Lace and Bullets: A Hitman Romance

by Marie Carnay

  All she could see was Tate, shirt off, ripped abs heaving as he tied her to the bedposts. The lust in his eyes as he slipped a blindfold over her head.

  The feel of his hands sliding up her naked thighs—teasing, tempting, torturing her until she begged him for it. Crying out as he spanked her naked ass. Screaming in ecstasy when her shoved her legs apart and made her his. Coming around his cock as he fucked her senseless.

  God, it was so damn wrong. She shouldn’t be thinking of him that way. What would her mother think? Or her stepfather? It was shameful. Wicked.

  But all she felt was fire and clawing desperation. The first man who’d ever shared her passion—her need for more than just a guy on top of her grinding away—and she couldn’t have him. It was so unfair.

  Jessica groaned and ran her fingers over his stash, pausing as she brushed over a folded strip of satin. A blindfold. She pulled it out and the black fabric slipped through her fingers, caressing her naked skin and drawing out a moan.

  Without stopping to think, she held it up to her face, slipping it over her eyes and tying it behind her head. Blackness. Silky, smooth blackness turned off the world and heightened her senses.

  The carpet pricked her bare knees, the air conditioner hummed in the background and her breathing scraped the humid air. Her nipples pebbled beneath her cotton dress, rubbing against the fabric and turning her reckless.

  She wanted the rush of sex in the dark. Of foreign hands using her body and taking her places she’d never been. Her clit throbbed for release and she ran her hands down her sides, bunching up her dress to slip her fingers beneath her panties.

  Slick heat greeted her, her wetness soaking through her underwear before she’d even touched herself. As she slid a finger through her folds, grazing her swollen clit, she moaned out loud. Oh, god. If only Tate could be there. Touching her, tasting her, making her come.

  She rubbed herself in tiny circles, flicking her clit again and again as she rocked her hips. Reaching out in her blindness, she grabbed ahold of the bedpost, rising up onto her knees as she shoved her hand deeper to thrust inside her empty channel.

  Mmm. Would Tate use his fingers to get her off? Would he slide between her legs and yank her panties to the side, thrusting his tongue inside her, lapping at her greedy little clit until she came? Oh, yes. Over and over she rubbed herself, imagining Tate all over her. Owning her. Claiming her. Bending her to his will.

  “Oh, Tate!” She came on a groan, calling out his name as the blackness flashed blinding white and she glimpsed heaven.

  * * *

  Tate stood in the doorway to his bedroom, watching his stepsister come apart. Fucking hell. At first he didn’t know she was home—the living room was empty and he assumed she was out. But then he heard her. A tiny moan from behind his bed.

  He stalked down the hall, ready to curse her out and get his life back, when he saw her. Blindfolded and gripping his bedpost as she fingered herself beneath her panties. Jesus.

  She bucked her hips into her hand, mouth open and panting, tongue darting out to lick her lips as she moaned. So fucking sexy with her auburn hair twisted and caught beneath the blindfold. My blindfold.

  Her cheeks glowed pink with desire and she rubbed herself with abandon—hard and fast in jerky circles as she dug her fingers into his bed. He’d never seen a woman so alive and free.

  He’d gotten a few girls to submit for a night—let him tie them up, blindfold them, give them orgasms all night long. But after one time, they never came back. Always finding an excuse, claiming it didn’t turn them on. But not Jessica. She’d done it to herself. Shutting out the world with a strip of blackness, submitting without anyone else in the room.

  When she’d told him her secret—that she had the same dirty fetish he did—he’d lost his mind. Leaning into her, running his hand up her leg, ready to take her right on his couch. But then reality crashed in. She was his stepsister.

  No matter how much he wanted her tied to his bed and coming all over him, he couldn’t have her. Not ever. She needed to get out of his room and out of his life. He took a step toward her, ready to interrupt her solo fuck session, when she groaned.

  “Oh, Tate!”

