Page 15 of Stalking His Assassin

He meows as he usually does when I talk to him. It doesn't make me feel better like it normally would. I can't even pretend he understands what I'm saying normally. I take a deep breath and imagine the air flowing through my body like when I meditate. It helps calm me enough to decide there's nothing else to be done tonight.

Now that I've decided to ignore my problems like a fucking adult, I strip down and take a long hot shower. Despite my exhaustion, I know sleep will be impossible with Christos down the hall. No one has ever spent the night in my home before. Harper has stayed late for movie nights but always goes home because, like the best friend she is, she just knows that a sleepover isn't something I'm comfortable with. Now, I have the object of my obsession down the hall, and he's here for an indeterminate amount of time.

Fucking Tomas.

I finish my shower and pull on a pink with white polka dots pajama set. Like all my other sets, it's made of the softest cotton and makes me feel girly. I climb into bed and do my best to clear my mind. Potato curls up against me and purrs. I stroke his soft fur, contemplating what I should do about Christos.

The smartest two options are pretty dramatic as far as reactions go: I can eliminate the threat and kill Christos and Tomas and just hope that Tomas didn't tell anyone else my location so that I can live here as Grace in peace, or I can do to Grace what I did to Lucy. That option isn't appealing because that means losing Harper.

Not to mention the headache of dealing with Shield. I would have to fabricate a sale of the company to some brilliant investor. I would no longer be able to personally handle anything because everyone at the company knows Grace Silva. As far as I'm concerned, that's not a viable option. Losing my only friend isn't something I'm willing to do.

A little voice that sounds like my conscience—something I haven't heard in years—whispers that I would never kill Christos either. The unfeeling assassin part of me scoffs at that thought, but deep inside, I know it's right. For better or worse, I won't be killing Christos Caputo.

Part of me wishes I would have just killed him in that alley four years ago. I wouldn't be dealing with all these messy feelings right now if I had. I've had a sentimental soft spot for the man since I met him as a young girl. A stupid childish crush on someone who was kind to me at a time when kindness didn't exist for me.

Potato keeps purring my favorite broken purr as I pet him, my thoughts slowly stop racing, and I succumb to sleep.

I'munsure what alerts my subconscious that I'm no longer alone in my bedroom. The room is still dark and completely silent, but instinctively I know someone is in here with me. I breathe deep and slow, mimicking sleep as I try to determine the intruder's position in the room. I feel the air shift above me, and I react. In less than five seconds, I have the intruder pinned beneath me with my knife to his throat. It only takes a second for me to realize my intruder is Christos.

"What are you doing in here?" I snap angrily, putting a little more pressure on his throat with the knife.

"You said I could go anywhere except your office." I don't know how I know it, but I can tell he's smiling as he uses the vague invitation to my home against me.

"It's implied that my bedroom is off limits also."

He hums, and I can feel the vibrations from his chest vibrate against my core in the most distracting way. I shift my position so that I'm no longer straddling his chest, and my knees aren't pinning his shoulders down. He grips my hips in his big hands, holding me in place.

"Are you going to hold that knife to my throat all day?" he asks, sounding utterly unbothered that he's being threatened with death.

"What if I do?"

His hands skate up my sides, slipping his fingers just under my shirt so he's touching my bare skin. His hands are so warm, and when he gently strokes my skin with his thumbs, I swear I feel it in my entire body. No one has ever touched me like this, and I have no idea how I feel about Christos being the one to do it.

I know it's an innocent touch. There's nothing overtly sexual about it, but my body is buzzing like he's stroking my nipples. I've masturbated plenty of times, and it feels nice, but I've never been able to bring myself to orgasm. This simple touch has me more turned on than I've ever been. His grip tightens, stilling the movements I didn't realize I was making.

Jesus. I can't believe I was just shamelessly rubbing myself on him. I'm very grateful that it's dark in here because there is no way I can hide the embarrassment that's painted all over my face.

"Sorry," I murmur, my voice little more than a whisper. I pull the knife away from his neck and move to get off him, but he doesn't release his hold on me.

"Don't apologize for rubbing that hot little pussy on me, little wolf. You're testing my self-control, and I know you're not ready for everything I want to give you." His voice is a sexy growl that sends a shiver of desire down my spine.

"You can't talk to me like that," I say, breathless.

One of his hands trails up my back, his calloused palm softly abrading my skin in the most delicious way. I'm completely distracted by his touch, which is the only reason he's able to gain the upper hand and flip me onto my back. I gasp when I feel his hard length press against my core. My thighs tighten around hiships, and it takes every bit of my control to not rock against him to chase the pleasure I instinctively know he can give me.

The tingles and desire I'm feeling are nothing like what I've felt when I've touched myself. Being touched by Christos is electric. I want more of his touches. My rational side is screaming to stop this and show him I'm in control. No one makes me submit, but my body is practically vibrating with the need to give myself over to his dominance. Being under him like this is a revelation. It's freeing in a way that it shouldn't be.

He leans forward, breathing me in. I feel the barest brush of his nose along my neck as he slowly works his way up to my ear. His hot breath tickles, adding more sensation to this overwhelming moment.

"I think you like how I talk, little wolf. Your cunt is so wet you're soaking me through our clothes."

He nips my earlobe, and I gasp. "Christos…"

"Hmm…"

His lips move across my skin in a feather-soft touch that's driving me to madness, then they're hovering over my lips, and I desperately want him to kiss me. I need it like I need my next breath. I never thought I would want this from anyone. Never thought I would trust someone enough to let go. The years of playing cat and mouse with him have smoothed the way, allowing me to trust Christos. Because I do trust him.

I just hope it doesn't get me killed.

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