Her Hitman: An Instalove Possessive Older Man Younger Woman Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  “Yes,” I go on with a growl, giving her hips another squeeze so that she lets out a whimper.

  Her flesh is so hot and curvy and tempting I almost bend her over and take her slit right now, fuck it hard, powerfully, slam into her over and over until she’s screaming and begging me never to stop.

  “Belong,” I repeat. “These hips …”

  I slide my hands up to her breasts, palming them hungrily, squeezing them together so her eyelids flutter and she lets out a song-like moan.

  “These gorgeous milky tits.”

  Higher, running my thumb along her lower lip, slipping it inside for a second so that she sucks.

  Jesus fucking Christ, this woman, she sucks and lets out a shivering moan that goes straight to the helmet of my enraged cock, swollen and pressing outward as though it’s going to tear in half, there’s so much stiff tension.

  “Yes, these lips. Everything you are, everything you’ll ever be, fucking belongs to me. That’s why I can never let Andrei near you. Not because I’m some good samaritan. Not because I’m one of the good guys. But because you’re mine.”

  She lets out another whimper, each noise causing an answering shiver in my cock.

  “God, Damian,” she whispers. “You’re a freaking beast.”

  “Yes,” I snarl. “I am. I’ve tried to keep it hidden, but here it is. This is me. This is how I feel. This is what you are.”

  “W-what?”

  “My prey,” I snarl, grabbing her ass cheeks in big handfuls, squeezing until she twitches against me. “I forget to mention this ass of yours. Jesus, it’s so round, so juicy, so big.”

  “Big?” she murmurs.

  “In a good way—in a perfect way,” I snap, sensing some discomfort in her. “In fact, turn around.”

  “What about Sparky?”

  “Look outside.”

  She turns, glancing out the window, seeing that Sparky has grown bored with us and has decided to start romping in the snow again until it’s dinnertime.

  “Pull the curtain and turn the fuck around. Now.”

  “I … I don’t think I’m ready.”

  “Don’t worry,” I growl, unable to hide the frustration in my voice. “I’m not going to take you. Yet. But it turns out I’m not as strong as I thought I was. And you said you wanted to help, remember? I need those ass cheeks. I need to grind my big thick cock between them and then come all over your back. I need it right now, so don’t make me wait any longer.”

  “Oh, God,” she moans. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, baby. Just do what you’re told. You’re mine, remember.”

  My blood is on fire and I can’t stop it, the need to empty myself rushing in my ears.

  Part of me roars to save my seed for her, but the memory of her glistening pussy is too powerful in my mind, the sound of her moans, the taste of her juices.

  I lose control when she pulls the curtain shut, grabbing her and guiding her to the chair.

  “Bend over,” I grunt, just about able to force the words out.

  She does what she’s told – my glorious queen – and sticks those wide hips out, framing her bouncy ass in that skirt. I grab it all and pull it down, trapping her knees together so that her ass is a glorious love heart shape.

  “Are you going to bounce for me?” I growl.

  “Yes, yes,” she moans. “I want to please you. Like you pleased me.”

  “I thought you were supposed to be a virgin,” I tease huskily.

  “You bring it out in me,” she whispers. “Please tell me if I’m embarrassing myself.”

  “Quiet,” I snarl.

  She flinches.

  “You can never embarrass yourself with me, you beautiful dirty sinful vixen. You’re too sexy, too gorgeous, too maternal to be able to embarrass yourself with me. Just follow your instincts. Okay?”

  “Yes,” she moans. “Okay—yes, I can do that. Yes.”

  My cock is guiding me now, the rod of tension in my pants.

  Nothing exists, just this hardness, just the iron of my manhood compelling me, making thought impossible.

  I stare down at her ass cheeks as I grab my belt and yank it free, pulling my cock out of my pants and then grabbing it at the base. The head is shining with precome, perfect for painting her cheeks.

  I stroke it along one cheek and then the other, leaving a glimmering trail.

  “Are you going to make me explode?” I snarl, leaning down so that I can slot my cock between her ample ass cheeks, more than enough there to grip onto my cock, the friction already making me growl deeply.

  “Yes,” she moans.

  “Look at me,” I command.

  She turns her face over her shoulder, hair spilling down her back. Her eyes are wide and her lips are pursed, her expression downright fucking heavenly.

  “Good,” I snap. “Now bounce.”

  “Like this?” she murmurs, shifting her hips like she was made for it.

  Her ass cheeks bounce up and down on either side of my shaft, rubbing with fleshy friction. I push on her flesh harder, squeezing my cock firmer and firmer each moment with her made-for-it flesh.

  “Yes,” I snarl. “Faster, Dakota.”

  “Like this, baby?” she moans. “Am I doing it right?”

  “Y-yeah,” I growl. “Faster, as fast as you fucking can. And moan for me. Moan for the man who owns you.”

  “Always,” she cries.

  I stare down, completely captivated, as that pale creamy ass bounces up and down, up and down, the motion of it making it impossible to look away.

  Her moans dance and twitch in the air just the same, fueling the crescendo of my need.

