She didn’t stop me.
I unbuttoned the front of her jeans and she moaned with shock when I pushed my fingers down the front of her panties.
I didn’t know what I expected.
She was smooth, shaved. That got me half hard.
Then I felt her soaking wet pussy, and I stiffened like a ballistic missile.
Fuck, she was wet.
Absolutely soaking wet.
I slid my fingers down along her slit and pushed them inside, making her gasp in pleasure. I bit her lower lip then pulled my fingers back out and began to roll them around her clit.
She moved her hips in a steady rhythm like she wanted to grind herself into an orgasm.
We kept kissing. I lost all control of the situation. I released her other hand and she grabbed my hair. I half expected her to attack, but she didn’t. If she did, I would’ve been fucked—there was no way I could fight back.
Instead, her hips rolled, and she moaned into my mouth as I continued to work her pussy faster, teasing her, grabbing her hair with my other hand and pulling. I kissed her neck and whispered in her ear.
“Do you know what you’re doing right now?”
“No,” she moaned. “God, I didn’t think this through.”
“You want to get off for me, princess?” I slid my fingers deep inside of her, making her head tilt back. “You’d rather come right here in the street than die, wouldn’t you?”
“Keep going.”
I kissed her again and teased her clit faster in harder circles. She moved her hips and I matched her rhythm, and soon she stopped kissing me as moans escaped, soft and low, like she was trying not to be too loud, her hips moving faster and faster along my fingers, over and over again, until she gasped, shoulders shaking, back arching. I kissed her as she came, and her tongue slid into my mouth, and she kept moaning through it until finally, she let out a long breath and I pulled back.
I licked my fingers clean as she buttoned up her fly. Her cheeks were flushed, her perfect lips hanging open.
I stepped back and she bent over to grab her phone.
“Who the hell are you?” she asked, clutching it to her chest.
“I work for the Morozov family,” I said, watching her carefully, heart juddering wildly, so loud I could barely hear myself speak.
That was the hottest thing I’d ever experienced and my cock felt like it might tear right through my pants.
“They sent you to—” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Kill me?”
“I don’t know why, but someone wants you dead.”
“Are you going to do it?”
I hesitated.
I’d never failed to finish off my target before.
That was part of my rules, part of how I survived—I made myself indispensable to my superiors.
I never screwed up.
But I’d also never kissed a victim and gotten her off before.
“No, I’m not.”
“Then let me leave.”
I stepped aside.
She walked past me, tentatively. “It’s my mother,” she said suddenly.
“Your mother?”
“That’s why I don’t look Irish. She was Italian. I’ve got her hair and skin and stuff.” She chewed on her lip again. “You really were sent to kill me?”
“I don’t know what you did, but you should leave this city. Get the hell out and don’t look back.”
Her jaw clamped down suddenly. It was like she went from a scared animal to a furious beast instantly.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“If you don’t want to get yourself killed—”
“I said I’m not leaving.” She glared at me then shoved her phone into the pouch of her sweatshirt. “Thanks for not killing me, but please just leave me alone.”
And with that, Fiona Doyle turned and marched away.
I watched her go, an enormous grin spreading across my face.
In all my years, that was without a doubt the most insane thing I’d ever done.
She should be dead. Many men and women had been in her position over the years, and all of them were gone, their bodies sunk to the bottom of the Delaware.
Except for her.
All because of that kiss.
I should’ve shoved a knife between her ribs and ripped open her heart.
Instead, I let her get away.
But the way she refused to leave the city—that was interesting.
There was something more going on, something she didn’t want me to know about.
And of course, I couldn’t help but extract all her little secrets, and maybe, just maybe, get another taste of those lips and that incredible slick pussy.
2
Fiona
I woke up to three missed calls and groaned. I had a splitting headache, my feet hurt from standing all night long, and I could still taste that monster on my lips.
I could still feel his fingers between my legs.
I got up and showered. I didn’t know what the hell I was thinking. My phone buzzed while I cleaned my face—another number I didn’t recognize. I let it go to voicemail.
Growing up in the Doyle family taught me a lot of things. First, never answer right away, always screen your calls. Second, cops won’t tell you they’re cops no matter what, but they are more likely to try to push you into doing illegal shit. Third, family is the most important thing in the world—except for when it’s not.