Saved By The Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  It’s nothing flashy, but it’s bigger and more modern than mine. There’s a kitchen with an island and fancy-looking equipment, a living room with a flat-screen TV and a large corner couch, a bedroom with a big double bed and silk sheets, a bathroom, and an ensuite with a large bathtub and a waterfall shower.

  I’m in the ensuite now, washing my hands, staring into my wide, shell-shocked eyes. I splash some cold water on my face, wondering if that will jolt me awake.

  But I’m already awake.

  I’m being hunted.

  I’m in an underground safe-house apartment with a man I only met tonight.

  And yet I feel like I know him like we were meant to meet tonight, even if that sounds a hundred shades of crazy.

  I agreed to do whatever he wants me to if he’ll tell me who he is, not just the fact that he’s a hitman, but his story, his soul.

  But I don’t know what he wants from me.

  He touched my face, cradled it like a lover.

  He said he’d never lie to me.

  Does that mean he wants me the same way I want him, achingly, sexually, wholly?

  I wipe my face on the clean towels from the rack and then walk into the bedroom, finding Rebel curled up under the pillows where I left her. It’s gone midnight now, and I can tell she’s tired. Even so, she opens her eyes and makes as if to pad over to me when I enter the room.

  “It’s okay, girl,” I tell her. “Go back to sleep.”

  She yawns and lays her tiny head on her tiny paws with a huff.

  I walk into the living room, stunned by how much like a real apartment this feels. The only difference is the eerie feeling brought by the lack of windows. We could be in some post-apocalyptic fallout shelter for all the light and access to the outside world.

  Jett is sitting on the couch, the laptop seeming absurdly small as he moves his fingers over the keys, typing with a speed and skill I wouldn’t have expected from such a large man.

  He’s taken off his jacket and bow-tie, his shirt unbuttoned at the top. The material is slightly see-through, giving me a look at his bare skin, throbbing, freaking pulsating with muscles.

  I walk over to the armchair next to the couch and sit down, letting out a shaky breath. His eyes are fixated on the laptop screen, and I sense he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

  I try not to let my mind do silly things as I sit there, like take his manly permeating scent and conjure up crazy images with it, like him wrapping his bearish arms around me and cuddling me close, and then growing savage as he tears apart my clothes and takes a step backward.

  I imagine him smirking, his blue eyes shining brightly as he moves over my nakedness.

  In my fantasy, he doesn’t laugh at me, he doesn’t tease me.

  He doesn’t call me the F-word.

  In my fantasy, I’m as sexy and glamorous as the women at the ball were.

  After fifteen minutes, he closes the laptop and places it on the glass coffee table.

  “Any progress?” I ask.

  Jett growls out a sigh. “No. I killed the connection. I don’t want anyone tracking us. There’s nothing in the usual channels. It seems you’re a mystery, Juliana.”

  “Not as much of a mystery as you,” I murmur, trying to subtly direct him back to our conversation in the car.

  He reads my meaning and nods shortly.

  “Don’t forget our deal,” he says, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and stares firmly at me.

  His eyes flit up and down my body, tingles dancing at every hot place his eyes touch, from the tips of my toes and all the way to my scalp.

  Do I imagine it, or does he linger on my breasts a moment longer than everywhere else?

  I wonder how he’d react if he knew how inexperienced, how incapable, I was in that regard.

  I’ll have to tell him, and then what?

  Will it shatter everything?

  “I’ll give you the bullet points if you care that much,” he says gruffly.

  I sit up and stare hard at him.

  “Well, yes,” I snap. “I do care that much. Because two men tried to kill me tonight, and you were hired to kill me, and I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s going on. So excuse me for wanting to—”

  “Okay, okay,” he says, chuckling grimly. “You really are a fiery thing, aren’t you? Relax.”

  I almost snap at him, telling him I don’t need to relax. But I don’t want to push him too hard. I need to know who he is, to ground myself in some way so that I’m not just drifting aimlessly through all this madness without anything to hold onto.