  Liquid fire surges up and down my massive ten-inch length, every single millimeter setting ablaze, my whole body, my whole consciousness, everything in me focusing in on the way her flesh reverberates with each bouncing motion.

  “Fuck,” I snarl, a stream of come spraying all over her ass cheeks and her lower back, a hot stream of it firing so that the very tip of my cock buzzes.

  “Oh, God,” I groan, the lust cooling down, my thinking faculties returning to me.

  I step back, letting out a shivering breath.

  “Well, there goes saving it for your womb,” I murmur, and then let out the laugh of a madman.

  Dakota meets my eye and begins to giggle, and soon both of us are laughing like crazy, lost in this magical thing, this connection.

  I pull up my pants and shake my head slowly.

  “I thought you were going to run when I told you how I really felt,” I say.

  “No,” she murmurs. “Because—Well, this is crazy. But I feel exactly the same way.”

  “What?”

  “Just let me clean this off,” she laughs. “And then we can talk.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dakota

  We sit at the kitchen table as Sparky devours a bowl of food, his tail wagging frantically.

  I have to forcibly tell myself that what just happened between Damian really happened because otherwise, I feel like I’m going to flit off into fantasy land.

  It was so freaking hot, the way the beast inside of him came out like that, the way he stared at me, at my body, like I was the only woman in the universe.

  I’ve never been looked at like that.

  “Dakota?” he murmurs now, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his.

  He’s hot, physically burning up.

  “Yeah,” I say slowly. “So I kind of had some crazy thoughts, too. When I first saw you, I imagined having kids together. I imagined us being together. I can’t really explain it. It just felt right. No, more than that. It felt like any other path would be absolutely wrong, the biggest mistake of my life. Obviously, I was going to keep all of this to myself.”

  “But when I told you that you’re mine,” he says, voice tinged with wonder, “you knew it was true. You knew that fate led us together.”

  “Wait, you believe in fate?” I ask.
<
br />   He laughs grimly. “I never did, never even gave it any thought, to be honest. But when I saw you standing there with that bloody letter opener, all brave and fiery despite how scared you clearly were … I don’t know, something just clicked in me. I can’t explain it. Something woke up. And then I felt – I knew – that I was there for a reason. I think you were that reason, Dakota.”

  His words send flickering starlight through my body, tickling my soul, tickling my everything. I reach across the table and grab his hand, feeling the strength of him in the simple touch.

  “I feel the same,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I’m not ready for—”

  His hand tightens and he grimaces. “What did I say about apologizing? When you’re ready, I’m going to fucking maul you. I’m going to claim you and make you cream and shiver and cry out for me. But until then, I’ll keep the beast in the cage. But …”

  “But what?” I urge, when he trails off, my heart thudding like a drum-beat welcoming me home in my chest. “Damian?”

  “I don’t want to scare my little virgin,” he teases, reaching across with his free hand and pinching my cheek playfully.

  I slap his hand away, giggling.

  “I may be a virgin,” I laugh. “But I’m not little.”

  “You’re five-five, at the most,” he growls. “How else is a big bastard like me supposed to describe you?”

  I shoot him a look. “I’m not talking about my height, Damian.”

  “What, then?” he says, tilting his head at me as though he’s genuinely confused.

  Even Sparky, who’s now finished eating, pads over and tilts his head up at me, imitating Damian. I look between them, my mouth falling open.

  He can’t be serious, can he?

  “Well, just think,” I snap. “If it’s not my height, what else could it possibly be?”

  He stares.

  “For God’s sake, Damian. My big fat—”

  “Nope,” he snarls, cutting me off with a look of pure fire. “I won’t stand for that, Dakota. I’ll never fucking stand for that.”

  I flinch at the force of his words.

  “I mean it,” he goes on. “With a body as curvy and smoking as yours, you have no right to have such a low opinion of yourself.”

  “So being fat is a bad thing?” I counter.

  “I don’t care about the word,” he snarls. “I care about how you sounded when you said it like you were dirt. And you’re not dirt. You’re the furthest thing from it. Your body is gorgeous. I love how plus size fucking perfect you are, with that ass made for grabbing, those big round tits. Your face, your full healthy-looking cheeks … everything about you. You look like a woman who’s ready to take on the burden of carrying a child, not like some billboard model who’ll blow away when a strong gust comes along.”

  I gasp, staring at him as he sits up in his chair, so much passion seeping out of him that even Sparky is on his hind legs, aware that something’s happening here.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “For saying that.”

  “Thank me by believing it,” he snarls. “You’re beautiful. Never forget that.”

  Something warm and homely dances in my belly, as though I don’t have to constantly be aware of how different I am to other, so-called prettier girls. I’ve always had this chip on my shoulder, and hearing the fierce conviction in Damian’s voice has gone a long way to making me see myself through his eyes.

  For the first time ever, I wonder if I am sexy if I have that inside of me, the capacity to compel with my looks.

  “What were you going to say?” I mutter. “Before you called me little and I got distracted?”

