Hostage of the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Alexis Abbott

  I feel waves of fire running from my massive crown up through my crotch, and her back arches as I slow in my bucking long enough to get a grip on her hips. As her orgasm starts to subside, her eyes flutter open, and she looks back at me with alarm. “What are you?”

  I lean back, hoisting her up as she lets out a moan, carefully turning myself so that I’m sitting on the edge of the bed with her in my lap, my cock still stuffed into her swollen cunt. “How does it feel,” I growl into her ear as I start bouncing her on my lap, making her head roll back helplessly as she moves up and down my shaft, “fucking your own captor, you hungry woman?” I grip her hips tight, and she can’t respond, utterly overwhelmed by the angle of my cock as it grinds against her g-spot. Before long, I feel her body tightening again, and she lets out a soft gasp as she comes, and my machine-like rhythm doesn’t stop, bouncing her on me like a toy as she feels more orgasms rack her body.

  I can control every part of her from here, and I show off my power to her, twisting this way or that to change my angle, and each new position holds unspeakable ecstasy for her, her face red with passion as she breathes heavily. I can feel all of her so tight around me, and the way she desperately, greedily tries to scramble for control, to get more and more of my cock in her, tells me she’s never felt so utterly whole. She rides my cock with surprising ability, hungry for more and seeming to have an unending appetite. I lose track of how many times I feel her come on me, but her exhaustion is nowhere in sight. I start to wonder just how starved for real pleasure this spoiled girl really is.

  Just as she starts to get into the rhythm, though, I slow to a stop, and she looks back at me in confusion, instinctively giving me pouting eyes. “Don’t think I’m letting you off that easily, girl,” I taunt her, a cruel smile on my face.

  “Please,” she gasps, “please, let me...I want to…” her mind is a haze of ecstasy, and the sight of her struggling so amuses me. I raise a hand to her mouth and touch a finger to it, pushing my cock up into her to evoke another little gasp.

  “Take your time, sykhaara,” I coo, “you’ve been a good girl for me. Tell me what you want.”

  After a breath, she looks down at me, those endless eyes, sparkling blue as the Danube, heavy lids adorned by long blonde lashes. “Let me taste your cock,” she lets spill out, her tone doing its best to hide the nervousness behind it. But I want to reassure her. I stroke her clit gently, and she closes her eyes and lets out a happy sigh before I slowly lift her off my cock as easily as if she were as light as a feather.

  “All the sweeter with your honey, chemo okro,” I say before placing her on the bed and leaning back, my spear sticking straight up and glistening with what she’d doused me in a few moments ago. Her eyes look at it as if it were a priceless treasure, and her hand reaches out, touching the rod and moving up and down it slowly, experimentally, her other hand touching my balls and rolling them around in her fingers.

  In her small hands, my cock and balls seem all the more massive, more imposing. “How did all of that fit into me,” she wonders out loud, eyes wide and wet as she twitches, a lingering wave of electricity from her orgasm shooting through her.

  She looks up to me for approval, and I give a nod of my head. She crawls forward and brings those gorgeous lips to my crown, and it stiffens at their touch.

  I lean my head back as she kisses the bulging crown, and the touch of her lips is warmer and more loving than I would have ever imagined. When I look back down at her, I meet her eyes as she breathes on my cock, and I see a little smile she’s fighting to keep back as she opens her mouth, bringing it closer to my cock.

  “You’re enjoying this too much, you lusty little brat,” I chide her, but as her mouth envelops my crown and she washes her tongue over it, I feel a fire in my chest as I look at her, feeling like I’m floating through the air on the ecstasy she brings me.

  I’ve had women before, and I could have any woman I wanted, but none have made me feel like Delaney does. That fact is a spur in my side, even as I feel unprecedented pleasure as her tongue moves up and down the bottom of my shaft, massaging the sensitive cock and moaning as she savors the taste of it. The spoiled American girl has an effect on me...but my cock can return it just as powerfully.

