Last Hit (Hitman)

by Jessica Clare

  With the next pass of my hand, I allow myself to cup her breast and feel the turgid nipple beneath the fabric.

  "Your body seeks a release," I tell her.

  "How do you know?" Her voice catches as I rub my thumb across the hardened point.

  "Because your body is tightening up. Here, your little nipples are taut and ready to be suckled. The skin is stretched tight across your cheeks and your pulse thrums madly in your neck." I whisper kisses across the apple of her check and lick the throbbing pulse point. "Between your legs, the blood pounds hard, and your pussy is catching and releasing. I can tell by the way your hips shift and lift to press against my palm." I allow my hand to drop down between her legs and lie lightly above her pubis.

  She pushes involuntarily against me.

  "I revel in these signs," I tell her, whispering the words against the delicate swirl of her ear. She shivers as I trace the outline of the lobe and lick the tender skin behind it. "These signs tell me that my woman's body sings for me."

  "Your…woman?" She struggles to get even these words out.

  "Yes, mine," I say and this time, I press my hand harder between her legs and curl my fingers to cover her sweet cunt. And like I predicted, I can feel the fierce pulse of her heart at the very core of her. Even better, I can feel dampness between the fabric of her panties and her skirt. "Are you wearing panties I have bought you, Daisy?" I ask. "Did you think of me when you pulled them up your legs and squeezed your thighs together? Did you wonder what it would be like if it were my hands there instead of the silk and lace that I purchased for you?"

  She gives me what I want. A panting, breathless "yes."

  "May I see?" I ask. She nods her head, and it is enough. I pull up the hem of her skirt and beneath it I see light-colored panties, the color which is unknown to me. I guess. "Blue?"

  "Blue," she agrees, and she gives me a tense smile.

  I soothe her brow with one hand across it. All these things, the pauses, the light touches, the talk, it is all designed to make her come hard. I will own this first orgasm of Daisy's. No matter what happens to us, I will ensure that she will never forget this moment in her life. That she will think of this day, the evening, this moment and that the mere thought of how hard she comes will arouse her once again.

  For this, though, I need more than one hand. I curse myself for starting this in a car, of all places. But I will improvise. A good assassin is the king of improvisation. There is just enough space between the steering wheel and the front of the seat for me to kneel. I am bowed over, but the awkward position is meaningless to me. I could sit in this position for hours if it meant that I could bring Daisy to orgasm. This is not a punishment position; it is one of immense reward.

  Her face looks down upon me with some trepidation; fear and uncertainty have crept in while I have been busy repositioning myself. I place my hands on her lower thighs and give her yet another truth. "I am so hungry for you, Daisy, my teeth ache. My mouth waters at the idea of tasting your nectar. My hands itch to stroke every inch of your body."

  My words relieve her, and she smiles tenderly at me. I place kisses on the sides of her knees. I rub my hands up and down her legs, stroking a finger behind each knee and the tender skin at her ankles. I lick the inside of her thighs and raise her skirt up even higher so that I may kiss her rounded belly. Over and over, my hands sweep her legs, thumbs almost touching her silk-covered pussy but never quite making contact. Her hips push up against me, and I feel the wetness from her desire rub against my chest as I lean over and learn the contours of her ribs and belly.

  Her hands have crept into my hair, tugging at me, urging me downward. She is an innocent, but her body knows where she burns hottest and who can provide relief.

  Only me, I vow. It shall be only me from now on who brings her to release. I want all of her orgasms from now until I am dust. I move downward and breathe hotly over her mound. Her hands tug on my head, and she makes me pause as I am about to mouth her through the delicate panties I've purchased.

  "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks. Her lower lip is between her teeth.

  "Why wouldn't I?" The question seems so ridiculous. Every man would want to be here if they knew the treasure that they would receive.

  DAISY

  I'M AN AWFUL PERSON.

  I should be a wreck right now. This thought goes through my mind even as Nick's head moves under my skirt, the stubble of his shaved chin grazing my naked thigh. There are so many things that I should be thinking about right now. I should be questioning him about why he was following me. I should be sobbing with fear over the man that nearly attacked me.

