Page 42 of Stolen By the Hit Man
“You…you don’t have to say that just to make me feel special. I don’t care about your past.”
I pause and let my mind explore the layers of that. My past. It’s a pretty loaded subject, and not with regard to past relationships. Someday I’ll tell her everything. Before I ask the big question that I’ll someday ask, I’ll tell her about every last person I’ve ever stabbed, poisoned, shot, pushed out a window, strangled, suffocated…because she needs to know who she married. Every last wart and scar and transgression on my conscience.
“You will. Someday.”
“Maybe.”
“I trust you.”
“Why would you get into a car with a stranger?”
“We’ve been over this. The promise of kittens.”
Even as we laugh about this, I can’t stop painting kisses along the back of her pretty neck.
She lets out a long sigh and presses back into me.
“What is it?”
“You’re still hard.”
“It’s fine.”
“You need to go one more time.”
“Stop it. You’re tired.”
She laughs. “Yes, but clearly you are not.”
“I don’t have another condom.”
With that, Jasmyn rolls away from me and onto her stomach. I have to laugh as she spreads her legs and rests her head on her forearms, looking back at me with a sleepy smile.
“Tell me you like a pillow princess position without telling me,” I say.
She lets me see her wet her lips just before angling away to face the wall.
I’m over her, covering her back and nudging into her from behind, needing no more urging.
Jasmyn sighs as I slowly feed my length into her.
“Pin me down, don’t be afraid,” she whispers.
I lower more of my weight down on top of her, covering her whole body with mine. My arms on top of her arms, clasping our hands together. My face brushing against that sweet smelling spot where her throat meets her pretty shoulder. Her warm lips capturing mine when she turns her head for a kiss. Her moan as I plant my knees outside her legs, then lock my ankles inside of hers, giving me even more control of her movements.
“Yes, Joaquin,” she whines.
“How did you get to be so fucking perfect?”
She makes no verbal answer, only writhes as I move over her and inside of her.
The sensation of our full-body contact, the trust she’s put in me, this connection we’ve formed, has me blurting things out.
And I’m not even sorry.
“I’m coming with you,” I grind out, punctuating my declaration with a firm thrust.
“You…what?” Jasmyn asks, turning back to look at me.
