Mr. Too Big: BWWM Hitman Romance Novella

by Jamila Jasper

  “Probably,” I said with a shrug. “But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now, you want anything to eat? I cook a mean bacon and eggs if you're hungry. You should go and get cleaned up if you want to, take a warm shower. I know I've put you through a lot, and again I'm very sorry about that. But just try to relax, and take your mind off of the situation, and I promise I'll do my best to-”

  I trailed off. Keisha was looking straight past me.

  Her eyes trailed from the padlocked door to the safe house, up to the key around my neck.

  Then she just sighed. She got up from the couch and started taking off her clothes as she walked to the bathroom like I wasn't even there. By the time she got inside, and I heard the water of the shower starting to pulse, I'd been treated to a tantalizing view of her naked torso walking away, and it got me far harder and more turned on than I should have been, given my situation.

  I took a very deep breath, and exhaled it slowly, more certain than ever that this was going to be the longest week of my life.

  Keisha

  Stockholm Syndrome.

  Was that the right phrase for it, I wondered?

  I had to assume that it must be.

  I really, really shouldn't have been enjoying this. Once I saw who had taken me, all my fears went out the window.

  But still...

  I mean, for heaven's sake, I was a hostage! A prisoner! A pawn in some ludicrous game between my murderous father and his number one contract killer! Or former contract killer, if a word he said was to be believed!

  So why the hell was I enjoying this so much?

  I mean, okay. Maybe if I'm being one hundred percent honest, a part of me had long harbored a crush on Jay. Back in the days when he was just some guy who worked for my father, anyway.

  Any hope of that being anything more than just some girlish fantasy kind of fizzled out of existence somewhere between my realization that Jay was a hitman, and Jay drugging me and taking me as his prisoner.

  But now the feeling was back again, and it was stronger than ever.

  Why?

  Because, frankly, Jay wasn't kidding when he told me that this week would be like my own private little getaway.

  For a hostage, I'd been living the sweet life for the past three days now.

  Things had been, understandably, very tense between us at first. I'd showered, and Jay had made me breakfast as promised. And had admittedly been delicious- surprisingly so, for a man of his background.

  He also offered to go and get any movie for me that I could possibly ever want to watch. He kept asking me if the temperature was okay. He brought me all kinds of cosmetics and toiletries, everything I would have used when I was free at home. He gave me books to read. Said he would go get any food I asked for.

  And sure. There was the fact that he locked my bedroom door at night whenever we were both asleep so that I had to knock on the wall or something in the event that I had to go to the bathroom. This, of course, was to ensure that I didn't try any funny business and try to escape in the middle of the night. Slip the key to the padlocked door off of his neck or something like that.

  And I really didn't need to be reminded that my situation was about as far from an ideal one as you could possibly get. That I needed to get out of here as fast as I possibly could or get help or something.

  But by the second day, I was already starting to have conversations with Jay like he was just some Joe Anybody, and by that night we were laughing together like old friends, telling stories, sharing things about ourselves that seemed surprisingly intimate and detailed.

  And I know.

  I know, I know, I know, just how messed up what I'm about to say is going to sound.

  But I think, I really believe, I was starting to see in Jay what I had been unable to find in every other man who'd come into my life. Protection. Security. A willingness to actually get to know me, or to at least pretend to.

  I kept reminding myself that I needed to be on my guard about all of this. That I couldn't let emotion get the better of me. That if I lost sight of how things really were, and let my emotions get the better of me, this would end badly.

  I was going to end up heartbroken. Or dead. Or any number of other unpleasant, unwanted fates, if I let myself be swayed by what was so transparently an act on Jay's part.

  Or was it an act? I honestly couldn't even say anymore. It surely must have been.

  But how did it feel so real? How was it so convincing, when I thought I knew with such certainty how blatantly he was putting forth the effort to manipulate me?

  And then?

  That third evening came.

  God, that night...

  Jay was showering. The hot water billowing out into the main room of the safe house, the door to the bathroom not even completely shut. I bit my lip, and let my mind wander into places it had no business wandering.

  I imagined that solid body pressed up against me. That tattooed flesh covering me like a blanket. His rugged white flesh practically glowing against my skin, his stubble grazing against my neck while he took me from behind...

  And that was when an idea struck me.

  I was going to seduce my captor...

