The Hitman’s Angel

“Good girl,” I praise quietly, as if someone sleeps in the next room. I pet her bottom, letting my middle finger rest against her puckered asshole. “Keep wiggling and Daddy won’t even need a turn.”

She pouts. “Don’t you want to take one?”

You have no idea. I’m so close to shooting come into her like a geyser, I’m going to give myself an injury holding it back. “Da, angel. But when I take my turn, the bed creaks too loudly.”

Her shoulders do a proud shake, bouncing her tits around. “So I win?”

“Not so fast.” I catch my little girl by the knees and upend her on the bed, making her land on her back with a gasp. With that, she’s in the perfect position for me to eat her beautiful pussy—and I do, starting with a thorough, flat-tongued lick between her folds. The squeal she’s been holding back fills the room and I reach up, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Daddy can’t be caught with his mouth where it doesn’t belong, little girl. If you want me to stay and play, you have to be good.”

A shudder wracks her body. “I’ll be good.” Her belly heaves up and down, her fingers twisting in the bedclothes. “I-I’ll be good.”

“Da.” My mouth curls into a smile against her pussy. “You will.”

It takes only a few flicks of my tongue on her clit and she’s panting into the dark, her thighs opening and closing around my head. Fuck, she is sweet. I lap at her juice like it will make me a god—and it does. I’m a fucking god as long as I have this pussy to lick. I miss her cries of ecstasy, but she is enjoying the quiet game, so I vow to make up for not hearing her beautiful voice by making her scream twice as loud next time.

My thumb draws a circle around her clit, pressing it like a button, then jiggling. As if I’ve sprung her combination, she thrashes above me and stiffens, moisture coating my chin and lips while I bring her straight into the eye of the orgasm, then lever myself up and ram her full of cock. I cover her mouth with my hand and ride her tight pussy while she gasps and whines into my palm, her heels digging into my lower back, fingernails raking over my ass.

Above my hand, her eyes are trusting and the combination of her confidence and the snugness of her wet pussy send me past the breaking point. I fall on her like a man without morals, pounding her innocent body without remorse, because I can’t exist outside of the lust and possessiveness she spawns in me. I become an animal, determined to plant its seed deep inside his mate and I do it with a growl. I’m wracked with the intensity of my release and it’s almost more than I can withstand, because my heart is involved.

“I love you,” I rasp into her neck a moment later. “My Margaret. I love you so much.”

Her arms close around me, hesitantly at first, but then she’s squeezing tight and I’m home. She is my home now. “I love you, too, Lenin.”

My chest constricts so much I can barely breathe. I just pray she remembers she loves me if she ever finds out what I’ve done in my past…and what I’m capable of.

CHAPTER SIX

Margaret

Dear God, I am sore.

Last night would seem like a dream if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable throb between my legs. It feels like I sat on an eggplant and honestly, that isn’t that far from the truth. I don’t need to compare my hot Russian lover to other men to know he’s well endowed. It’s intuitive. Just like I know most men aren’t as generous in bed or willing to go full throttle on a woman’s kinky fantasies as easily as Lenin. If they were, my mom and the women in relationships I’ve met wouldn’t have been so miserable all the time.

All signs point to me being a lucky duck.

A smile is plastered across my face as I stretch my arms up over my head and wiggle my booty around in the sheets. Lenin isn’t in bed, but I hear the shower running and it’s comforting to know he’s close. He’s only one room away and I can’t wait to see him again. I want him to make bad jokes, be too literal and call me “angel.” There are so many things I like about Lenin, in addition to being flat on my butt in love with him.

Who knew it could happen so fast?

Definitely not me. There might be some unanswered questions about how we met last night—and the gun he carries—but those answers will come in time. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and I’m not going to be impatient. Not when I can be happy instead. If I’ve learned anything in my eighteen years, it’s that a lot of people aren’t blessed with happiness. Maybe I’m one of the few who actually gets to experience it. I’m going along for the ride.