Her Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  He leans down, bringing his face closer and closer to mine.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Damian

  I’ve tried to fight this all damn night.

  Sitting with my back to the wall and my gun resting on the floor between my feet, Sparky curled up in the bathroom on a bundle of towels, I tried to fight it.

  I told myself that it’s not fair, I just saved her from a psycho criminal.

  We’re moving too fast.

  I’m putting unnecessary pressure on her.

  Blah-blah-fucking-blah.

  None of it rang true in my mind, not when I thought about those big milk-giving breasts and those hips made for squeezing and bearing children, not when I thought about how wide and spunky her eyes would get when I plunged into the sweet juiciness of her pussy.

  Not when I closed my eyes and summoned her scent, the sweet tanginess of it.

  Not when I thought about the sassiness, the character in her voice, her quick wit, her … her fucking everything.

  And then I heard her moans rising into the air, her breath catching, and I knew I had to charge over here.

  Maybe part of me was still trying to fight, though, when I made up that lame excuse about thinking she was having a nightmare.

  But as she stands in front of me, her hair all messy, her cheeks flaming red, I can’t fight it anymore.

  “Do you have any idea—”

  I turn around whip-fast when somebody bangs on the door, three consecutive hammers that feel like they make the very room tremble.

  Fuck.

  I hold my hand up for Dakota to remain silent and then move toward the door, muttering a silent thanks that Sparky hasn’t decided to start barking. He’s usually good about noises and things like that, but with an excitable young dog, it’s always hard to be sure.

  I stalk to the window and peel back the curtains, just about ready to do some serious damage to any bastard foolish enough to interrupt what I was about to do to Dakota, the way I was going to unleash myself on her like the wild beast I am.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  “Janine?” the man slurs, barely holding onto the neck of a whiskey bottle in one hand as he raises his fist to the door again. “Janine? Ya in there? I—” He pauses to burp, and then hammers the door again. “Janine?”

  It’s hard to make out the man’s features in the dark, but I can tell that he’s tall and wiry, with a mop of dark-colored hair.

  “It’s just some drunk guy,” Dakota murmurs, walking up beside me.

  “Could be,” I agree, keeping my voice quiet. “Or could be a decoy to get us out there. Impossible to know.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We wait,” I tell her. “He’ll go away eventually.”

  I watch the parking lot for any sign of the Bratva, a flicker of metal that might be a gun, a movement that might be men approaching, anything.

  “Janine, if you’re in there … I love you, okay? I love you and I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly, another door snaps open and a woman’s voice rises into the night. “Johnny? The fuck are you doing?”

  “J-Janine?” the man moans.

  “You got the wrong room, you asshole. Come on, get in here. Folks are trying to sleep.”

  “Janine,” the man cries, walking away on shaky legs.

  I shake my head, turning to find that Sparky has wandered into the room, looking up at me in that imploring way he has. He tilts his head and his eyes narrow as if to say, We both know what needs to happen here.

  “He wants to go out,” I mutter.

  “Is it safe?”

  I turn to her, offering her a smirk.

  A disjointed part of me is wondering if the interruption was a sign.

  What would the message be, then?

  Don’t kiss her. It isn’t right. She’s only just got out of captivity.

  But I can’t bring myself to care about that as fiercely as maybe I should. Even now, I find myself fighting the urge to grab her and kiss her hard … but then I know that I’ll lose control, the feral part of me awakening, and I’ll have to claim every inch of her.

  “Probably safer than trying to keep the gremlin in here when he needs to go,” I say. “Lock the doors and don’t answer them for anybody apart from me. We won’t be long.”

  “Uh—okay.”

  I note her hesitation, wondering if she’s wondering why I’m not grabbing her and kissing her hard.

  Because clearly, that’s what I was about to do.

  I walk into the bedroom and collect Sparky’s leash, attaching it to his collar and sliding silently from the room, locking the door behind me, and then walking to the edge of the walkway to a patch of grass.

  I keep my hand near my hip, ready to snatch my gun at a moment’s notice, and my hunter’s eyes search the night as Sparky walks in small circles, finding the best place to pee.

  “What the hell am I going to do, boy?” I whisper.

  He tilts his head up at me.

  “I want her, that’s the damn truth,” I go on. “But falling for a woman, goddamn, it wasn’t part of the plan. And when I kiss her, fucking hell, Spark, I just know I’m going to have to claim her—claim her for life. What then? Do I really think she’s gonna feel the same, this woman I just met? Maybe I’m going crazy, eh?”

  Sparky does his business and then pads over to me, leaping onto his hind legs and pawing at my knees. I lean down and scoop him up, letting him lick my chin and then rest his head against my chest.

  “I know, boy,” I say quietly, moving my hand over his ears. “You’re not used to me being so indecisive, are you? I guess I should be more worried about Andrei and his Bratva goons. But you wanna know the fucked up thing, boy? Part of me is glad that fate is forcing me to spend more time with Dakota. I can’t leave her now, can I? I can’t let anything happen to her.”

  I carry Sparky back to the room and lock the door behind me, lying on the bed and letting him climb atop me and curl up, snoring softly.

