Page 24 of Accidentally Kidnapping the Hitman

“I’m gonna make you come first.” He slides a thumb along my slit, gathering up the wetness then rubbing at my clit. I jerk against the bed, breathing hard. “I’m gonna get you nice and relaxed and ready for me—and then I’m gonna fuck you so deep that no other cock will ever do.”

Works for me.

Hey, I don’twantany other cock. I never have. That’s why Dean narrows his eyes at me when he presses the first finger inside; why his jaw goes rock hard.

“Tight,” he mutters, then raises an eyebrow. “Realtight. You wanna tell me something, Annie?”

I shrug, caught between laughing and screeching for him to get on with it before I explode. He’ll figure it out soon enough.

Dean makes a rumbly noise, pumping that finger in and out. My hips roll and my nerve endings spark as I hump his finger, desperate for more but grateful for at least this much.

“You’re not gonna tell me?”

He sounds put out. I grin and clamp down, squeezing his fingers with my inner muscles. “You’re a smart man, Dean Kinnear. Why don’t you work it out for yourself?”

A second finger joins the first, pressing inside me and stretching my tight channel. A thumb swipes over my clit, adding to the delicious torture, and Dean frowns at me the whole time, trying to figure out if his hunch is right. As though maybe he’s being punked.

Men. Honestly.

“You know what I think?” he says at last, once my whole body’s rolling and my stomach muscles are taut, everything trembling as I chase the skilful twist and press of his fingers. I’ve touched myself like this before, obviously, but Dean’s fingers are so much thicker and longer. Made for this. “I think this is a virgin pussy. No one ever caught your eye, so you scratched your own itch all these years. That’s what I think. Am I close, Annie?”

So close—but not quite right.

“Mostly.” I gasp and writhe as Dean keeps pumping, twisting, rubbing, his eyes fixed on mine. “I’ve never… you know. I waited. But not because I didn’t want anyone—because I already wanted you.”

Those words land heavily on Dean, hard enough to stun. For a moment, his expression goes blank and his hand stops moving between my legs. Then a flush darkens his cheekbones, and he ducks down with a snarl to lick a stripe up my slit.

“You’re mine,” he says, the words tingling against my sensitive clit. “Christ, you’re mine. Let me prove it to you, Annie.”

Eleven

Dean

There is no better sensation in the whole goddamn world than feeling Annie Lowell tremble and writhe against my tongue. She’s salty and sweet, needy and swollen, and as I go to town on her pussy, she moans and tugs on my hair with shameless abandon.

Good.

Those sweet little cries are music to my ears. The sting as she pulls my hair, too lost in the moment to realize how hard she’s tugging—I relish that hot prickle on my scalp. It anchors me. And the warm, slick clasp of her channel around my fingers? Forget about it.

Annie is my woman. She’s the one I’ve pined after since the first stirrings of puberty; the one I’ve dreamed of every night, even years after leaving our old suburb. She’smine, and I can’t get enough. I never will.

“Dean!”

Her back bows, and she draws up off the bed as I suck on her clit, fingers pumping. Annie’s sweet, squishy thighs clamp downon either side of my head, muffling all sounds except the rush of my own overheated blood.

“Oh!”

She’s shaking like a leaf in a storm, still arching off the bed, eyes squeezed shut as she hovers on the precipice. My fingers twist inside her to stroke at her G-spot, and I lap at her clit like a demon as Annie jackknifes up and comes with her startled gaze fixed on mine.

Yes.

Christ.

Seeing her wide, leaf-green eyes go glassy with pleasure…

Feeling her legs shake around my ears…

Tasting the salty gush against my tongue…

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