The Hitman’s Angel

“What is your name?” I ask, aching to cup her cheek.

“Oh, um…”

“Your real one, if you please.”

She swallows. “Margaret.”

The name slides down my throat like a fine wine. “Margaret. I am Lenin.”

“Lenin.” I could jerk off for a decade to that single utterance of my name, but she’s looking too nervous for me to relax. “There are cameras. We have to get started.”

“I’ve paid more than enough for you to take your time.”

That doesn’t make her relax. “You paid enough to do…everything. With me.” Her eyes drop to my crotch and she sucks in a breath. “Is that what you’re expecting?”

“Nyet. We do what makes you comfortable.”

“Sitting in a bubble bath with a book would make me comfortable. That doesn’t strike me as an option.”

If I had the capability to laugh, I would. She is clever on top of everything else? I’m struck with the sudden fear that I might have never met Margaret if I’d simply pulled the trigger, killed the gnat and disappeared into the night. That thought gives me great panic. “I will take you from this place right now, angel. I will draw you a bubble bath and send for enough books to fill a library. All you have to do is ask.”

“Stick with the devil you know. My mother used to say that.” She shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Stripping sucks, but my head in a duffel bag sounds worse.”

I might as well have a bullet wound in my chest. And it wouldn’t be the first time. “I wouldn’t harm a hair on your head.”

Her brown eyes soften and she chews her luscious lower lip. She wants desperately to believe me. Desperately wants out of this place. But this one finds it hard to trust—and I respect that. I understand, but I want her confidence so much I’d sell my soul to get it. “Can you prove you won’t…harm me?”

“You said it yourself,” I respond. “I paid enough to have my way with you.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“I will not do it, angel.” Much as my body is begging for otherwise. “I will not lay a finger on you without permission.”

“How do I know you’ll stay so noble once we leave?”

What I do next is a risk, but I can think of no other option. The movements feel unnatural—giving up my weapon. But I angle my body to block the camera and show her the gun in my jacket. “Take the gun now, if you wish. I won’t stop you. That would give you two weapons against me.”

She blinks down at the gun, up at me. “What is the other one?”

“Every fucking thing about you.”

Her breath catches. “We just met.”

“Da. When you know, you know. My mother used to say that.”

The corner of her mouth tilts up. “I’ll think about your offer. But…keep the gun for now.” Her eyes go the camera and she shakes herself, as if remembering something. “Will you sit down, please?”

I drop down onto the cushion, hooking my arms over the backrest. My thighs shift and widen out of necessity, thanks to the space my erection takes up. “It seems important that you dance for me, angel. Why?”

Margaret starts to confide but shoots the camera another look and closes her mouth. “Just tell me what…” She tucks a loose hair behind her ear. “What do men like?”

“Men who get lap dances, you mean?”

Briefly, she pouts. “Men like you, I guess.”

Acid singes my throat. “In time you will know I’m nothing like the men in this place, angel.” We both spend a few seconds looking at my cock. It’s not something that can be avoided at its full size. “Come closer and let me start proving it.” She takes a bracing breath, then steps between my outstretched legs. Hesitantly, her fingertips skim up my thighs and I battle back a moan. “Blyad.”

Margaret has no idea the picture she creates in her long, blue lingerie. Azure light fans out around her, shadowing her gorgeous face and suddenly I’m a dying man looking up at an angel guarding the gates of heaven. Only, she’s a sexy angel with a little triangle of blue silk hiding her pussy and the barest hint of lace covering her tits. Her thighs. Goddammit. They are smooth and young enough to make me feel guilty, but not enough to stop looking. She’s a feast and all I have to do to gorge myself is put her beneath me on this couch. I could wedge my hips between her thighs, pin her with my upper body and fit my fat cock inside her. Ram it, ram it, ram it until my balls are empty. No one would stop me.

Bastard. Look at her eyes. You’re losing yourself.

With a hard swallow and a silent apology to Margaret for momentarily letting lust control my mind, I begin to instruct her. It’s important for her to dance and thus it is important to me. I’ve never paid for a dance such as this, but I’ve witnessed enough men succumbing to their weaknesses to know how it’s done. “Begin by teasing me, angel. Touch your beautiful body. Make me wish your hands are mine.” My cock surges against my zipper when her fingertips glide up her hips and ribcage. There is music coming from the main stage. It’s muffled, but enough to provide her body with a beat and she sways to it, side to side. “Reveal yourself to me,” I rasp. “Slowly.”