The Hitman’s Angel

The smell of his skin is earthy, male, and I inhale it on the way to the bedroom. I’m playing with the idea of licking his clavicle to find out if his scent has a taste, but I don’t get the chance because he’s laying me down in the center of the king-sized bed, my body wet and naked. The fire in Lenin’s eyes convinces me he’s going to pin me to the mattress and attack my mouth, so I’m surprised when he lies down beside me instead, the muscles in his jaw, chest and stomach flexing in the lamp light. He scoots closer, until only an inch of space exists between us, and cups my face in a warm hand.

“It occurs to me we’re both virgins in this situation,” he murmurs. “I’ve never made out like a teenager. I thought this is something that only happens in American movies.”

His mouth is inviting me to come closer and I do, my naked thighs pressing against his clothed ones. “For starters, I don’t think any of the participants are supposed to be naked.”

Lenin winks at me and everything south of my equator melts like chocolate in the sunshine. He runs a single fingertip down the middle of my body, starting at my neck and finishing with a lap around my belly button. “We make our own rules, da?”

“Da,” I breathe.

Lenin is chuckling when our lips meet, but he stops immediately and I sense tension wrack his body. You would never know it from his mouth, though. His lips move slowly over mine, parting them, his breath rattling out. He keeps going, opening my mouth for the taking and his tongue touches the tip of mine, just barely, before retreating. A savoring sound crackles in his chest, vibrating me head to toe. “You like this so far?” he practically growls at me.

“Uh-huh.” Understatement.

His big hand splays on my hip, kneading me there, his gaze sweeping me greedily, darkening when it touches on my womanhood. My body blooms like a flower under his attention, my hands lifting of their own accord to close over my breasts. “Play fair, Margaret,” he warns, his lower body rocking against me, that male organ impossibly stiff where it presses to my thigh.

Spoiler: I don’t play fair.

I can’t even control my impulse to drive him crazy. I simply obey the undeniable urge to test him. My mouth forms a pout and I pinch my nipples, gasping at the corresponding electric zap between my legs. “But it feels so good.”

This time, when Lenin kisses me, he’s almost animalistic. The hand on my hip is shaking and he’s breathing heavily through his nose. Whatever he’s woken up inside me sings like a plucked tuning fork. His hips roll at a steadily increasing pace and my breasts ache at the tips, wetness rushing forth between my legs. With no panties there to catch the moisture, it simply coats my thighs and a low thrum begins there, spreading all through my belly until I’m clawing at Lenin’s shoulders, trying to lever myself off the bed to taste more of him, but he holds me down and lunges on top of me first. I’m pinned. And I love it. Love that I’ve given him no choice.

“You make it very hard to control myself,” he rasps, settling himself between my thighs. “Your little mouth tastes like honey and I can smell your pussy drenching itself for me in welcome.” He pumps his hips into the juncture of my thighs and moans hoarsely. “A few more minutes of this kissing, angel, then we stop. You would not think yourself so safe if you knew the visions in my head.”

Snared in my own wickedness, I settle my knees against his ribcage. “What are they?”

“Bad little girl,” Lenin growls. His big hand captures my jaw, his thumb tugging down my lower lip so he can sweep his tongue into my open mouth. His weight is all rough angles and thick muscles. On top of me, it is divine. I’m naked and he’s still half-clothed. In every way that counts, I’m at his mercy. So why does it seem like he’s at mine? It’s an incredible feeling. His kisses are ferocious. Wet and male and untamed. His mouth works mine fast and hard, his bulge grinding on my naked flesh. “You’re going to let Daddy put his big cock in this mouth someday.”

Uh oh. Game changer.

As soon as he calls himself my daddy, my feminine flesh squeezes in the most intense way. Enough to make me gasp and wriggle around beneath his hard body. Am I…going to climax? Oh my God. Lust forms a fog around my brain and everything else fades to black except my physical contact with Lenin. It’s all I feel or see or care about. Daddy is on top of me and he’s hungry. In pain, too, if the harsh groans coming from his chest are any clue.