  Instead, I'm panting and eager for Nick's touch. His mouth is hovering over the silk of my panties, so close that I can feel his breath on my skin through the fabric. His breathing is ragged, but so is mine. And I've seen his penis, and I've touched him.

  If he's stalking me, I shouldn't want to touch him. It's not smart. But…there's a part of me that is desperately wicked. That's thrilled that he's fascinated enough by someone as boring and plain as me to want to focus all of his attention on me, to be the center of his world. And I am entranced by what he offers—the chance to pleasure him with my exploring touch, and the chance to be pleasured in return.

  It's that promise of pleasure that overrides all caution—it drags me under.

  He wants me. You can't fake how quickly he came. And now he wants to go down on me, something that Regan says Mike won't do for her. I'm terrified, even as I'm shaking with anticipation. It's supposed to be the most erotic thing a man can do to a woman, and I feel like I've been thrust from complete ignorance to a sexual buffet of experiences. He's giving me so much that I simply can't process all of it right now.

  "I can smell you," he says, and his voice is thick. "You are very wet, da?"

  His words are crude, startling…arousing. I gasp. It feels like all the air in the car has disappeared, along with my sanity. He's right, though. I'm wet, so wet. Even now, I try to clench my thighs together to feel my slick flesh rub against itself.

  "Tell me how it feels, Daisy, and I will touch you."

  Nick wants me to speak the same dirty words he uses? I don't know if I can. It feels so personal, and I can't imagine telling another person in the world my secret fantasies. What if I ask for the wrong thing? What if he laughs at me? Or worse…what if I bore him?

  I am paralyzed by indecision and my own pitiful lack of knowledge. I've read novels, but many of them did not go into great detail. They just wax rhapsodic about explosions and fireworks and being pierced. I want to make sure I have things exactly right before I ask for them.

  I don't want him to think me foolish.

  When I don't answer him, Nick's hands move and they frame my panties, the triangle of his fingers outlining my most sensitive areas.

  "Do I frighten you, kotehok?"

  I shake my head. I want this more than anything, and my own cowardice is going to cost me the chance to explore if I'm not careful. "I don't know what to ask for. I'm sorry if I'm disappointing you."

  "Not disappointment," he says, accent thick. "Never. And you wish for me to guide you to pleasure this time, Daisy? Da, I do so, on the condition that you show me what you learn next time we touch."

  Oh, that sounds so much better. I nod eagerly, my enthusiasm returning. "Show me." I want to come just like he did, just as quickly, and just as fiercely. I still have the taste of him on my tongue, and it's driving me crazy. Even now, I lick my lips, wanting to taste more of him. "Do you think you'll come again?"

  Nick laughs, but it sounds almost pained. "Of this, I do not doubt, lovely Daisy."

  He makes it sound like I am the most exciting woman in the world, and it makes my pulse flutter all over again. I shift in the seat of the car; the ache between my legs full of need.

  "But first," he says in that delicious, low voice that I love, "I will please my woman until she screams."

  I have never screamed with intense emo
tion in my life. But I don't correct him. Maybe tonight I will.

  "A woman's cunt is soft, delicious thing," he tells me. "Like flower with delicate petals." His thumb strokes down the center of my panties, and I feel him outline the seam of my sex. I am so damp that the panties stick to my skin, and it makes the visual obscene. I am horrified and fascinated by it all at once.

  "Should I be this wet?" I ask him.

  "Only if I am lucky man." His mouth brushes over my panties and I suck in my stomach involuntarily. It's like I don't want to get in the way of his touch. "You will give these to me tonight, Daisy," Nick tells me as he tugs at my panties, at one of the small, white bows that are set at each hipbone. "So I will dream of this moment tonight when I sleep."

  His words make me feel so erotic. Like the damp seeping in my panties is the sexiest thing he's ever had happen to him. I make a wordless little whimper, and am embarrassed at how loud it is in the car.