  I knew that I had motivations beyond what was simply practical. But I still tried to justify it. To make it seem like it all actually made quite a bit of sense.

  Look, I thought. Jay has the key, right? The only possible way for me to get out of him. He wears it around his neck, constantly, at all hours of the day. And I need to get close to him if I want to stand a chance of escaping.

  He'd let me. I knew he would. I saw the way he stared at me, watching my thighs squeezed together on the couch or watching the way my breasts spilled out of my top.

  So, put two and two together, and what do you get? It's simple, right?

  Never mind the fact that my thighs had been burning to be spread by him since the day of my abduction, the space between them filled up nice and tight and hard by all the cargo he was packing in those jeans of his.

  Call it an escape plan, or call it Stockholm Syndrome if you want to.

  Whatever you call it, at that moment I was dead set on believing that this was the best, nay the only solution. I had to get that key, and I had to have that man's body all over me, and this idea would bring me the best of both worlds.

  I could have a tryst with an undateable hitman and get my way out. I didn't need Daddy to save me...

  I stood up from the sofa, my heart hammering away in my chest, and slowly I began to undress. Like he was right there in the room with me, and I was stripping for him. I let my clothes fall to the ground, and I slid out of my bra and panties. I stood completely naked in the middle of the room, turned on like hell by that simple act alone, wet, and burning, and ready for him in spite of my anxiety.

  “Here goes nothing,” I muttered under my breath, and I stepped to the bathroom, ready to take the plunge.

  His back was turned to me as I opened the door to the room. I could barely make out his form through the glass door of the shower, and the thick white fog that was clouding up the room. Just for the hell of it, I let my attention fall to his clothes piled there on the floor. Just on the remote, minute chance that he might have taken the key off with his clothes.

  I hoped not- I really wanted to get close to him.

  But I checked anyway.

  I looked through his things, not finding much of any interest until I chanced upon the handgun in his pocket.

  Shit, I thought, my throat tensing up.

  This wasn't what I wanted to find at all.

  It was, to be fair, the perfect escape mechanism. This one small carelessness on his part was enough for me to be out of there and gone within the hour, nay, within the next ten minutes.

  How the hell had he let himself be so neglectful?

  I imagined myself pointing the gun at him, and demanding the key from around his neck, and then running out of the safe house like a mad woman, getting to safety as fast a
nd as furiously as I could.

  I didn't honestly think it would be that difficult. Realistically, it seemed like my best chance for escape.

  But I talked myself out of it.

  Maybe it was the Stockholm syndrome again, telling me that I didn't really want to go anywhere. But I convinced myself that it was too scary. Too risky. Like Jay would actually do anything to hurt me if I tried it.

  I put it out of my head, though.

  I let the gun settle back into place in his pants like I'd never even seen it there. I kept on going and pushed open the door of the shower as silently as a phantom. I stepped inside. I closed the door behind me.

  The heat was sweltering. The steam, choking.

  I stared at Jay, still facing the wall. I watched the hot water racing along his spine, twisting through the sinewy ropes of his back muscles. It made me tremble to see the liquid hit his skin and evaporate up off of him at the moment contact. Trailing down, down, down to that perfect ass of his, chiseled and delectable, almost making me want to cry from the perfection of its beauty.

  I held my breath. For the first time, it seemed absurd that I was doing this. Any of this.

  And yet I was in too deep to turn back now. Physically, and emotionally.

  I wanted this man. Like I'd never wanted any man before in my life.

  I needed him inside me.

  I was going to have him.

  I gasped, very slightly, at the hint of movement. He turned toward me, and his expression barely registered surprise at the sight of me, standing there naked behind him, flecks of water from the shower head beginning to pepper my breasts and my stomach.

  Jay just stared at me, and I stared back at him, the two of us taking one another in. I could feel his eyes on me, admiring my curves. Staring intently at my dark nipples, and the perfect little fleck of my navel and the dark triangle between my legs cushioned between two thick, sumptuous thighs. It was like he was comparing me, the real me, to the picture he'd had in his head.

  And what could I say?

  At that moment, I was guilty of doing the exact same thing.

  His black hair shimmered as the water rained down on him from above. His blue eyes glistened at me, and his angular face seemed almost inhuman, framed by so much running hot water, his lips slightly parted, making my throat hurt to look at. His broad pecs heaved beneath the steam, his nipples small and perfect, his shoulders lightly raised to emphasize how staggeringly broad he was.