  He stalled out—frozen mid-step as her orgasm ripped through her. She was imagining him. His dick throbbed inside his pants and he ground his teeth together to keep from groaning. It wasn’t just the kinky toys or the blindfold around her eyes. It was him. Panic hit him like a semi truck.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Jessica shrieked and ripped the blindfold off, blinking him into focus. “Oh my god. Tate.”

  “That’s my name. Apparently you like using it.”

  His stepsister blushed crimson and swiveled her head back and forth, searching for something to say. He wasn’t going to give her the chance.

  “So you’ve found my dirty little secret, I see. Now you know why I’m single.”

  She looked up at him, eyes wide and unfocused as the last of her pleasure ebbed away. “Me too, Tate.”

  He frowned and crossed his arms. “You need to get out of here, Jessica. You shouldn’t be in my room, going through my things.”

  “I’m sorry. I know it was wrong. But, Tate, don’t you see? We want the same things. We…need the same things.”

  “So?”

  She frowned and stood up, walking toward him on shaky legs. “Don’t you feel it? The connection between us?”

  “Yeah, it’s called family.”

  “Not that, you asshole.” She walked up to him and grabbed his hand, placing it on her racing heart. “This.”

  Her skin warmed his hand and her heart thudded into his palm. If she were any other woman…

  “Jessica, we can’t. No matter how much I want you, I can’t. You’ll always be my stepsister. You’ll always be off-limits.”

  “Why? It’s only a label. We didn’t grow up together. You’re not my brother. Just like your father isn’t my father. He the guy my mom married when I was seventeen. And you were already on your own. Living your own life.”

  “That doesn’t change anything.”

  “It changes everything.”

  Tate pulled his hand out of hers and turned away. “Not for me. I’ve got to go.” He walked into the kitchen and she followed, reaching out and grabbing him by the arm.

  “Don’t run away from me. From us.”

  He spun on his heels, grabbing her by the arms and propelling her backward. Her back bumped into the wall and he let her go, stepping forward as he snaked his hands down her naked skin.

  Grabbing her wrists, he pulled her arms up, hooking one over the other and pinning her to the wall. He held her with one hand, his muscles flexing as she squirmed in his grip. She couldn’t break free even if she wanted to. Not unless she kneed him in the balls, and he couldn’t see her doing that.

  Separated by inches, her heat hit him in waves and he could smell sex all over her. His dick throbbed in his pants and he bit his cheek to keep from kissing her. “Is this what you want, Jessica? You want me to slam you up against the wall and fuck you?”

  She answered on a breath. “Yes.”

  With his free hand, he reached out and cupped her breast. Mmm. High and round and firm on her chest, he could fondle her tits for days. Stroking her nipple, he worked her until she mewled beneath him.

  “You want me to rip this dress off you and take you right here? Is that it?”

  “Please, Tate. Yes.” She thrashed her head back and forth, moaning as he rubbed. Damn, she was beautiful. And she wanted him to own her. To hold her down and take her the way he imagined.

  He slid his hand lower, running over her thigh and behind her to grip her ass. With a single jerk, he pulled her off the wall and crushed her pelvis to his, grinding her belly against his raging erection.

  “You feel that? That’s how bad I want the same thing.”

  “Then take me. I’m begging you.”

  “No.” He let her go and backed away. Her ar
ms stayed where he’d trapped them, stuck up on the wall with invisible strings. Damn.

  Turning around, he strode to the front door, grabbing his keys on the way.

  As he turned the doorknob, Jessica called out after him. “Why are you leaving?”

  “Because someone has to.”

  “No. Stay. Talk to me, Tate. Please.” He glanced back at her and the sight shot a pang of regret through his body. Her pouty pale lips open and breathless. Her cheeks flushed with lust. Her arms still pinned to the wall. Sometimes life could be so cruel.

  “I’ve got a gig. Don’t wait up.”

  He opened the door and walked out, shutting it behind him with a slam. Fuck. Tate staggered to his car, barely noticing the world around him. He slumped into the driver’s seat and collapsed over the steering wheel.

