Page 107 of The Hitman's Secret Baby
She reaches for me, but I press her harder into the wall, chest to chest, her legs spreading with a tremble I feel all the way to my core.
I grip her thigh and hoist it higher. I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock slick against her folds. She gasps, her eyes going wide as I push in, inch by inch, forcing her open around me.
She starts to cry out.
I clamp my hand over her mouth.
Her scream dies in my palm.
I sink deeper.
Her eyes lock on mine, furious, wild, full of everything she never said when she left.
The pain, the pleasure, the fear, the desire. I see it all.
I feel her nails sink into my shoulders as I fill her, and her body clenches around me like she's trying to fight me off and pull me deeper all at once.
My forehead presses to hers. We are breathing into each other. Her tears mix with sweat. My lips brush her temple as I hold her against the wall and start to move.
Slow, at first.
Deep.
Dragging every inch out of her.
Her body shudders. She moans into my hand. I kiss her cheek. Her jaw. Her mouth, still covered.
When I lift my hand, she's sobbing, quietly, her tears born of too many emotions to name. "You left me," I murmur into her throat. "You burned your name out of the world. And you took mine with you."
She tilts her face toward me, her eyes filled with regret and heat and something fragile that shakes me to my bones.
I kiss her again, not gently.
I drive into her with more force now, the rhythm building, the slick sounds of our bodies echoing in the silence. She holds me like I'm the only thing keeping her anchored, and maybe I am.
Her climax hits hard. Her body arches. Her legs tighten around me, and she cries out my name like it's a lifeline.
I let go of her just long enough to lift her, still inside her, carrying her with me to the wide window that overlooks the dark rooftops of the village.
The night outside is black velvet and moonlight, the quiet kind that wraps around everything like a secret waiting to be told.
"Look," I say against her neck as I set her down, bending her over slightly so her palms meet the glass. "Look at what you've been hiding behind."
She does.
The reflection shows her lips parted, hair mussed, eyes glassy with pleasure and regret.
Her body curves against mine perfectly, like it was made for this, for me.
I grip her hips and thrust again, harder now, our skin slapping against each other with wet, hungry sounds that only heighten the need clawing through me.
"Tell me you didn't miss this," I breathe against her shoulder. "Tell me you didn't think about me every damn night."
She tries to answer, but it dissolves into a moan, her body clenching tight and wet around me, her knees shaking.
I slide a hand between her thighs and press harder, stroking her until she jerks and cries out, biting her lip as her whole body tenses beneath me.
My grip tightens around her hips, holding her in place as I bury myself deeper, slower, refusing to rush this. Not after five years, not when I thought I would never have this again.