  His chest was positively covered in inky black tattoos, so many of them so densely packed onto his flesh that I couldn't tell where one design ended and the next began. I followed them as they climbed down the wicked rungs of his six-pack abs, their wetness making me a little bit faint as my eyes kept going down and down, practically licking my lips as I made it to the sweeping V of his Adonis' muscles, and the succulent treasure that lay beyond.

  I held my breath. He started out limp, but only for a moment. Even then, his size was impressive. I'd never seen anything so large in my life. The dormant shaft hanging pendulously from his body, his considerable sack swinging between his legs as the water spilled off of it. As soon as he started looking at me, though, things began to shift and to rearrange.

  His shaft began to emerge. I couldn't help but gasp. He was longer than any man I'd ever seen and thicker too. I couldn't help but stare mesmerized at him. The head swelled forward and the whole of his cock standing up for me, growing, hardening, lengthening. His nuts pulled up in his sack, tightening toward his body from his arousal, and I found myself biting my lip, loving the effect I had on him, which was exactly what I'd been hoping for and so much more.

  He was just so fucking big. Tremendous. Too big, I almost thought, but then I shook the thought.

  I had to have him now, if for no other reason than to prove that I could handle a man with such impressive girth.

  “Keisha,” he said calmly, masking the surprise that I knew he felt. “What are you doing in here?”

  “What do you think?” I asked, my voice low, soft, and as inviting as I could make it.

  He studied me. I could tell that he didn't know how to react to any of this. That as well-trained and as disciplined as he was, as well-crafted as his plan had seemed to him, he hadn't counted on this particular element being thrown into the mix. And now he simply didn't know what the hell he should do with it.

  “You shouldn't be in here,” he said, and I noticed the key glinting around his neck, catching the light from the shower above. The moment I laid eyes on that wet, naked body of his, however, and seen that cock pushing out into the water for me, any thoughts of escaping instantly fluttered from my mind.

  “I'm exactly where I need to be,” I said, and I meant that one hundred percent.

  I reached out, and I placed my hand tentatively against his chest, slow enough that he could pull away, or stop me if he was going to.

  He didn't.

  I slid my palm over the surface of his chest, loving the hardness, the solidity of his muscles beneath me. I could tell from the racing of his heart every time I passed over it that he loved it too, and that his halfhearted protestations were little more than a formality. A way for him to justify what he was already craving so badly to do to me.

  “Keisha. This isn't right. This isn't why I brought you here. I never meant to make you think-”

  “Oh. You aren't turned on by this?”

  I gave him a pouty look. I let my hand fall, slowly, down, down, down along to his heaving stomach, stopping just short of his cock, so that he shivered at the touch of my hand against him.

  “I'm turned on like fucking hell,” he seethed through his teeth, already starting to lose his composure.

  “Are you sure about this, though? I know there are no clear lines to this situation right now. But I don't want to put you in a situation where-”

  “I want you,” I pleaded with him, growing desperate. This wasn't an act anymore. A ploy to get the key and escape. This was me, being totally and completely honest with him.

  “I've wanted you for years. I always told myself I was being ridiculous. That there was never any way for us to be together. But look. Here we are. Together, at last. And if this is what it took, so be it.”

  I finally let my hand go. I slid my fingers down around the shaft of his cock. I wrapped my grip around him, and I felt him tense, and harden, and pulse in my hand, gratifying me beyond words. He took in a deep breath, and it encouraged me to stroke him further and further, pushing the flesh back, loving the way it practically it melted around the rock-hard core of his shaft.

  “I want you to fuck me so bad,” I said, my voice pleading, desperate. “I want you to bend me over, and fuck me, and fill me up with your hot cum. I've wanted it for so long. And now you're here. And I can't stand it anymore...”

  The intensity in his blue eyes kept growing and growing, the flames heating up with every second that passed.

  Then, suddenly, I felt his hands on me. I gasped, flashing back to the moment in the alley when he first brought me here. He pulled me in by the small of the back, and pushed my face toward him, holding my open mouth mere inches from his own.

  “If you want this, you'll need to do things my way,” he whispered into my ear, his breath somehow even warmer against me than the pounding of the water on my skin.