  I let her explore my cock, and again, her natural talent shines through, but there’s no practiced method she’s resorting to, no habitual motions she relies on to bring me the pleasure she’s sending through me. Then something occurs to me, and I look at her with a new curiosity, running my hand through her golden locks as her eyes meet mine.

  “You’ve never tasted cock before, have you, girl?”

  She looks up, her eyes widening and she releases my crown hesitantly just long enough to pause and give her head a slight shake.

  “I…” she starts, “You’re the first person I’ve ever been with.” She looks up at me again, nervousness in her eyes once more, and she looks terrified for a moment, desperately waiting for my approval. My face is unreadable. “I’m sorry, I should have-”

  I cut her off as I reach forward, taking her chin in my hand. “Hush,” I command. “If it didn’t make a difference before, why should it now?”

  I watch the fear in her eyes start to melt away, and when she goes back to my cock, it’s with a renewed vigor that she takes as much of my shaft as she can fit into her mouth, and she lets out a sigh of absolute relief as she takes it in, nearly all of my cock vanishing into her hungry, needy mouth.

  My muscles relax as I feel precum bead up at the tip of my cock, and Delaney feels it too, bringing her mouth high up to the tip enough to taste it, moaning as she does, letting her lips linger on my cock.

  “Do you like that, girl?” I ask, my voice a low husk.

  “Mm-hm,” she whimpers, too busy letting her tongue stroke my crown to nod.

  “Then take more,” I allow her, and I see her face redden and her breath pick up as she starts to attack my cock more passionately, more needily, more relentlessly as she traces the tip of her tongue around the rim of my crown, then down the bottom again, feeling every throb and twitch of my cock, and her fingers massage my balls as I feel them start to tighten.

  My whole body tenses, and my jaw falls open and Delaney, ever the one to play with danger, opens her mouth wide to envelop the tip of my cock as she awaits what she’s coaxed out of me so wantonly.

  I let out a long, low groan as a shot of hot seed shoots up into her mouth, and she moans as she tastes it, using her tongue to torture my tip as she takes in shot after shot. I feel myself spilling out so much pearly seed, but she takes in all of it, swallowing what I give her like a reward she’s been craving, and I look down at her as my cock twitches to see her hand at her clit again as I come inside her mouth.

  When I’m finally spent, I nearly feel sore from the force of my orgasm, and she licks my crown lovingly before drawing away from it, smiling up at me as I breathe deeply, the smell of our passion still in the air.

  “Was I a good girl, Darios?” she asks, her voice sweet as honey as she crawls up to me, and I take her into my arms, letting her nestle into me with a satisfied sigh as I smile, our bodies glowing. My eyes watch her, narrowing for a moment, and I chuckle, stroking her hair as she curls into me, satisfied with my answer.

  But as she gets comfortable, I look up at the ceiling. She feels so relaxed that she could fall asleep within a matter of moments. My heart, though, is in more turmoil than ever now that I realize I must come to grips with a question — no, a fact that is now more loud and clear than ever.

  I took her virginity. I might be falling for this girl, but for her to give me something she’d held onto for so long...

  12

  Delaney

  I’m staring out the window at the sunrise, watching the sky split into gorgeous pink and golden hues as the Spanish countryside below is bathed in morning light. The trees are awash in pale illumination, the distant hills painted greenish gray at this early hour. I’ve been having trouble sleeping, which
is not particularly surprising given the bizarreness of my surroundings, and so my body has been rousing like clockwork at the first rays of dawn.

  At home, I slept with an expensive, opaque curtain hanging over my bay window so that the sunrise wouldn’t wake me up before my alarm. But here, I don’t even have a proper windowpane, much less a curtain to block out the light. Still, the air is clear and fresh, with just a trace of a balmy sea breeze from the Mediterranean pulsing just on the other side of the vast forest. Under normal circumstances, the scene would undoubtedly be Instagram-worthy, a location to feature on postcards home. Sometimes, when my mind wanders beyond the panic of my current predicament, I can zone myself out just enough to appreciate the beauty of the world outside my window.

