Savior (Savages 3)

"How the fuck you never see her at Chaz's?" Shooter, one of my best friends and also a contract killer, one of the best in the country, asked the next morning as I stuck a needle into the back of his neck, working on some rose tattoo with huge ass thorns he got it in his mind to get done.

"Dunno." And I didn't. She was the kind of woman who stood out. There was an air about her that screamed class, but with a bit of rebellion any man in his right mind would be drawn to. "You never had her?" I asked, knowing that Shooter's reputation was one of the worst around before he finally settled down with his woman a year before.

"Nah. Felt bad as fuck for that Roman guy. Didn't want to make his life any more miserable than it was."

I snorted. "She seemed completely clueless about him wanting her."

"Sees what she wants to see," Shoot shrugged. "Why are you so interested in her all of a sudden?"

"D and Trick were chasing her last night, man. I grabbed her and pulled her in, covered for her."

"D and Trick?" Shoot asked, sitting up straight. He was rightfully worried to hear those names again. "The hell could she have gotten herself into involving them?"

"I don't know."

But I had every intention of finding out.

So I got into her neighborhood and I waited outside her house for her to get home from work. It was almost seven when she finally pulled up in that sweet light blue Porsche of hers.

I hadn't exactly expected full cooperation from her, full disclosure, but I didn't expect to be butting my head against a wall either. Whatever she was hiding, it was something she really didn't want people to know about.

I listened to her go up the stairs and looked over the menu for Famiglia for a minute. I ordered tortellini and a chicken parm then went up the stairs when she still hadn't come down, needing the number to the front gate so I could tell the guard, Al, to let the delivery guy in.

As soon as I got into the hall outside her closed door, I heard her.

I heard her and it was like a shot of white hot desire to my dick.

Because what I heard was the sound of her throaty whimpers. And there was only one thing that made a woman make sounds like that. She was behind that door touching herself, giving herself some relief from the desire I had seen in her eyes down in the kitchen.

My balls felt like they were in a vice grip as her whimpers became groans that culminated in one drawn out moan as she came.

She wasn't quiet.

Even believing I was one floor below her, almost in the exact spot she was, she hadn't bit her lip or buried her face. Or, if she had, then all it did was suggest that she was even louder when she wasn't concerned about being overheard.

Fuck if I didn't want to know what she sounded like uninhibited, riding my cock as hard as she pleased, watching what I could only imagine were perfect pink-tipped tits bouncing as she did so.

I shook my head, ignoring the chafing in my jeans as I turned to go back down the stairs as quietly as I could.

I might have been a man that had the very strong urge to tell her I heard her and that I would be all too happy to give her the kind of orgasm that would make her scream until her lungs hurt. But that was a private moment. I had no right to hear it in the first place, let alone comment on it. So I took my ass back down to the kitchen and rummaged around to make coffee. If the ten minutes before she went up to change were anything to go by, I was going to need a gallon of it.

"I forgot to tell you the number for the gate..." her voice said, sounding a little less flustered than it had been before she went upstairs.

I turned, expecting the typical chick 'lounge around' outfit of yoga pants and a tank, but saw instead an image that was going to be playing at the forefront of my brain when I jacked off later. Because gone was the cool, calm, collected rich girl persona she usually had. In its place was the sexiest fucking nerd I'd ever seen in my life. "Oh babygirl, if you were going for unappealing, you missed by a long shot," I smiled, taking in the messy hair, the glasses, the baggy sweatshirt and the skinny jeans.

Her feet faltered a second before she forced them forward. "I wasn't trying for anything. My contacts were bothering me."

"And the hair?"

"It was getting messy. I wanted it out of my face."