She’s going to give birth to my children one day. Those round palm-me-now breasts of hers are going to swell with milk, her nipples bursting with it, and she’s going to feed our children … and then feed me, her man, the person who gets to do with her whatever the fuck I feel like.
I’ll drink her milk and suck her horny nipples until she’s creaming from her pussy and her tits at the same time, a river of white lust squirting from her, and then I’ll taste the come between her legs and spit it onto her milk-slick breasts.
Fuck, she’s got my mind going to places I never dreamed of.
It’s like she’s woken up the Viking in me, the ancient warrior, the caveman who’d bash another man’s head in with a rock to protect his woman and his cave and his kin and the life they have together.
“Jett?” she whispers. “Please.”
Please.
The way she says it goes right to my manhood, flooding it with even more rock-hardness, which I would’ve thought was impossible.
Please, fuck me like your personal sex toy, I imagine her moaning, massaging those bountiful tits. Please use me any way you want.
I’ve been as hard as stone ever since I climbed into the car, smelled her sweat and her perfume and her just-Juliana scents, her womb beneath it all, screaming at me to pull over and fuck her roughly and possessively until her hole is bursting with my seed until she has no goddamned choice but to get pregnant.
“Okay,” I sigh darkly. “I’m a hitman, Juliana.”
“Wait, that wasn’t a joke at the party?”
“No, it wasn’t a joke. I’m a hitman and tonight was supposed to be my last job. The way it normally works, I’m hired to kill the scumbags of this world, the killers, the rapists, the child molesters, the evil motherfuckers who don’t deserve life. But tonight was different. They wanted me to kill you.”
“K-kill me?” she gasps.
“Yes,” I growl.
“But you wouldn’t,” she says.
“Of course I wouldn’t,” I snap. “I don’t kill women. I don’t kill the innocent.”
She lets her head fall back, slowing her breathing. I can already read her so well, my woman, my property. She’s trying to calm herself down before we go on with this conversation. It’s all too much for her to take.
A few hours ago she was a party planner.
Now she’s a target.
“But why?” she says after several minutes of silent driving.
The night has gotten darker now as we move to the edge of the city, toward the dockyard, less civilization this far from the center.
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “The men I’m contracted to kill have usually done something bad like I said before. I can’t think why they’d want me to take you out.”
“You said it was your last job,” she murmurs.
“Yes.”
“And back there, that man said they’re going to come after you, too.”
“Yes.”
She bites her lip.
I don’t think she has any idea how sexy she looks when she does that, her cheeks all red from crying, making her look vivacious and filled with vitality. She bites it the same way she’s going to when I slip my fingers into her wet hole, deeper, and deeper, moving them in circles to ply the pleasure out of her.
I grind my teeth from side to side. The power she has over me is truly massive and terrifying.
And yet I don’t want to fight it.
I can’t fight it.
I need her, every single part of her, those full lips made for sucking my throbbing dick, those breasts made for milking and grabbing and pleasing, those thighs made for biting, and most of all that sweet hole made for pumping full of my boiling hungry seed.
“This is so crazy,” she murmurs.
“Are you scared?” I ask.
Her mouth falls open and she tilts her head at me.
“Um, yeah. Of course. What sort of question is that?”
“No,” I say. “I meant, are you scared of me, Juliana?”
She pauses and gives the question real thought. She stares at me for long moments, her hands moving endlessly over her dog’s fur, comforting herself and the Chihuahua at the same time.
“No,” she gasps. “I’m not. Does that make me crazy?”
“It means you trust me,” I tell her firmly. “And that’s good. You should trust me. Because I’ll never lie to you, Juliana. Never. I told you the truth when I said I’ve only ever killed bad men. Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” she murmurs, sweetly, a moan in her voice.
If I don’t get inside this woman, I’m going to turn feral.
I ache with the need for her.
I focus on driving toward the entrance of the dockyard. This is the abandoned section, which suits me just fine. The gate has been vandalized, jammed open, meaning I can drive right through. I remember when I first built my safe house here, a decade ago now, paying off the dockworkers to keep quiet and help me with its construction.