Page 6 of Sinning for Santa

The moment he shifts to nudge his knee between my legs, the ache in my core rejoices, and I find myself grinding against his thigh, sending a wave of pleasure through me, all thoughts of my fiancé vanishing.

A loud rattling makes us both stiffen, and I realise someone is trying to open the door.

“Fuck.” He breathes against my lips, slowly pulling back. “Lucky the lock is working, hey love.” His grin is mischievous, his straight white teeth flashing at me as he wags his brows. “It’s time for me to die now. With a hardon I might add.” He chuckles to himself, holding his gun up next to his head and bringing his other hand up to check it, for whatever one does to check a gun in a small space.

“I don’t think you should go out there,” I whisper, dread settling in my gut as reality sets back in.

“Don’t worry love, this will all be over in a flash.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he has already reached behind him and flicked open the latch, and before I can beg him one more time to stay, he spins with his gun raised and shoves the door open.

Chapter two

Devon

With well trained precision, the moment the door swings open, I’ve fired my Glock and shot dickhead number one between the eyes.

It’s just too easy sometimes.

Dickhead number two is a different story.

He shoots, his aim off because of my ‘tada’ act, and the bullet merely scrapes my shoulder before I fire two rounds, one into his arm, causing him to drop his gun, and the second in his leg, so the fucker can’t run.

Then he cries out like a whiney fucking cat is being strangled.

“Shut the fuck up!” I boom, storming towards him and kicking his weapon across the room where it slams to a stop against a pew end.

“P-please don’t k-kill me,” he fucking begs, and I sneer at the nerve of him.

“Who the fuck sent you?!”

“I-I can’t s-say.”

I shoot his other leg, and this time I don’t just hear his cries, but a whimper behind me from the sweet little blonde mouse still in the confessional.

Fuck.

I’ve never seen a woman so sweet yet so made to be a man’s plaything before. It could be her plump pink lips that has me imagining them wrapped around my cock. Or maybe her satin smooth skin that flushes so brightly there’s no mistakingher arousal. Or perhaps those big doe like eyes, so blue yet so dark from her nearly blown irises, giving away her lust.

As the man before me tries and fails to drag himself in the other direction, I refocus on him and put the little mouse to the back of my mind until later.

“You fond of your tiny cock?” I hiss, taking a few steps closer to loom over the ratty looking fucker. “Because it’ll be my next target.”

“P-please Mr Marx. I had no choice. He said he’d kill my family if I don’t do this.”

“Boo-fucking-who,” I snap. “Give me his name.” I aim my gun.

“I don’t know it!” the man rushes out, holding up his only uninjured hand. “I’ve never met him. Only spoken to him on the phone. But he calls himself Mr V.”

“And what were his orders? Word for fucking word!”

“K-kill Devon Marx at the St Catherine’s Church on Tuesday evening or else my sister and her three kids will die.”

Taking a moment, I study the guy who’s probably a low income earner given his basic clothes and lack of dental hygiene. Could even be as close to homelessness as one can be before it actually happens.

I may not know him, but I don’t think he’s lying.

“Your name?” I demand, and he starts sobbing.

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