  "Slide these off your hips, kitten," he tells me, and his voice is a persuasive purr. His fingers tug at the hem of the panties, and he glances up at me with those gorgeous eyes. "So I may look at all of you. You show me, da?"

  "Yes," I tell him, and the excited quiver in my voice is matched by the one in my fingers. I'm fumbling as I pull at the fabric, and then it moves down my hips and onto my thighs. The thatch of my hair is displayed to him, and I feel naked. He has not even seen my breasts, and yet I am showing him my most feminine parts.

  Nick groans as if in pain, gazing at the sight of me. His hands take control and he has my panties in his grasp. He tucks them into the pocket of his jacket, and then I am naked from the waist down, my skirt bunched up at my hips.

  "Part your legs," he commands. His gaze is riveted on my flesh. "Show me your desire."

  I suck in a breath again, but I do as he commands. I like that he's in charge and is telling me what to do. I feel better with him in control, guiding me.

  But he simply stares and stares, and then his gaze flicks to my nervous one. "You are most beautiful thing I have seen."

  And then it doesn't matter that we're in his car and that he's hunched over awkwardly and that I'm sitting with my clothes all rucked up. I am beautiful and sexy in his eyes. I spread my legs wider for him in an invitation, hardly daring to breathe at my own boldness.

  Nick mutters something in Russian, and his mouth grazes along the inside of my thigh. I tremble at the feel of him there again. It feels more severe with my sex bare to him. I've got nothing left to shield myself.

  He looks up at me, and his eyes are dark, his pupils dilated. "I'm going to touch you with mouth, Daisy."

  I nod, unable to look away from him. I'm twitching with need. I want him to do this. I need it.

  Almost in slow motion, his firm, hard mouth descends on the curls of my sex. I watch as they press to my mound, and I feel him there. It sends an excited thrill through me, but it's not blowing me away.

  I must be wearing my emotions on my face. "Patience, kotehok," he says. "I have not yet begun pleasuring you."

  "I know," I say. "I just—"

  And then he licks me.

  My words die in my throat. I'm stunned by that private, utterly personal lick. It's right up the seam of my wet flesh.

  He groans. "Perfection."

  I'm stiff, my senses on overload. It's almost too much for me to absorb. I push at him, not sure I like how personal this is. I'm not good with personal. I don't know how to handle it.

  "No, Daisy," he tells me, and his voice is ragged. "Let me have more. I will make this good for you."

  Then he burrows, and I feel his mouth part my flesh. His tongue glides along my slit, going deeper and stroking along hot, needing skin. My body jumps in response. His hands trap me in place, pushing down on my thighs so I will keep them apart for him. And he slides his tongue along my sex again.

  I whimper. The sensations are overwhelming: tickling, wild, and erotic. I'm really not sure I can handle it. My hands go to his hair again, but I'm not sure if I'm pushing him away or encouraging him for more. "Nick—"

  He lifts his head to gaze up at me, his mouth slick with my own wetness. "The way you say my name with my mouth on your cunt—it is a dream." He lowers his head again, but not before adding, "I want to hear it when you come."

  I love his words. They're so naughty and direct, even when I can't be. And they take the fear out of me. I relax a little, and encourage him with petting motions as his mouth moves back to my sex—my cunt, he calls it—and begins to explore with the tip of his tongue. He makes light, tracing motions, outlining each fold, and I watch, breathless, as he bends over me.

  I like his mouth there, but I'm still waiting for the fireworks. He's avoiding my clitoris, and I wonder if he knows it's the most sensitive part. If not, I don't want to correct him. I'm more interested in watching him, the way his lashes look like dark fans as he bends his head and licks me.

  It's nice—pleasant, even—and tickly now and then. But it's not the explosion he had. I guess it's not the same for women.

  His tongue glides to the top of the slit of my sex, and then he flicks it over my clitoris.

  I stiffen as fire rushes through me. "Um—"

  "Feel good?"

  "Uhhh." I can't think of a coherent thing to say. I push at his head because I want it back there again. That's where the fire is.

  "Sweet Daisy," he murmurs. "Now I make you come." When he bends his head low again, I am filled with anticipation so sharp that it aches.