  He leans back, putting his arm over the back of the couch. My mind slips me into that place, his arm wrapped around me, his hand moving through my hair and then over my shoulder, toward my breast.

  I push the image away.

  His request could be anything—it could be hitman-related.

  Maybe he wants to use me as bait, something like that.

  I could be misreading this whole situation.

  “I was raised by good people,” he says. “My father was in the army and my mother was a housewife. I’m an only child. I joined the SEALs straight out of high school and I served three tours, saw a lot of combat. Then there was a fire at my parents’ place. It killed my old man and my mom got it bad with smoke inhalation. I came home to care for her. That’s when I started this life. I needed money for her medical bills. By the time her lungs finally killed her, it was all I knew. Or maybe that’s just an excuse. Maybe it feels good knowing that there are a few less evil bastards in this world.”

  He stares into space as if seeing a reality all of his own.

  I try to find any notion of deceit in his words, detect any sign that he’s making this up to try and win sympathy with me.

  But all I get is hard, hammering truth.

  I believe him.

  Maybe that makes me more naïve than I thought.

  But when he told me he’d never lie to me, the words shattered into my heart and spread and kissed every single part of it, swelling inside of me, telling me that he’s true, he’s honest, he’s mine.

  And I’m his.

  And you’re insane, a voice mutters drily. Get a grip.

  “A house fire,” I murmur, flames hissing and spitting in my mind, a long-buried fear momentarily resurfacing.

  “Yeah,” he sighs. “Fucking dryer overheated. Just one of those things.”

  “What about your old SEAL friends?” I ask.

  “What about them?”

  “Do you still see them?”

  He shakes his head slowly, turning to me. “I don’t see anybody. It’s easier that way. I do my work and I keep to myself. I’ve lived like a goddamn machine for more years than I care to think about. I never cared, before.”

  “Before what?” I whisper, mouth dry.

  He smirks and lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle.

  “Don’t play dumb, Juliana,” he growls. “You know what this is. You know what you’re doing to me.”

  My clit gives a tight, hot throb and my nipples start to burn. He stares at me with that pin-you-in-place gaze of his, as though he’s never seen a woman before, as though I’m the most fascinating person he’s ever laid his eyes on.

  His eyes glimmer. His smirk twitches.

  “Are you satisfied?” he growls.

  “Huh?”

  “Did you learn what you needed to learn?”

  I nod, my mouth suddenly dry, my sex anything but.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Good,” he snarls. “Because now it’s time you held up your end of the bargain.”

  “Okay,” I say, nodding, acutely aware that it’s just the two of us.

  The door to the bedroom is closed and Rebel is making no noise. If she wanted to come out here, she’d make it known, but she normally sleeps like a stone past midnight and despite all the excitement, it seems she’s sticking to that routine.

  No, it’s just us, in this underground apartment with the sof
t yellow lighting, dappling Jett’s features, making some parts of him dark and other parts blazing bright.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  He grins like a wolf, like a killer, and then leans back on the sofa, folding one leg over the other. He couldn’t look more comfortable if he tried.

  “Dance for me,” he snarls.

  I let out a gasp and almost laugh, the request is so unexpected.

  All of the secret longings inside of me rises up and sings a song of celebration.

  Some deep part of me swells and screams at the prospect, because this proves it, doesn’t it, proves that he wants me. He feels the same way I feel about him.

  He wants me.

  “Juliana,” he snaps. “Did I stutter? I said dance for me. Now. I don’t want to ask you again.”

  “What happens if you have to ask me again, hmm?” I fire, somehow bringing some bite into my voice.

  “I bend you over and spank those big beautiful ass cheeks of yours until they’re red-raw. Now hurry. The fuck. Up.”

  “There’s no music.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he growls. “Dance. Make sure to shake that ass and those tits, too. I’ll give you instructions along the way.”