  “Oh,” he says, smirking like a predator. “I was going to tell you that the longer you make me wait, the more beastly I’m going to be when I finally get to plunge into that hot cunt. I’m being a gentleman by waiting … so don’t expect me to be a gentleman in the bedroom. I own you. You’re mine. And I’ll treat my fucking property how I want. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I whimper, pussy tingling, womb crying at me to take him right now.

  But what if I can’t take him?

  I saw how big he was, huge, so massive it was like he was laying a muscular forearm against my ass cheeks as he pleasured himself against my flesh.

  “Do you think I could take a shower?” I murmur. “I feel so stinky after everything that’s happened.”

  “I like you all stinky,” he teases. “It makes me feel wild, like an animal. But yes, my little Popstar, you can take a shower.”

  “Popstar,” I laugh, shaking my head. “Hardly.”

  “I’ve heard you sing,” he growls. “Don’t try and be modest now.”

  I roll my eyes. “You heard a few lines through a closed door.”

  “Okay then,” he smirks, reaching down and scooping Sparky up, who curls into a ball and lies restfully in his lap. “Then give us a show, Popstar.”

  “That better not be my new nickname,” I giggle, unable to hide how much I adore it.

  “You bet your fine juicy ass it is … Popstar.”

  “I’m not going to give you a show,” I laugh. “I never sing in front of other people.”

  “But I’m not just any other person,” he snarls. “I’m own you. And I order you to sing for me. See, Dakota? You don’t have a fucking choice now.”

  I stare into those intense eyes of his. He stares back with passion flickering across his expression, a light smirk playing around his lips … but it’s not a mocking smirk.

  It’s a you-can-do-it smirk.

  God, decoding this man’s smirks could become a hobby all on its own.

  “So you’re actually serious,” I laugh.

  “Deadly,” he chuckles huskily.

  “I don’t know if I can,” I whisper, my cheeks flaming red, the blush creeping all over my body. “I’ve literally never sung in front of anybody before. Except for you … and that was an accident.”

  “You can do it,” he says firmly. “I know you can. Just a short song. Just a few lines. Anything.”

  “Why do you want to hear it so badly?” I sass, trying to make this a bantering back-and-forth and not what it’s becoming, an awakening, a challenge.

  “Because you have a beautiful voice,” he says matter of fact.

  I take a deep breath. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “Are you going to sing a funny song?”

  “I’m serious,” I say.

  “I promise, Popstar. Not that I’d have any reason to.”

  I take another deep breath – getting my voice ready and trying to steady my nerves at the same time – and then grab the edge of the table and push my chair back.

  I stand up, feeling his eyes sizzling into me, the same way they did when I was bottomless and he was staring captivated by my ass, by my sex.

  It’s like he’s as attracted to my talent as he is to my body.

  “What shall I sing?” I ask.

  “Popstar’s choice,” he smirks.

  I swallow, searching around in my mind, and then settle on a song I wrote when I was fifteen years old. I’ve sung it many times and I’m confident – semi-confident – kind-of confident I can sing it now without tripping up.

  “A girl in a rainy window—”

  I bite down, my voice wavering, my nerves causing the pitch to leap and disobey me.

  “It’s okay,” Damian whispers. “You’re safe. Nobody’s laughing. I’m here.”

  I draw strength from his words, a disjointed part of me noting that of everything that’s happened lately, it’s kind of crazy that this is the most intimidating.

  I’ve spent my whole life steadily avoiding any kind of an audience, and now here he is, utterly attentive, eyes fixated on me as though I’m the only thing that exists.

  “Okay,” I say, clearing my thoughts.

  “A girl in a rainy window, a life spent wondering why. A girl in an autumn window, the wind hides the tears she cries. And now she cries, oh, she cries … she crie
s and sees the robber, his gun as bitter as acid steel, and then go Mother and Father, in their own wretched blood they kneel. And now the girl cries, oh, she cries, and the parents they die, oh, they die …”

  I trail off, shaking my head, realizing I haven’t looked at Damian once since the singing started. My gaze has been fixated on the ice-encased window and the forest beyond, as though by looking away I don’t have to see the disappointment in his face.

  “Jesus, Popstar,” Damian says. “That was incredible. It was … haunting. Did you write that?”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, my lips twitching into a wide smile despite myself.

  I turn to find Damian beaming at me.

  Or, at least, doing his version of beaming.

  “That song would become an instant classic the second it was played on the radio,” he says. “Goddamn, if I wasn’t such a cold bastard, I might’ve cried. I guess it was about your parents?”

  I nod, my hands fidgeting with each other.

  But he liked it, he really freaking liked it.

  “Yeah, it’s a bit grim, I know.”

  He smirks. “As if I’ve got a problem with something being a bit grim … Dakota? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I stare out of the window, struggling to drag what I’m seeing into this scene, this comfortable private world.

  In all the closeness, it’s like I forgot about the Bratva and the violence and the chase.

  But there it is, moving through the trees.

  Men in black jackets and scuffed jeans and tattoos on their necks.

  Men holding guns.

  “They’re here,” I whisper.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Damian

  I bolt out of my chair and glance at the window, my mind switching to hitman mode immediately. In the forest, the black of their jackets stands out clearly against the snow.