Page 11 of White Wings of Desire

"Shut up!" I hiss at him, trying to take control of the situation by leaving him no room to dodge my attacks and backing him into a corner, but I’m struggling to keep up with the chase, my body reaching its limits. I wince as I feel the familiar sharp pull of my hair against my scalp. In a brief moment of carelessness, he slips an arm around me, grabs a handful of my hair, and forces my body into his. His free arm wraps around my waist, holding me tight. I take the opportunity to bring the knife up and press the blade against the fair skin of his throat.

"You're a naughty little one..." he says in a seductive tone, and I feel his chest vibrate against mine. He yanks at my hair, forcing my head back, demanding that I look at his face. I gasp at the pain and press the blade harder against his throat with shaky hands. His skin tears against the blade, not deep, but it's enough to draw blood. Tiny drops of crimson pool around the edge of the blade. He doesn't even respond to the cut.

Pressed tightly against him, with each breath I take, I'm made aware of every rise and fall of my chest against his. Our breathing falls into sync. The warmth of his body, like a soft embrace, fights off the chills caused by the terror he has brought. He is everywhere, claiming all my senses: view, touch, smell, and hearing. The only one missing is taste.

I always had a thing for men in this business, the worst of the worst. They are passionate, insane, and so much more fun than a man living an ordinary life. For years, they had me begging on my knees. Lapping up every crumb of attention they would give me. But often times, I was ignored, labeled too young and too naive. The only ones who paid attention to me were my peers my age. But I wanted someone with more experience, someone who understood our lifestyle, someone who exuded authority, and could guide me. And this man right in front of me? He is everything I ever wanted. He's got to be the worst I've ever met, and here he is, right in front of me, with his eyes only on me.

There was pure joy written all over his face when he chased me: a woman. Many hitmen believe that going after a woman is a no-no, some nonsense about morals. But he does not care about gender and just kills any target. Those are things I find attractive, always have, and always will. It doesn't help that he's the most attractive man I've ever laid eyes on.

A high-pitched, involuntary moan slips from my lips as he pulls harder on my hair. My eyes leave his to look at the blade pressed against his throat. Sucking my lower lip between my teeth, I watch a tiny drop of blood trickle down the blade towards the dull back, where it threatens to drip down between us, leaving a red stain on my peach-colored dress. The skin around the cut is already bright red. Biting my lip, I resist the hunger for the metallic taste of his blood. A familiar warm sensation pools in my core, throbbing with need. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to suppress the aching void.

My eyes wander back to his face. His pupils are dilated, his lips are parted, and his hot breath tickles my skin. For some unknown reason, he hesitates. With me trapped against his body, he has the upper hand, and despite the knife at his throat, I don't doubt that he could kill me in a matter of seconds.

I think. There is one more trick I can try. Will it work on someone like him? I don't know. But if today is really the day I'm going to die, I won't leave any stone unturned. I lower the knife from his throat, keeping my eyes locked with his. I let the knife drop to the ground. He furrows his eyebrows with a look of confusion, deep lines creasing his handsome face. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pull him down to my height, close my eyes, and press my lips to his.

Chapter 11

Evelyn

His whole body goes rigid against mine. Blinking my eyes open, I see his pupils dilated in shock, the green of his eyes reduced to just a small outline. I tighten my arms around his neck, rising to my toes. Breaking the kiss, my tongue flicks out of my mouth and playfully runs over his lips before I kiss him again. And finally, I get the reaction I want.

He breaks out of his state of shock. His lips move against mine in the same desperation that runs through me. Letting go of my hair, both of his arms wrap around my waist, and he cups my ass in his large hands. I pull myself higher, yearning for more as our lips move against each other. His hands slide to my thighs and he lifts me with ease. The moment my feet leave the ground, I instinctively wrap my legs around his middle, causing the skirt of my dress to ride up my thighs, and for a second, I feel a bulge brush against my clothed cunt. The thought that he is as affected as I am sends a rush of excitement between my legs.

With ease, he carries me across the room to the neatly made hotel bed. He breaks the kiss, his lips brushing against mine, when he sets me down on the mattress with a level of care I did not expect from him. His breathing is ragged as he looks down at me, his eyes giving away his hunger for more. Before he can come back to his senses, I reach for his ungloved hand. My fingers run over his smooth skin, feeling every bump and small dent of the scars that decorate his hands.

"Come here," I say, wrapping my fingers around his wrist, spread my legs wide to accommodate him, and pull him down on top of me.

