She doesn’t notice me as she comes in. She doesn’t notice much of anything. She appears to be lost in thought as she walks straight to the kitchen, pours herself a bowl of Golden Grahams cereal and milk and starts eating standing up.
Only then does she turn and spot me.
The cereal bowl clatters to the floor as her scream pierces the air. Milk splatters fly everywhere.
Her wide eyes lock on mine, that pretty mouth opens.
But she recovers way faster than I expect. Just one short scream and she goes silent.
“Hello, Caitlin.”
“Oh.” Her palm travels down her toned belly, wiping at the milk splatters, then she dries it on her ass. And a very fine ass it is.
“The Tacones sent you?” She sounds breathless. Good. She was expecting me.
“I sent myself.”
“Mr. Tacone, then.”
And that’s when I realize my usual intimidation schtick is a total and complete fail.
Because little miss hacker slowly slides her hand between her legs, holding my gaze while she curls her fingers there, touching herself like she’s watching porn.
Or rather, like she’s the porn star and she knows she owns me with that simple move.
Caitlin
“What the fuck are you doing?” my hitman demands. He has that decidedly urban, definitely dangerous way of saying fuck. When a college boy says fuck, it means nothing. The way this guy says it hits me square in the chest. It’s an assault all in itself.
He’s way more beautiful than I expected. Wickedly, darkly handsome, which seems unfair, since he’s also a multi-millionaire.
And a killer, I remind myself as I seek my clit through my yoga pants. It is a manipulation. I’m trying to throw him off guard with my crazy. But it’s also for me. Sex pulls me back to my body and I have to think now. I can’t dissociate when my life is on the line here.
So I move my fingers slowly between my legs, rolling my clitoral hood piercing while I force myself to breathe and stare into the dark brown eyes of Chicago’s Most Dangerous.
I always knew it would come to this. Me digging my own grave while a guy in an Italian suit holds a gun to my head. Only he doesn’t even bother with a gun. It’s like he knows, even sitting down without a visible weapon, I’m at his mercy.
I rub my clit harder, pushing the piercing against it for added friction, as my mouth goes slack and my nipples get hard, all the while watching the man in my apartment, looking for the opportunity to get away or kill him first. He raises his brows, and I realize he’s waiting for an answer to his question.
I shrug like it’s perfectly normal to finger yourself when you find a mafia hitman in your apartment. “If I’m gonna die, I’m at least going to make it feel good. You know, make it my fantasy, not yours,” I tell him. I try to make it sound like I’m not scared at all.
And that’s partly true. Life will fuck you hard in the ass, so you might as well find a way to enjoy it. That’s been my mantra since the day my dad disappeared. Since the night social services showed up and took my brother and me away to separate foster homes.
“Yeah?” The Tacone—I don’t know which of the five brothers he is because he hasn’t told me—slowly unfolds his long legs from my easy chair and rises. He’s tall and stocky—over six feet, with broad shoulders. Despite the size and hulk, he saunters toward me with an effortless, casual grace. And he’s not pissed off by my masturbation. Judging by the bulge in his pants, he’s enjoying my show. Which means sex is a place I can find leverage with him.
I’m definitely not above using the only things I have—my sexuality and lack of sanity—to fight back in an unwinnable situation.
He pulls two zip ties from his jacket pocket, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “So what is your fantasy, little hacker?” He catches my wrists and pins them together in front, then wraps a zip tie around them.
And with that simple act—his taking control of my body—some more of my sanity slips, because now he’s got kinky Caitlin under his thumb.
The zip tie hurts, so I twist my wrists against the hard plastic, letting it dig into my skin, keep me in my body.
I return my bound hands to my pulsing clit and continue a slow rub. Mr. Tacone watches.
Then he feeds right into my fantasy and pinches one of my nipples through my shirt and sports bra. He holds it tight and twists. “I asked you a question, Caitlin. I expect an answer.” His voice is low and smoky. It curls between my legs, creating shivers of pleasure tremoring through my body.