How the Hitman Stole Christmas

He’s masterful between my legs. He’s obviously a fast learner, because he already knows every sensitive spot like he’s tasted me a thousand times before.

Bless this man and his attention to detail.

My legs begin to shake, the muscles seeming to melt right out of them. I pant, releasing his hair so I can hold onto the counter with both hands.

Jasper shifts positions, hoisting me so that my ass is on the counter and I’m more comfortable. There’s relief, but also disappointment because he had to unlatch to move me.

I don’t have to worry—he gets right back to it.

I sigh, letting my head fall back and my eyes drift shut as his skilled tongue strokes me in all the right places.

“Jasper, Jasper, Jasper,” I cry softly, writhing and bucking against his mouth, chasing the high he’s already leading me to, but I need to get there faster. I need there now.

He pushes a hand under my ass, shifting my position just slightly, then he attacks my clit, strumming it mercilessly as the pressure inside me builds and builds.

I pant shamelessly as I feel myself approaching the precipice. Then he licks me just right and I vault over the edge, crying out with abandon, grabbing mindlessly below and above me as my body rocks with the enormous pleasure of release.

I go limp, my head bumping the mirror behind me. As I wait—blissed out and pleasantly satisfied—for my heart rate to return to normal, Jasper does the silliest thing.

He removes my socks.

It’s an absurd thing to giggle at, but I’m still very drunk, and now I’m also relaxed—much more relaxed than I should be, spread out on this counter at such an absurdly unflattering angle.

The reminder of how I must look right now spurns me to act. I finally sit up, easing myself down off the countertop. The floor feels cool beneath my bare feet, but I only get to focus on that for a split second, then my attention is drawn elsewhere.

Jasper’s gorgeous blue eyes are locked on me, heated as he draws off his black leather belt.

The sight of him starting to undress sobers me a little. I don’t know what I was thinking, inviting him to shower with me. Alcohol always makes me a little flirty, but this is a far cry from teasing a handsome stranger who bought me a drink at the bar.

Still a little spacey from that orgasm, I try to get it together and pull myself out of the hot water I inexplicably decided to steep myself in a few moments ago.

“That was very nice,” I say a touch hesitantly, my gaze glued to his belt as he drops it on the ground. “Um… but also very against the rules.”

“What is your attachment to these rules all of a sudden?” His tone is casual, but I sense the genuine curiosity buried underneath.

I swallow, watching his hands as they move to the buttons of his shirt.

“I can’t sleep with you,” I tell him. “I mean, we can’t have sex.”

“You said that already.” His tone is bored, reviewing information he already has. “You haven’t said why. I know it’s not that you don’t want to.”

No, that’s certainly not it. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been attracted to him since the moment I met him. Sure, that attraction hit a little speed bump when he morphed from the handsome man who saved me to the scary degenerate who stole me, but… well, even some aspects of that weren’t altogether unappealing.

I may have been genuinely afraid of him, but that night at the motel room when I was naked and resolved to doing whatever I had to do to get out of there alive… I don’t know, there was a freedom in it. Something I’ve never felt before.

Something I haven’t felt since.

I could do something naughty and reckless, I could let the dangerous, sexy stranger claim me without having to feel guilty for it later. After all, what choice did I have?

Now I’m weighed down again, burdened by too many choices and their inevitable consequences. I don’t know which path is the right one. I’m tempted toward Jasper, but he’s not safe—not even a little bit.

Jasper never seems to be burdened with uncertainty. How I envy him that.

I turn away, facing the sink instead of him.

How can I explain without stripping myself bare—not my body, but my heart? That’s so much scarier than being naked.

I can’t explain that if I let him possess me in that way, I’ll grow attached. I know it’s unusual, I know not everyone feels that way, and he’s a man—not to mention older and more experienced than I am—so I’m sure he’s capable of having sex and not getting attached.

I’m not.

I’ve made that choice too soon before, I’ve emotionally involved myself with men I shouldn’t have, and each time I’ve been hurt.