  I rarely dream, as though my mind knows better than to stray to the locked corners of my consciousness.

  But this evening – this morning – this in-between space finds me sitting atop a throne of glorious gold with floating angels dancing around me, their voices pitched low and soothing and majestic as their music cures everything, cures me.

  I find myself glowing from the inside, as I listen to their voices getting sweeter and sweeter.

  Then something scrapes down my face and I groan, sitting up to find Sparky perched on my chest, his paws on my face. I blink, giving him a stroke and rubbing sleep from my eyes.

  I listen, head tilted.

  The singing is still there even more magical and beautiful now than it was in the dream.

  I stand up and walk toward the door to Dakota’s room, pressing my ear against the wood and listening to her voice, wavering and dancing in the air.

  “There was a songbird,” she sings. “And its name was truth. There was a swan song, and baby, baby, this one’s for you … A songbird, a songbird, and yet inside my soul—baby, a songbird, a songbird, but your heart is still black as coal.”

  “Beautiful,” I growl.

  “Huh?” Dakota says, far closer to the door than I judged.

  My appreciation for her singing has messed with my hunter’s instincts for distance.

  “Beautiful,” I say, louder.

  I grab the door and push it open, not bothering to ask this time.

  Falling to sleep last night, regrets hounded me.

  I should have grabbed her.

  I should have kissed her.

  I’ve been overthinking this whole damn thing and soon it’ll be time to rectify that. Dakota’s a fully-grown woman and babying her is just damn stupid.

  When I tell her she’s mine, I’ll let her make her own decision.

  But she will fucking know.

  Soon.

  She’s standing there in her servant’s uniform still, a sexy tangy smell drifting off of her, hum
an and appealing. I find myself wishing she’d stay like this for a week, getting tangier and sweeter, so I can run my tongue all over her curvy body and taste the welcome juiciness of her flesh, like a beast lapping a mate to solidify their intimacy.

  Her hair is tied up, pulled back to show the round cuteness of her face.

  “You heard that?” she says. “Thin walls, I guess.”

  “It was beautiful,” I growl.

  She flinches, tilting her head. “I … You’re a puzzle, Damian. Do you know that?”

  “How’s that?” I growl.

  “Just—you are, that’s all. What’s the plan?”

  “Oh, pretty simple,” I say, smirking. “Outrun some international criminals. Fight off an army. Escape with our lives intact.”

  “Okay, clever man,” she giggles. “But I mean what’s the plan for today?”

  “We’re driving to Ohio. I’ve got a little country safe house there. It’s the only place I can think of where we can hole up and deal with this madness.”

  “Can we …” She pauses. “Deal with this, I mean?”

  Never lie to her. She’s going to be the mother of your children.

  “I don’t know,” I say, looking her straight in the eye. “But I promise I’ll die before I let anything happen to you.”

  She sighs and then opens her mouth as though she’s going to say something. She closes it and then shakes her head.

  “A puzzle, Damian,” she murmurs. “Seriously.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dakota

  I sit in the passenger side, stroking Sparky in my lap, occasionally sneaking glances at Damian as we drive across the States.

  Down long field-bordered roads, through snow-blanketed lands, past endless truck stops and diners and little dot-on-the-map towns, we drive, on and on, for eight-plus hours. We only stop to use the bathroom twice and to grab a quick bite to eat.

  We say little, as though we’ve both agreed to retreat into our private worlds and process the last twenty-four hours.

  Perhaps if I was normal, sane, whatever the heck that is, my mind would be firmly rooted on the psychopath who tried to assault me and the way his body bucked and fell when the bullet tore through him.

  But mostly I think about Damian the Puzzle and his confusing behavior.

  Last night, when he basically acknowledged I’d been touching myself, leaned in … and then the drunk guy interrupted us and he stopped. I was left wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing.

  But then this morning, when he called my voice beautiful, angels of light danced through my body. The praise made me feel like I was going to take off, float like a song note into the air.

  I’ll die before I let anything happen to you.

  Surely that means something.

  Surely that means that these crazy images that keep cycling through my mind – me and Damian hand in hand as an old married couple, me and Damian at a summer lake with a guitar in my lap and our children splashing in the azure water, me and Damian twisted and tangled in bed together – surely it means that, just maybe, he’s feeling it too.

  Feeling what? a voice mutters within.

  This crazy attraction, this feeling that I was in that room for a reason with Dobry—so that I could meet his killer.

  Fate.

  I look across at him now, as we drive through a forest of leafless trees, their branches turned white with the constant snowfall. The heat blasts and turning my cheeks red, making me sleepy, but I focus on Damian and the steady way he drives the car, wondering if he’ll drive our lives just as steadily.

  I wish I could reach inside that silver head of his and get access to his thoughts.

  Does she really think I’d be attracted to her? I’ve had supermodels. I’ve had socialites. I’ve had royalty. I’ve had a million women more attractive than her. Is she insane?

  Is that what he’s thinking, as he feels my gaze burning into him?

  The cottage is hidden down a country road that the sedan is just about able to navigate. Sparky sits up as we bump our way deeper and deeper into the forest, the world already starting to turn dark, the sky bruising and shielding. Sparky tilts his head up at me, tongue hanging out.