  But instead of flicking his tongue across my clit this time, he puts his lips against it and sucks firmly.

  I cry out, shocked at how good it feels. My hands flutter over his hair; I need to hold on to something to anchor myself, and I'm afraid I'll tug every lock of hair out of his head if I keep touching him. So even as I spread my legs wider, I brace myself against the car door. The intensity is almost too much, but he doesn't lift his head. He just keeps sucking, and occasionally he flicks his tongue against my clitoris.

  I don't notice that his hands are moving until I feel one finger press at the base of my cunt, to the center of my core. It's big and thick, and I gasp when he pushes forward. It feels as if he's searing his way inside my body.

  "Be calm," he tells me just before he presses his tongue to my clit again. "Let me pleasure you." And his finger presses deeper until it's seated deep inside me.

  Now, I am moaning and writhing at the onslaught of sensation. In all the times I have touched myself, I have focused on my clitoris, never like this. Even as his tongue presses against my clit in a teasing, circular pattern that makes me mad, his finger presses deeper. There's an aching burn and a tightness, but it feels so good that I don't even think about asking him to stop. I bear down on his hand, unable to stop my hips from moving or stifle the soft cries that fill my throat. It's building, now. The intense pleasure I was wondering about? It's arrived, and it's every bit as wonderful as I imagined.

  "So tight," he tells me. "Bozhe moi." His murmurs of Russian platitudes are stifled when he flicks at my clit again with his tongue. I feel another finger join the first, and I feel impossibly stretched, to the point that it's painful.

  But I don't want him to stop.

  I throw my head back as I mindlessly say his name over and over again. My eyes are closed—I can't watch him anymore, because it makes things too intense, and my senses can't handle his beautiful face cradled between my legs, those long lashes fanning over intense eyes focused entirely on pleasuring me.

  His tongue's not stopping now, pressing faster and faster against my clit in a steady pattern that is as maddening as it is wonderful. My hips rise to meet his mouth, and I'm pushing up against him, even as my hand is braced against the car door for support. It's the only thing keeping me from collapsing. My entire body is stiffening, and I feel it building, that warm, delicious curling sensation that I need more of but don't know how to get. All I know is that I'm getting closer.

  His fingers pull out from my warmth, and
I feel an aching, momentary loss. Before I can protest, he sinks them deep again. There is a stabbing ache followed by a blissful shot of pleasure that moves right through me, and the curling need increases.

  Nick thrusts again with his fingers, and I am there.

  Fireworks.

  I am shuddering and gasping, on fire from the pulsing intensity of my orgasm. I cry out his name, and I am lost. Heaven. Pure Heaven, and Nick has given it to me.

  I will never be the same again.

  Chapter Nine

  DAISY

  NOW THAT I HAVE OPENED Pandora's box, I can't go back to the sleep of an innocent. My dreams that night were filled with Nick's face, Nick's hands, Nick's mouth. When I wake up, I am restless and panting.

  And when I move through my day, he is ever-present in my mind, an intriguing puzzle I intend to figure out. I sleepwalk through a late breakfast and clean our apartment and buy groceries—all the while Regan lays on the couch, nursing a hangover. She texted me late last night, asking if I was okay. I told her I met Nick and got a ride home, and that seemed to satisfy her.

  If only she knew what had gone on in the car.

  I am scandalized and titillated by what happened. Prior to last night, I only dreamed of what occurs with a man, but now I have so much more knowledge, so many wicked things to consider.

  I touched his penis. I made him come. And then he pleasured me with his mouth—only his mouth, because I wasn't ready for more.

  I'm still not ready for more, not yet. I like teasing around the edges, playing with the concept of sex without going all in. Of course, I say this in the light of day; last night after our steamy session in the car, Nick walked me to my door and gave me a chaste kiss. I'd been the one to cling to him and beg him to come inside with me so we could explore more.

  He'd turned me down. I'd said I wasn't ready, and he would honor that.

  I think of him when my phone buzzes, and I toss the sponge down on the now-clean kitchen counter and run to my room to answer it in private.