  “You’re an animal,” I whisper.

  His whole face has changed, his eyes narrowing in feral desire. His pants show the throbbing outline of his need for me, a massive thick bulge that he doesn’t even try to conceal.

  I stand up, slowly, knowing that I can’t do anything but what this man wants of me.

  I don’t want to do anything else.

  I want to please him.

  And we had a deal, right?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jett

  “That’s it,” I snarl, my eyes fixated on the way her shirt hugs to those massive, gorgeous breasts, the trousers hugging onto her hips.

  The nervousness flitting across her features just gets the engines of my want firing with even more urgency. My cock gives another near-painful throb, the base of it taut with tension, ready to erupt at any moment.

  Her cheeks are red with her inexperience, my sassy fucking queen.

  “How old are you, Juliana?” I snarl, as she moves to the center of the room, just in front of the TV.

  “Twenty-one,” she murmurs.

  “Almost half my age,” I snarl with a smirk.

  The beast inside of me – the one that I’ve never shown to any woman, that I never even wanted to let loose – is howling and battering its horn against its cage. Something is untethering within me. She’s doing it to me, inexorably.

  She’s changing me.

  It feels like freedom.

  “Does that bother you?” I ask her. “That I’m almost twice your age?”

  “No,” she says, looking me bravely in the eye. “I hate boys my own age. They’re so immature. They’re not … like you.”

  “Good girl,” I snarl.

  Goddamn, twenty-one years old, fresh-faced with her fertility marking every single part of her, her passion-enflamed cheeks and her ready-to-be-milked tits and her begging-for-my-seed slit.

  Somehow, I’m forgetting about the rest of this night, the contract and the war, and the men in her apartment.

  All I see is her, standing anxiously before me, unsure of what to do.

  “Sway those hips,” I snap. “And rub your tits at the same time. Push them together for me. Squeeze them like you mean it.”

  “Oh, God. You want me to …”

  “I want every single fucking part of you,” I roar, sitting forward, almost springing up and darting across the room. “I want your hot nipples and your creamy fucking cunt. I want your ass, I want to turn it red as I spank it and make you shiver like the horny girl you clearly are. I want to taste your cream as I eat your delicious fucking cunt. Do you understand? Now stop asking questions and do what you’re told.”

  I reach a hand down and start stroking myself, smirking when her eyes flit to the movement.

  I don’t give a damn.

  She can look all she wants.

  She’ll be doing more than looking soon enough.

  “Like this, Jett?” she murmurs, bringing her trembling hands up to her round breasts, palming them through her shirt.

  I stroke from my base to the tip, my throbbing, hard length all tangled in my trousers.

  At the same time as rubbing those tits, she’s swaying this way and that, highlighting her hips.

  But I’m not interested in just her hips, as absolutely incredible as they are.

  “Turn around. Shake that ass.”

  “I’ve never done anything like this before—”

  I surge to my feet, that other thing – that beast inside me – taking over now. The haze of my desire for her is too loud, too difficult to hear through.

  All I know is that her body was made for pleasing in a thousand different ways.

  She lets out a cute-as-fuck whimper when I grab her by the shoulders and lift her off the floor.

  I wasn’t planning on this.

  I was going to take it slow.

  But going slow with her is impossible.

  I’m tired of imagining what she looks like without those clothes protecting her from my predator’s gaze.

  I carry her to the couch and drop her, captivated by the way she bounces up and down when she lands. She stares up at me with her eyes wide, nervous but still willing … willing to go wherever I take her, to do whatever I need her to do.

  “Strip,” I snarl. “I need to see those tits. I need to see your curvy body. Strip. Now.”

  “Oh, God,” she whimpers. “You really want to see me naked?”

  I tilt my head at her, wondering if this is some kind of a joke.

  What man in his right man wouldn’t want to see a goddess like this naked?