He takes the invitation and settles in between my legs. His lips crash against mine in another feverish kiss. Wrapping my arm around his shoulders, I run my fingers through his slick hair, gripping at the short strands and keeping him from breaking away from me. Every small, warm drop of his blood that drips onto my exposed collarbone sends a pulsation through my body, all the way to my cunt. I don't know if it's the lingering adrenaline from the chase or the fact that I haven't had sex in well over a year. All I know is I want more. I want him.

I let go of his hair and run my hands over his shoulders to his chest, unbuttoning his suit jacket. My breath gets caught in my throat, and I freeze at the hard surface of his pistol against the back of my hand. Pulling away from the kiss, I look up at him. My eyes wander down to his chest, and as expected, he’s carrying his pistol tucked into his chest holster. Sucking my lower lip between my teeth, I look back into his eyes; the predator that wanted to kill me is gone, replaced by something else, something more primal, lust.

"Momentary peace?" I manage to ask, the words coming out in shaky gasps, more hesitant and shy than I would like to be.

"Yeah." His answer follows immediately, his voice calm and low but charged with desire. He shrugs off his suit jacket and reaches for the buckle of his holster. With a soft click, the straps come loose, and he throws both items across the bed. With the pistol gone, the tension of the situation vanishes, although it doesn't make him any less dangerous. I grab him by the fabric of his soft button-up and drag him down on top of me, engaging him in another hungry kiss.

My eyes go wide, and a throaty moan escapes me as he rolls his hips into mine, grinding the hard bulge against my aching cunt. The moan acts as a starting signal, bypassing any form of foreplay that the act of undressing offers. Our hands move in pure franticness. Our only goal is to get each other naked as quickly as possible, as we rip the clothing off of each other's bodies. With the last piece of clothing discarded, we both pause.

My eyes roam over his now naked body. His limbs are long; he’s fit but not bulky, and his muscles are subtle and not overly defined. His fair skin is covered with a wide variety of scars: some old and faded, some fresh and pink. Gunshot marks, deep lines from cuts and stab wounds, and one burn scar decorate his chest and arms. To top it all off, the blood from the cut on his throat paints his chest red. I have to admit, I love this view. They say the more scars he has, the crazier he is. And I love my men crazy. Chewing on my bottom lip, my eyes travel down and land on his cock, thick and hard, just for me.

"Do you like what you see?" he asks, a sly grin curling at the corner of his lips.

My heart skips a beat, and heat spreads across my face. "Shut up and fuck me."

He scoffs and leans closer. "As you wish," he says in a whisper, his hot breath tickles the skin of my face.

He pushes back to his knees, putting some space between us, but looms over me, his eyes locked on my face. With his left hand, still covered in the leather glove, he traces the skin of my inner thigh. The cold touch of the leather against my heated skin sends a cold shiver down my spine and causes goose bumps to rise on my skin. He dips his hand between my spread legs, running his covered fingers over the wet folds of my cunt. I shut my eyes, and a soft gasp escapes my lips as I buck my hips into his touch.

He circles my clit with two fingers, using just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nub. The texture of the leather adds a different kind of friction, drawing short, erratic breaths from my lungs. I try to suppress a whimper when he spreads my folds and dips one finger in between, the cold leather brushing against my tight opening. Aware of every pulse of my muscles, I feel the cold tip press against my opening, and with a little resistance, he parts me and eases his finger into me. My muscles clench around the intrusion at the unfamiliar sensation of the foreign material inside me. I throw my head back into the pillows and clutch the sheets beneath me, grinding against his finger buried inside me.

"More," I beg between soft, breathy moans.

"Look at you, such an eager little slut, aren't you?" He chuckles and slides a second finger inside, thrusting deeper.

His words make my heart flutter. I want to scream, protest that I'm not a slut, but this sensation inside me is unlike anything I've ever felt before. Opening my eyes again, I see his stunning green ones studying me and my reaction to his touch.

I wrap my arms around his neck and slide my fingers into his now-disheveled hair. Keeping my eyes on him, my mouth falls open in a silent moan when he withdraws his fingers just to thrust them back into me. His strokes are slow but efficient, the rough texture penetrating my insides while his thumb presses down on my clit, rolling the sensitive button in circles. The raw sensation of being filled by something so rough, scraping at my insides, as well as the pressure on my overly sensitive clit, completely overwhelms me. My breathing comes in uneven gasps, followed by increasingly louder moans that slip out of my throat at my incoming orgasm. It's been so long that it doesn't take much. I claw at his scalp, digging my nails into his skin.

"Good girl," he says in a hum, his voice low and husky. I cry out as my orgasm washes over me, forcing my quivering legs shut around his arm and squeezing my thighs tight, locking his hand in place as my muscles pulsate in waves around his fingers.

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