  But this morning, all I can think about is Darios.

  The feeling of his hands coursing down my body, his fingertips grazing down every shivering inch of flesh with a possessive kind of greed. The sensation of his sensuous lips pressed against mine while he growls between kisses that I am his, that I belong to him. His fingers tangling in my long blonde hair and tugging me backward, forward, side to side like I’m merely a limp doll under his control. He handles my body like it’s his most precious, practiced tool. Darios is powerful and menacing, a true force of nature — yet, in certain quiet moments I can almost feel a growing softness suspended between us. The fire in his eyes tames to a tender warmth rather than a raging inferno, and for a split second I wonder if maybe he could truly see something in me I haven’t seen in years.

  Like he might be looking deep inside me, reaching into my soul to withdraw a version of myself I haven’t given breath to in ages. Like he sees the real me, buried under what feels like an eternity of make believe. How could it be that this hulking, untamed weapon of a man can strip me down so easily?

  I swallow hard, my hands uncontrollably clutching at the ancient, wooden window sill as I stare out over the awakening land. I rest my forehead against the worn wall and close my eyes, only to realize that Darios’s image is still fresh in my mind, that beautiful and cruel face gazing back at me even in the dark depths of my own thoughts.

  I can’t escape him even when I dream at night, fitfully tossing and turning in my stark white sheets still faintly stained with his seed. Last night I dreamed that we were tangled up together, wrapped in each other’s arms as we made passionate love on the shores of the Mediterranean, the waves crashing playfully over us until the tide rose to wash us out to sea. As the water filled my lungs, I couldn’t even break away from him to gasp for air. Our bodies, still enraptured in mutual pleasure, sank deeper and deeper under the surface until all light faded… and I woke up coughing, my forehead dewy with sweat.

  Darios has infiltrated every nerve in my body and thought in my head.

  I can’t help but feel weakened, defeated. Like I’ve allowed a true predator to creep into my formerly guarded heart and seize control. He stalks through my mind and soul with those dark eyes trained on me all the time, keeping watch over me even when he’s nowhere near. I find myself watching the door, anxiously awaiting his return. I can’t eat. I can hardly sleep. Darios has settled into my bones like a powerful disease, bringing me to my knees.

  But despite all these fears and pains I still feel giddy when I hear footsteps approaching. It’s very rarely Darios, as there is a constant ebb and flow of surly guards tromping by, stopping in to bring me food and water or simply just to check in on me and make sure I’m still in my room. I have noticed a slight decrease in the frequency of these visits, however, and I assume that has something to do with the fact that I was attacked by one of the guards only a couple days ago. I don’t know if Darios has ordered the guards to give me more space and privacy or if the guards are simply too put off by the sour fate of one of their own after crossing me. Either way, I do appreciate having a little more time to myself, even if I do spend the whole time wishing that Darios would come back.

  I know that the morning guard will be coming in anytime now to bring me a bowl of lumpy porridge and perhaps a thin slice of melon. As of lately the porridge has been slightly less cold and colorless, as though Darios has been actively trying to make my stay here a bit less torturous. I still don’t want to even touch the food with the occasional exception of the accompanying fruit or crusty bread, but it’s a nice gesture all the same.

  Almost like he’s been summoned by my thoughts, there’s a curt knock at the door and I spin around to watch the morning guard come trudging in holding a tray of honeydew slices and a croissant. My eyes widen at the sight of a much more palatable breakfast than the usual fare, and then I realize that this is also a different guard than the one who has been checking in on me every morning. He doesn’t look particularly interesting or even that different, with the exception of a long, mottled scar marring his jaw on the left side of his face.

  “You’re not my usual morning guard,” I comment abruptly. He looks up at me, a little startled, like he hadn’t realized I even possessed the ability to speak. “And the food is different, too,” I add.

  “Yes. Ambrosi has other matters to tend to this morning,” the guard replies gruffly, setting the tray down on my bed as I approach slowly. I see a glint of something shiny poking out of his jacket pocket and for a moment I freeze up, thinking it’s a gun or a knife. But then it hits me. It’s not a weapon at all — it’s a cell phone. And judging by the sparkly silver casing, it belongs to Caitlin. Suddenly, a rather risky idea comes to mind.