  Never mind that if any other man did try to see her naked, I’d be scattering his ashes into the sea by sundown.

  “Strip,” I growl, and then take a step back, forcing my hands behind my back to try and gain some sort of control over the situation.

  She unbuttons her shirt, looking at me the whole time, biting her lip just like she did in the car.

  The way she bites that lip has me fucked up in a hundred different ways. My cock pulses like it has a heart of its own, my seed roaring at me to cut the foreplay and impregnate her right now.

  But I want to savor this.

  I need to savor her.

  She gets to the bottom button, revealing her lacy black bra and her large round breasts.

  Fuck, they’re so big, so full.

  “And the bra,” I snap.

  “O-Okay,” she says.

  She reaches around with trembling hands. I stare at the way her flesh bulges against the material of the bra, gloriously full, beautifully voluptuous, and round.

  I almost lose control when the bra flutters to the floor, her big breasts bouncing free. A vein runs through one, the sort of vein that I want to trace with my finger, watch as she shivers at each little movement.

  Maybe I would do that if she wasn’t so damn sexy. She makes restraint impossible.

  But before I know it, she’s gasping and moaning as I leap upon her.

  I take one breast greedily in my hand, squeezing softly, feeling her nipple prick firmly against my palm. I bring my mouth to the other, sucking on her pert, needy nipple as she squirms and sighs against me.

  She puts her hand on my shoulder, digging her fingernails in through the fabric of my shirt, moaning more urgently each moment.

  “Fuck,” I growl, leaning back. “I need to taste you. I tried being strong.”

  She giggles, shooting me a sassy look, pushing it past her nervousness to let the more confident aspect of her shine. It’s incredible, the way she oscillates between bravery and anxiety, the way she refuses to sink into her shyness.

  “When did you try?” she teases.

  I can’t help but smirk, even as a savage song blares within me.

  Take her.
Own her. Forever.

  “Fair enough,” I growl.

  I lean forward and claim her lips with mine, wanting her to taste how hot and tangy her nipples are. She gasps again – there’s a pause when she doesn’t know what to do – and then my sex-hungry princess sinks into the kiss, moaning, and opening and closing her mouth in time with mine.

  I push my body against hers, feeling her breasts flatten against the hard rock face of my torso, her nipples so desperate for more sucking and rubbing.

  She tastes perfect, sweet, and just-Juliana. I’ve never stopped long enough to imagine how my chosen mate would taste before, but the moment I feel her tongue against mine, I know it’s right. I know it deep in my bones.

  She moans through the kiss when I glide my hands up her legs, grabbing her waistband and then ripping it powerfully.

  There’s a crrk sound, fabric tearing apart, and then I keep pulling, kissing her all the while, tearing giant rips down her pants until they’re nothing but ruined bunches of fabric in my hands.

  I toss them aside, never breaking contact of our mouths, lost in the way she moans through each fresh infusion of lust.

  I grab her panties and rip them away from her.

  She gasps as the fabric kisses into her flesh, but then it’s gone, a crumpled ruin on the floor with the remains of her pants.

  “Fuck,” I snarl, finally breaking off the kiss so I can lean back and look at my work.

  She’s completely naked now, except for her socks and her shoes, which somehow adds to the heightened sense of pleasure.

  Here she is, my woman, naked in the exact way I want her to be naked, naked because she’s mine

  “Open your legs and lie back,” I snarl. “Fuck, I need to see that sweet cunt. Are you wet, Juliana?”

  I already know the answer. The moment I tore her panties off, I smelled her, a gorgeous tangy scent that swims in the air.

  But I need to hear her say it.

  “Yes,” she moans. “I’m s-soaked.”

  Hearing her say it – in that nervous-yet-brave tone of hers – sends me even deeper into a frenzy.

  I fall to my knees and grab her hips, digging my fingers into the bounty of her flesh, feeling how hot she is, how ready she is to be manhandled by me, and only me.