Page 9 of Claimed By the Hitman: Codename Cupid

Nothing about my existence has ever made sense, so why should this?

From the moment I saw her, I knew that a switch had been flipped. I knew there was no going back.

“Hera,” I whisper, desperate to speak her real name. “I’d die for one night with you.”

She laughs against my lips. A tear rolls down her cheek.

“That’s so fucking stupid, Cupid.”

“Stupidity doesn’t keep it from being true.”

As I carry her to the bedroom, Hera wraps herself up in me. She doesn’t fight. She doesn’t speak another word about Olympia or protocol or the consequences that are sure to come.

She lets me lie her down on the bed, pull off her panties, and gaze upon her naked body. The snowy whiteness of her flesh is so pure that I fear I’ll stain in with my blood-stained hands. A goddess lies before me; I’m going to taste her divinity.

“Tell me your name,” I say as I whip off my belt.

She sits upright, guarding herself. “No. That I won’t do.”

“I’ll tell you mine.”

“I don’t want to know,” she says sternly. Her legs writhe even as she hides herself. “Don’t say it.”

Fine. I’ll peel her back layer by layer. I’ll taste her and fuck her and do anything she wants if it means that someday, maybe, I’ll get to hear my true name leave her lips. There will be more assignments, more people to kill, more opportunities to unmask the woman who’s become the sole object of my desire.

She has no idea what she’s been doing to me, and for how long…

“You would have let me kiss you back at that café.” I step out of my pants, cock trained on her like the rifle of a marksmen. “Wouldn’t you?”

Hera’s gaze drifts. She stops hugging herself so tightly, lets her legs part now that I’m bare before her. It takes her a moment to respond, to stop staring at the raging thing between my legs. “To keep up the act… yes.”

“That’s not why.”

I dive onto the bed, making her shriek and slide back against the headboard. I crawl to her like a beggar, like an animal slinking toward its kill.

“Tell me the truth.” My hand runs up her foot.

Hera nods. “I-I wanted you to… I wanted to kiss you. I still do.”

With all the speed my training has given me, I snap her head back by her hair, loom over her, and growl into her mouth. “Then fuckingkiss me.”

Hera loses and gains control all at once.

Her tongue shoots into my mouth, whipping at me wildly.

She moans and growls and cries out, scratching my chest, nicking my wound with her knee. The pain means nothing.

She means everything.

The headboard slams against the wall as I shove her back. I smack her legs open, diving between her muscled thighs and biting hard. She rakes her fingers through my hair, searing my scalp with pain.

“Go on. Taste me,” she sounds so desperately mad with lust. “Fucking have me. I want it. You psychopath. You fucking crazy asshole. Do it. Oh, God—“

My tongue turns her words to mush.

Through her thin bush, I find her clit and lick it like I own it. I’m an assassin, and her pleasure is my target.

It doesn’t take long before she’s screaming my name.

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