  “I know,” I tease. “He’s not a very good driver, is he?”

  Damian smirks, glancing over at me briefly. “You sassy little thing,” he snarls. “I ought to make you pay for that.”

  My skin tingles, the same way it did last night when I was certain he was going to kiss me.

  “What did you have in mind?” I just about manage to force out, my tongue miraculously not becoming tied.

  Damian glances at Sparky and then grins like a wolf.

  “How about we get the pup set up inside, and then I show you, eh?”

  “See what I mean?” I sass right back, heart thudding, skin buzzing in a million different places. “Such a puzzle.”

  “Don’t worry,” he snarls. “I’ll solve it for you pretty damn soon.”

  I squeeze my legs together, my sex getting tight and wet, and suddenly the ridiculous idea that he can smell my sopping juices stabs into my mind. I tell myself I’m being silly. He’s not a freaking vampire, for God’s sake.

  Finally, we arrive at the cottage, a stocky building that looks like it’s built completely out of snow as it sits there, surrounded on all sides by trees.

  Sparky begins to wag his tail and yip happily, pawing at the passenger side door.

  “Has he been here before?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Damian murmurs. “Just keep him here a sec while I check the place out.”

  “It looks deserted,” I comment.

  Damian nods. “That doesn’t mean much in my business.”

  “It’s okay, boy,” I tell Sparky, holding him in my lap as Damian climbs from the car and approaches the building, gun in hand, looking every inch the indomitable hitman in his jet black coat, black jeans, and his thick black boots.

  He does a circuit of the cottage and then waves over to me, nodding.

  The moment I open the door, Sparky leaps out, marking the snow and then diving into a big pile of it, popping out the other side with a proud wiggle and a big pink grin on his face.

  I climb out—and slip, cursing loudly.

  I stumble and I’m about to fall on my face when thick powerful arms wrap around me, one hand bracing my hip and the other across my belly, bracing my shoulder. His forearm presses into my breasts, squashing them closely, causing my nipples to harden and a shiver to move through me.

  “Careful,” he growls in my ear, his breath hot, a sizzling contrast to the winter cold.

  “I never wear heels,” I whisper, very aware that neither of us is moving.

  We stay pressed together, his crotch against my ass.

  I can feel him, the hardness of his manhood.

  But then maybe it’s his belt?

  I don’t know. I can’t be sure. It’s not like I have a wealth of experience in that area.

  “There might be some clothes for you in the house,” he says, finally letting me go, but keeping his hand near me just in case, which I appreciate a hell of a lot.

  “Another woman’s clothes?” I snap, with way more fierceness in my voice than I intended.

  “It’s not like that,” Damian says firmly, looking me square in the eye. “I don’t have a lady. I’ve never wanted a lady if you want the fucking truth of it. No, the clothes are my aunt’s. She’s doesn’t live here anymore. This was my uncle’s place a long time ago, and he left it to me. I know it’s not ideal, wearing another woman’s clothes, but—”

  “No,” I say quickly, stunned by the passion in his voice, in his eyes, pinning me in place as though he’s contemplating a hundred sinful things right here in the snow. “It’s fine. Trust me, after living under their rule, I’m not exactly picky.”

  “I’ll buy you a whole new wardrobe when this is over,” he snarls. “But I get to pick it, you hear?”

  I bite my lip, staring at him, telling myse
lf I can’t be misinterpreting this. He wants me just as badly as I want him.

  What else could a comment like that mean?

  “Come on,” he growls. “Let’s get inside.”

  He goes to the car and grabs the duffel bag and I walk toward the cottage, most of its features hidden beneath blankets of snow. It looks like something out of a winter dreamland, the chimney coated in white, the windows glistening here and there where the glass pokes through the ice.

  Damian walks up behind me and takes out a set of keys, wiping aside snow and ice and then finding the lock.

  “How long since you were here?” I ask.

  “A few months,” he murmurs. “But only for maintenance, to make sure the heating and everything was still working. I haven’t stayed here for a very long time.”

  “Does that make me special?” I tease, stunned at the sassiness in my voice.

  But he just brings it out of me.

  He turns to me, staring in that solid way of his.

  “Yes,” he snarls.

  He gestures for me to go inside. I walk into the hallway, looking around at the rustic, wood-built interior, a major log cabin vibe screaming from everything—the wooden support beams, the fur rugs, the mounted animal heads on the walls.

  “Fake,” he says, catching me staring at a large elk’s head. “My aunt loves the style, but she hates animal cruelty.”

  He closes the door behind us and then walks toward the fireplace.

  “I stored some wood in the basement,” he says. “Wait here and then I’ll get a fire going.”

  I nod. “What about Sparky?”

  “There’s a dog door at the back,” he says. “He knows not to venture too far. He’ll take himself for a little walk and then come back in about an hour or so.”

  “Okay,” I murmur. “I’ll just … wait here, then?”

  “Yes,” he growls, his eyes flitting up and down my body, a sudden intensity shadowing his expression.

  I sit on the comfy armchair next to the fireplace, moving my hands up and down my thighs as though that will dispel the anxious energy surging through me.