Falling for the Killer

I rolled my eyes at him and threw the scotch bottle against the far wall.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Stefano headed out. Tomaso was already on the front stoop. Ash came out behind me, and caught my hand as we left, biting her lip girlishly. She went to close the door, but I stopped her.

“Leave it open,” I said. “Let anyone who wants to go inside and steal from that rich bastard.”

She laughed and left the door wide open.

We returned to the truck and I dropped Stefano and Tomaso off at a Valentino bar several blocks away. “Good stuff in there,” Tomaso said to Ash. “You’re a natural.”

“Real mafia queen,” Stefano added and winked at me again.

“Get the fuck inside, you two,” I said, and pulled away, heading back to my apartment.

Ash stared out the window and leaned down in her seat. She was quiet as I took the long way, making sure we weren’t followed. I didn’t hear sirens, and didn’t see any cops. It was a shockingly quiet night.

“I keep thinking that wasn’t enough,” she said, almost whispering.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He tried to kill us,” she said, and looked at me. “And we just broke some of his stuff.”

I nodded slowly and kept my eyes ahead. I had the same thought, but I was surprised she’d gotten there. Ash didn’t strike me as the violent type, but when she talked about Stuart, I caught a little glimpse of rage, and maybe that rage could lead to something worse. Something vicious.

“We can’t kill Stuart,” I said. “At least not yet. Your family’s got too much power in this city and they’ll know exactly who did it.”

“I didn’t mean we should murder him,” she said with a hint of surprise.

“Then what do you want me to do?” I asked her, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “You think we should roll up on him and beat him up?”

“Maybe,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just mad, that’s all. He sent guys to kill you, and I feel like he’s getting off easy.”

I pulled up outside of my place and killed the engine, but didn’t get out. I reached across the seat and took her hand, squeezing her palm, before pulling her over toward me. She stared at me in the dim moonlight, eyes wide, skin still damp from exertion. I brushed some hair from her face and kissed her.

She moaned as I pushed my seat back then pulled her into my lap. Her hips rolled and her back arched as she pushed herself down against my thick, hard cock. I grabbed her hair with one hand and unbuttoned her jeans enough to slip my other hand into her panties.

Wet, dripping wet, just like I knew she would be. The girl was a viper hiding behind the shell of a kitten.

“Hurting him’s only going to make him want to come back harder,” I whispered in her ear as my fingers teased her wet little pussy. “I want Stuart scared. I want him to walk into that office and look around, and know that I did it.” I pressed my fingers deep inside and pulled her hair hard before moving back out, rolling them fast around her clit. “I want him to sit down behind that desk and slowly, throughout the day, realize that it was me, and it was you, and we could do that to him whenever we wanted. We know where he lives and we aren’t afraid.”

“God, yes,” she whispered and bit my lip. “I used to be so afraid. Why do I feel like I’m not afraid anymore?”

“Because you’re not on a leash, princess,” I said.

She fumbled at my belt and managed to get it off. I was practically pulsing with need for her as she tugged her jeans off. We managed to strip her down to her panties and got her straddling my thick cock again, her hips rolling up and down my length, the heat of her soaked spot rolling down along my shaft. It was fucking torture.

“I never wanted to be like that,” she said, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. “Did you know my mother used to make me take ballet? I hate ballet.”

I pushed her panties aside and pressed my tip against her warm slit. “I bet you were sexy in those leotards,” I said. “Making those beautiful lines. I can imagine your tight ass bending over.”

“I hated it,” she said, and slid herself down my length with a low moan. “God, I hated ballet, and piano, and calligraphy. I did calligraphy at ten.”

I gripped her hips and let her ride me nice and slow. “That’s not you anymore, princess.”

“No, it’s not,” she moaned, moving faster, the truck shaking with each roll of her hips. “It’s not me anymore. I don’t want it.”

“I know what you want,” I growled as she went faster, body working, taut and gorgeous and lithe. “You want freedom, princess. You want to get mad, and stay mad. I want to see you pissed off. I want to see you stripped, riding my thick cock, getting all that pleasure you need.”