How the Hitman Stole Christmas

None of them were murderers, though. None of them worked for some crime family in Chicago.

All things considered, the other guys may have been assholes, but they weren’t legitimately dangerous.

And, most importantly, those were actual relationships. There was an expectation of developing feelings and attachment. I was allowed to keep them if I wanted to.

That’s not the case with Jasper. There’s a countdown clock on us. Like grains of sand trapped in an hourglass—when time runs out, that’s it. He’s gone. I have to go back to the life I led before him, and I can’t do that if he has pieces of me I never should have given him in the first place.

I can’t afford to get attached, and it’s hard enough to remember that without sharing such an extreme intimacy with him.

I do want to know what it would be like with Jasper, but I can’t. I just can’t.

While I’ve been distracted with my inner turmoil, Jasper has stripped off all his clothes. Movement registers in the mirror in front of me. I look up and my breath catches at the sight of him.

I’ve seen Jasper without his shirt on before, but I was a little preoccupied with the whole “is he going to kill me?” thing at the time, so I wasn’t able to focus and properly admire the sight.

It is a sight to behold, though. His shoulders are broad and strong, but not bulky. He probably does work out often, but he doesn’t have “gym muscles”. He has brute strength, the practical kind. He probably needs it in his line of work.

My gaze wanders, trying to take in every inch of him, from his firm pectoral muscles to his toned abdomen. He has tattoos, starting at his left wrist and climbing up his bicep toward his shoulder.

I wonder if they mean anything, or he just likes the look of them.

My chest rises and falls with rapid breaths as he comes up behind me, locking his strong arms around my midsection, imprisoning me in his embrace. I love when he holds me like this. His head tilts naturally to kiss the crook of my neck, sending a shiver of pleasure dancing down my spine.

Tenderness overwhelms me. I close my eyes, letting myself enjoy it for just a moment before I unlock his arms and pull away.

Only, when I try to, he doesn’t let me.

I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Let go.”

He shakes his head slightly. “Mm-mm.”

“What? You can’t tell me no,” I say, smiling at the absurdity of his denial.

“Just did,” he answers. “Don’t start talking about those fucking rules again, either. If you try it one more time, I’m gonna make some rules of my own—and you can bet I’ll be much better at enforcing them than you are.”

I pout at him, but he’s unmoved. In the end, I let him hold me until he decides to let go.

When he finally does, he walks over and opens the shower door. He steps in and turns the water on so it can heat up before we get in.

I notice he only turns on one faucet. There are two—his and hers shower heads, which I’ve never seen before. The stall is so sizable, though, there’s ample space for two people to shower at one time.

Narrowing my eyes at him as he steps out of the shower stall, I walk over and turn on the other one myself.

“We won’t need that,” he informs me.

I don’t bother saying anything out loud he might see as a challenge, but my mind is made up for at least tonight, and he’s wrong if he thinks he’ll change it.

I turn to walk back out of the shower, but gasp when I come up against the solid wall of Jasper’s muscular chest. “God. You snuck up on me.”

Smiling darkly, he says, “I do that from time to time.”

I bet he does. I bet he scares the living daylights out of grown men, too.

I’m not afraid of him anymore, but my heart still flutters. His vibe is so predatory as he backs me deeper into the shower stall, I forget for a second and feel a healthy dose of wariness.

Maybe smarter prey would do a better job at evading him, but as he presses my back against the cool marble wall, I rest my hands on his powerful shoulders and let my gaze wander all over him.

Once I’ve admired his strong upper body for a few moments, my gaze dares to drop even lower.

His cock stands proudly erect, nothing tentative or reluctant about it.

He’s not afraid to want me like I’m afraid to want him.

I want to touch him, but I don’t. I’m committed to turning down sex, and if I curve my hand around him and feel the weight of his long, thick, well-veined cock in my hand… well, that won’t do anything to help my cause.