” I add.

  The guard gives us a tight-lipped smile, then returns to his post at the elevator, disappearing around a corner.

  “All right,” I tell Alicia. Let’s get some photos taken just for appearances’ sake. Especially if they check your camera for some reason.

  I admit I am not looking forward to being a male model for a day. But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.

  Alicia directs me over to one of the benches and instructs me to stand behind it, one hand on the back of it. It feels ridiculous, posing like this, but I catch a gleam of amusement in her eye as she retreats backward, bringing her camera up toward her face.

  When she snaps the photos, she’s smiling. I can see the curve of her mouth.

  She looks truly happy, for a few brief moments. I haven’t ever seen her like this, not since I rolled into her life like a disaster.

  We take a few more shots: me by the bench, me by the plants. It all looks and feels the same to me, but she promises a lot of the shots have different feelings.

  But I’m getting antsy. I don’t want to waste too much
time.

  Eventually, it’s time for me to break off. No call from Vin, which means I’m on my own. I call Alicia over to me, moving up close to her, both of us surrounded by ferns and orchids.

  “Alicia.” I touch at her chin, bringing her face up toward mine. The greenery around us intensifies the green streaks in her eyes. I want to dissolve into them rather than set down a path of murder and revenge. But it’s too late. And it has to be done.

  “Jake,” she says. “Just... Christ, be careful, okay?”

  I smile thinly.

  “Of course.”

  Then I dip down and kiss her. Because for all we know, I’m kissing her goodbye. I don’t want to leave her. I don’t want to take my eyes off her for a second. When I’m kissing her, I feel like maybe there’s more to life than this. Like maybe I need more than just getting Eloise to safety and not caring about the rest.

  I have to force myself to pull away.

  “Wait a few minutes up here,” I tell her. “If anyone asks where I went, tell ‘em I’m taking a leak. Then book it downstairs and don’t look back.”

  She catches her bottom lip in her teeth, looks at me like she wants to say something. There’s a lot I want to say too. But instead we look away from each other and she lets me go. I hurry off down the hall.

  Let’s see if I can find the staff elevator before any of these assholes realize who they let into their domain.

  22

  ~ Alicia ~

  I watch Jake go and it feels like something inside me is dying. I had no idea it would hurt this much. I’ve only known him for a few days--a few days when he was my captor for fuck’s sake--but the strange magnetism that’s drawn us together us undeniable.

  And I had no idea what he was fighting for. Now that I know, it’s impossible to not want to help. He’s got to get that little girl out of here. I have no idea who she is or why these casino men have her, but it can’t be good.