  He’d taken it too far. Pushed them both into dangerous waters. But he couldn’t help himself. His cock throbbed in his pants and all he could see was her lips forming his name and her eyes begging him to take her.

  He couldn’t move without pain shooting through his groin and if he didn’t get some relief he’d never make it to his gig. Raising his head, he glanced around the parking lot. No one was around. He shouldn’t even be thinking it, but he couldn’t help himself. Not anymore.

  Unzipping his pants, he shoved his hand beneath his waistband and took his dick in his hand, wrapping his fingers around his thick shaft and stroking up and down. He imagined Jessica, leaning over in the passenger seat and licking his swollen tip, her lips sliding down his shaft as he held her head.

  Up and down he pushed her, forcing his cock deeper down inside her mouth, groaning as her pretend throat convulsed around him. He imagined reaching over to stroke her clit through her panties while she bobbed on his spit-soaked shaft. That’s it baby, work me harder. It might be wrong, but he had to get her out of his system. One way or another.

  Faster and faster he rubbed himself, pumping away the guilt and shame until he grabbed a gym towel from the back seat. A few jerks more and he came into the towel, hot sticky cum soaking the terry cloth and leaving him empty.

  With a heavy sigh, he put himself back together and started the car, easing out of the parking space and away from Jessica. A full night DJing and he could forget her. Erase her hot body from his mind and go back to his normal life. The one without her blindfolded and on her knees, orgasming beside his bed.

  * * *

  Jessica stared at the front door, shocked and outraged and unable to move. How dare he leave her like that! Run away after turning her on and admitting his attraction. The bastard.

  She’d already come, but he’d left her aching. If she knew where he’d gone, she’d be slipping on her shoes and running out the door.

  God, men could be such assholes. She didn’t understand why he fought so hard—why they couldn’t explore this need. Together. She knew they were step-siblings and what people would say. But she didn’t care.

  He could give her what she craved. What she’d looked for in every man she’d ever kissed. The freedom that came from relinquishing control.

  Peeling herself off the wall, she walked into the kitchen. She rifled through his piles of papers on the counter, searching for something—anything—that would tell her where he’d gone and how she could find him.

  Bills, junk mail, magazines. Nothing that helped. Damn it. She spun to face the fridge and a flyer caught her eye.

  Leather & Lace Night at Blur. Featuring DJ T.

  That’s got to be it. She’d never heard of the club, but she’d never spent much time in Miami, either. Scampering over to her bag, she pulled out her phone and searched for it. Wow. Upscale and swank, the club played top forty, techno, and electronica depending on the night of the week. She clicked on the banner for Leather & Lace and smiled.

  A picture of Tate with headphones on behind a mix table was splashed across the page. Yes! Glancing at the time, she made up her mind. If he wouldn’t stay and listen to her, she’d go to him and show him all that he’d be missing.

  All she needed was the right outfit for the club and she’d be set. After calling a cab, she clapped her hands like a cheerleader. Jessica loved to dance. Especially when a hot guy was involved. Mmm. Tonight will be fun.

  3

  The cab pulled up outside the club and Jessica climbed out, holding her dress down to keep from flashing the line. The black lace hugged her slim figure, giving her the illusion of bigger boobs and a butt to match.

  The see-through factor didn’t hurt, either. Only partially lined, her skin peeked through everywhere the nude slip underneath didn’t cover. From a few feet away, she looked practically naked. She hoped it’d be enough to drive Tate wild. And make him act on it.

  She knew she didn’t have the body most men lusted after—big boobs, curvy hips—no hourglass for her. But lanky and skinny with good muscle tone gave her a modeling gig. And she hoped a career. It just meant she had to work harder to come off sexy.

  Walking up to the bouncer, Jessica bypassed the line, sashaying as best she could in five-inch heels and tugging her dress down to expose as much cleavage as possible.

  “Line’s back there.” He pointed with his burly arm, refusing to even look her way.

  “I’m DJ T’s guest. He invited me.”

  The bouncer glanced up, gaze hovering boob-level for a beat before moving up to her face. “He didn’t tell me.”

