Page 12 of Hit Man
Yet it’s the hunger in his eyes as he rakes his gaze over me that does me in. “You want me?” he asks as our eyes collide.
What is life truly without a few regrets? The rational part of me understands this, that if I fuck this gorgeous man, that’s what he’ll be. A regret. Yet the wild, recently liberated side of me, whispers,Do it. Make him the best regret ever.
“Yes,” I say, a little breathlessly. Okay, a whole lotta breathlessly.
He really does smile this time, the kind that causes tiny creases to form around his eyes. “Good. Now touch me.”
I shift forward, nervous and excited and as reckless as can be. Until I’m close enough to place my palms on his chest. His skin is warm, his nipples pebbling up beneath my touch. The hard planes of his body are no lie. “Are you a boxer?” I ask.
He snorts. “Sometimes.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I’ve been in a fight or two.” He covers my hand with his, then guides it downward, across his abdomen and lower. “Stroke me.”
I wrap my fingers around the thick swell of his erection. I can’t hold back my gasp. He’s hung like a damn stallion.
“Like what you feel?”
“Sí?”
Okay, maybe my introducing Spanish into our conversation is the wrong move because that’s how he responds.“Te gusta mi verga?”
I blush, from my ears to my toes. Because I understand exactly what he’s saying, having recited many sexual phrases over and over on one of Zoey and my infrequent girl nights. We thought it’d be hysterical to read our favorite expressions over bottles of cheap red wine.
“You do understand Spanish.”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
His eyes narrow, like he’s not buying my half truth. I’m not about to explain how I understand how he’s asking me if I like his cock.
I tighten my hold around his beautifully thickvergaand stroke hard.
“Tell me the truth. What are you doing at Casa Bella?” he murmurs.
He folds his arms across his chest and cocks his head. Waiting for me to what, keep working my grip along the smooth hardness of his erection? A bit one-sided, no?
“Well?”
There’s an edge to his tone, one that wasn’t there a second ago. I scowl and release my hold on him. He’s unpredictable. An anything-goes kind of guy—as long as it goeshisway. Handsome. Arrogant. Dangerous. Far more dangerous than anyone I’ve ever met. “I’m at Casa Bella for a staycation.”
“A . . . staycation.”
I wince at my lie. The silly term sounds even more ridiculous coming from his lips.
“That’s right,” I carry on, not feeling the need to explain my true intentions for being here. Let him think what he will. “It’s a phrase used to describe a vacation close to home. The opposite of an I’m-off-to-somewhere-exotic trip.”
He snorts. “Is that the best you can do,chava?”
My scowl intensifies. Am I that horrible of a liar? Or is this exhibitionist also a mind reader? I try to brush past him but he’s a mountain of a man and doesn’t budge.
With narrowed eyes, he scrutinizes me like he’s trying to reach some kind of decision.
A few uncomfortable seconds pass. “I’ll find out soon enough,” he informs me with a shrug. Before I can process what that means, he grabs me by the hips, hoists me into the air, and tosses me back onto the mattress.
I bounce three times, thighs spread wide.
It’s all the time he needs to crawl between them.