  “Oh. Well, um, good morning. What’s your name?” I ask, tilting my head to one side innocently.

  The man glowers at me for a second and then grunts, “Eduard.”

  “That’s a lovely name. I-I had a teacher back home with that name. He taught math. Are you good at math? I was never very good at it,” I lie hastily. I’m actually pretty damn talented in mathematics, though you would never guess it from my lack of class participation or interest. Either way, I needed to keep him talking long enough to figure out how I might weasel that cell phone out of his pocket. I assume it might be dead by now, but if it’s not… well, that’s a risk I need to take.

  “School was pointless,” Eduard responds, shrugging. But I can tell he’s starting to get a little interested in me. It’s time to ramp up the charm.

  I roll my eyes and groan sympathetically. “Oh, I know. I hated school. So glad I graduated so I don’t have to learn about polynomials and vectors anymore. So boring, right?”

  Eduard nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t like learning.”

  “Who does? Ugh, it’s not like any of that stuff even matters in the real world anyway,” I agree excitedly, taking a few sultry steps closer. I bite my lip and glance up at him, widening my big blue eyes at him. He regards me a little dubiously at first, but when I get close enough, I just pick up the croissant and take a slow, dainty little bite out of it, making a big show of holding it in front of my mouth. I know it looks blatantly phallic, which is exactly my intention.

  “Mmm. Oh my god, this is so good,” I moan, licking my lips. Eduard is transfixed, and I know I’ve caught him in my trap. Just as predicted. Men are so easy. Well, most men anyway.

  “It’s from the bakery in the village,” he says quietly, his eyes never leaving my lips as I chew. I nod, batting my eyelashes at him, trying to look genuinely interested.

  “You’re kidding? Oh, well it’s amazing. So buttery. Almost melts in my mouth,” I remark, tilting my head back slightly, as though in ecstasy. I’m not totally exaggerating, as this croissant actually is leagues better than anything else I’ve eaten in days. And Eduard is still just staring at me, open-mouthed, like he’s never seen anything so delicious and fascinating in his life. I wonder how long it’s been since he last had any intimate contact with a woman. No wonder this is so easy.

  I step up to him and seductively set my hand on his chest, my fingers dainty and slender against his bulging pectoral muscles. He stares at my hand, but I need to distract him. So I raise t
he croissant to his lips and murmur, “You just have to take a bite. This is amazing.”

  His eyes are focused on my face as he takes a tentative bite, while my other hand delicately reaches into his pocket and slips the phone out. The poor oaf is so enraptured that he doesn’t even notice. I feed him a couple more bites just to keep him distracted while I secretly drop the phone onto the bed right behind me. To cinch the deal, I then take a bite of the croissant as I sit down, the phone successfully hidden under my butt. I cross my legs and finish off the croissant in one bite, licking my fingertips while staring up at Eduard. He blinks dumbly down at me.

  “I’m so glad to have met you today,” I murmur, twirling a lock of my hair and smiling.

  “M-Me, too,” he replies, a little breathlessly. I can see the faint outline of his cock straining against the front of his trousers, already hard for me. But I need to shut this down fast, before anything else can transpire between us. I have what I need, and now he has to get out of here.

  “Well, I guess you should go,” I pout sadly. “The last guy who stayed in my room too long got thrown out that window, and I would hate for something like that to happen to you.”

  Eduard seems to snap back to reality. A look of genuine worry crosses his face and he nods, swiveling around and hurrying out of the room, giving me a final glance back over his shoulder as he closes the door behind him.

  As soon as I hear his footsteps fading down the hallway I pull the phone into my hands and frantically turn it on, my heart pounding. The little battery symbol in the corner of the screen is red, with the power only at four percent. I open the dial keyboard and rack my brain for a number to call. The only number I have memorized is Brandon’s.