  “He probably forgot. So amped up for the gig, you know?”

  He raised an eyebrow and she batted her lashes. “You wouldn’t want him to put on a bad show because I wasn’t in there, would you?” She licked her lips, running her tongue over her deep red gloss before tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth.

  The bouncer rolled his eyes and waved her inside. “You better be telling the truth. If I find out you’re some groupie, your ass is out of here.”

  Jessica gave him a shimmy, shaking her butt at him as she turned around and smiled. “I’m telling the truth. I promise.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s what they all say, honey.”

  She slipped inside and breathed out in a rush. She’d done it—gotten inside before Tate’s show and without too much trouble. Party people milled everywhere, groups of girls gossiping out on the dance floor, guys swarming the bar. But no sign of Tate. The DJ booth sat empty along the far wall and he wasn’t in the crowd.

  Navigating through the throng to the bar, she wedged her way between two men and tried to catch the bartender’s eye.

  One of the guys next to her turned towards her and flashed a cheesy grin. “Hey, sweetheart. You come here alone?”

  Great. An asshole at the bar. “No. I’m with someone. Thanks though.”

  The bartender came over and she exhaled in relief. “I’ll take a vodka, lime, and soda, please.”

  “Put that on my tab, will ya?” Leaning over and winking, her new-found annoyance flashed a shiny gold watch and looked her up and down.

  “No, really, it’s okay. You don’t need to buy me a drink. Like I said, I’m with someone.” She glanced up at him—slicked back hair curling on top of his head, shirt open one button too far. Ugh. Every bar was always the same. Too many pushy, drunk guys trying to score. Not enough space to breathe.

  The creep slid even closer, wedging his body against hers and sneaking a hand onto the small of her back. “I don’t see anybody on your arm, sweetheart. So until some dude shows up and tells me to get lost, I think you’re fair game.”

  The bartender passed the drink across the bar and Jessica grabbed it. I have to get out of here. She gave him a tight smile and shoved her way out of his reach. “Thanks for the drink. I’ve got to go.”

  Pushing through the bodies, Jessica headed straight for the DJ table, hoping with all her might the creep wouldn’t follow her. When she reached the booth, she turned around. Thank god. He’d stayed at the bar, turning his sights on the next girl who’d made the mistake of sliding up next to him.

  Jessica couldn’t stand the
meat market of clubs. All those jerks pumped up on alcohol, trying to take a girl home and get sloppy. She made a point of wearing stilettos whenever she went out—not only did they make her super tall, but they also doubled as a tidy little weapon. Stomping on a guy’s foot with a poky heel could make him scream.

  Not that she’d had to resort to that very often. Almost never, in fact. But always better to be prepared. You never knew when you needed to defend yourself.

  As she finished off the last of her drink, a faint buzz of alcohol filtered through her system, loosening her up and turning her on. The piped in electronica—a pre-DJ dance party—echoed through the club and Jessica made her way to the floor. She wanted to lose herself in the music before Tate showed up.

  If she could catch his eye—show him what he was missing by grinding up against a few guys—maybe she could convince him to take it further. To give her what she so desperately needed. Him. All over her in the dark.

  Finding a spot on the dance floor, she started moving, letting the music seep into her pores and light her up. It didn’t take much. In a few minutes, she’d lost herself—forgetting all about the frustration and guilt and giving herself over to the music.

  * * *

  Tate hated the start of the show. He didn’t have nerves, but every crowd was different. Did they want it hard and filthy? Smooth and chill? He wouldn’t know until a few minutes in. Gauging the audience—reacting and adapting to the hum around him—was what set him apart from so many other DJs. What made him in demand. In control.

  He could manipulate thousands of people with his beats. Turn all the guys and girls out on the floor into a teeming hive, buzzing and grinding and worshipping at his altar. But it took finesse. One wrong mix and he’d lose them to the bar or the club next door.

  The mic cracked and the club owner spoke over the noise. Party time. The crowd whooped and Tate bounced up and down, revving himself up, pumping adrenaline through his veins like a fighter on the edge of the ring.