Page 34 of Savage Assassin

“Fuck!” My hand seizes around my cock, the word hissed out through gritted teeth, as I try to be quiet. I don’t want her to realize what I’m doing on the other side of the door. I don’t want to disgust or frighten her, but then I go still for a moment as I hear what sounds like a small, shuddering gasp from the other room.

Oh, holy fuck.

The tidal wave of lust that crashes into me when I realize what she’s doing is almost unbearable. I can picture it so fucking clearly, her lying on that bed with her hand between her legs, her fingers sliding through all that slick heat as she finds her small throbbing clit and starts to stroke it–

What if she’s thinking about me, too? What if she knows what I’m doing? What if she’s fantasizing about the same thing?

It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference, and I know that. I can’t touch her. I can’t go any further than we did tonight, and what we did tonight can’t happen ever again. But my cock is harder than I ever thought possible at the realization that she’s on the other side of that door, touching herself the same way I am,wantingthe same way that I am.

I grip the edge of the counter so hard that my knuckles turn white, my hand moving feverishly along her cock as I give up trying not to imagine her. I canseewhat she must look like, the way her legs would fall open at the touch, can hear the small gasps and moans she’s undoubtedly making right now, those full lips parted as she rubs–

I want to know how she touches herself, with one finger or two, the motions she likes, what makes her gasp, what makes her hips jerk, and her back arch. My hand spasms around my cock as I imagine how she must taste, the way she’d cry out at the feeling of my tongue sliding through all of that hot wetness, curling around her clit,sucking. I wouldn’t even need to fuck her to be satisfied, just taste her, just find out what it’s like to have her come on my tongue, riding my face as she cries out her pleasure, nails digging into my scalp.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I truly don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve always enjoyed experienced women, women who didn’t get attached, women who knew what they were doing in bed. Even the only woman I’d ever fallen in love with had been experienced in bed. I’ve never been aroused by innocence or naivete, especially when it comes to sex. But something about the soft, aroused wonder in Elena’s face as I’d touched her in ways that she never had been before drove me insane tonight.

It’sstilldriving me insane.

I’m so fucking close. My balls are tight and aching, my cock throbbing in my hand, and I can hear the rustling from the other room, the sounds of her quickened breathing. I wonder if sheknowsI can hear her—I don’t think that she does. I think she’s trying to be quiet, trying not to be heard, and that somehow turns me on even more.

It feels lewd, illicit,tabooto be doing this, each of us masturbating on the other side of a door, wanting the other, touching ourselves to keep from doing the thing that we know we shouldn’t. It’s the hottest fucking masturbation session of my life–and also the guiltiest, because I know I shouldn’t be thinking of her like this.

She’s a job. A mission. A responsibility.

It should help, but it doesn’t. Everything has narrowed down to the throbbing, straining flesh in my hand, to my tightened balls desperate for release, a release that I’d give just about anything at this moment to have inside of her.

Anything except my self-respect, apparently.

Those lips. She’d be just as clumsy at giving a blowjob as she was at kissing, probably, but I can’t imagine right now that it would fucking matter. I’d teach her how to do it, just how I enjoy having my cock licked and sucked. I’d be slow and patient and tell her what felt good and what didn’t, telling her what a good fucking girl she was when she learned, when she wrapped those perfect lips around my cock and made me come, and then swallowed it all–

Fuck!

My cock throbs in my fist as I angle it towards the sink, feeling that familiar tingle, the tightness before my release, on the very brink of it. I run my tongue over my lower lip, tasting the remnants of that champagne kiss on my mouth. Just as I’m on the edge, I hear a faint shuddering moan from the other room, and I know she’s coming too.

I clench my teeth so hard it hurts as my cock explodes, painting the ceramic in front of me with my cum, thick spurts of it as my hand jerks along my swollen length. All I can think of is her; all I canseeis her, thighs clamped around her hand and face turned into the pillow as she shudders through her orgasm, and that image sends another violent burst of pleasure through me as I fight back a deep groan that I know, if I let it out, would sound like her name.

I stand there for a long moment, one hand still wrapped around my pulsing cock and the other gripping the edge of the sink, head bowed as I try to catch my breath. I’m not sure I’ve ever come so hard from jerking off, and I’m still half-erect, my cock considering a second round as I reluctantly let go of it and tuck myself away, turning on the sink to clean up.

There are other things that need to be dealt with tonight. Other problems to solve, and my lust is no longer the most pressing one.

I step out of the bathroom just in time to see her guiltily readjusting her dress and squirming further beneath the covers, and I feel another throb at the knowledge of what she was just doing, what she’s trying to cover up.

Her fingers are probably still wet. They probably still taste like her.

I grit my teeth, forcing back the thought as I circle around the bed, coming to stand next to her. “Lay still,” I tell her gently. “And I’ll fake the blood on the sheets.”

Elena’s eyes go very wide, and I realize in an instant how that must have sounded.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” I shake my head. “I would never hurt you, Elena. Just pull back the covers, and we’ll have this sorted in a few minutes.”

There’s a knife in my bag. I hear the rustling of the covers as I take it out, and turn to see that she’s thrown them back, her dress tugged to one side but still covering her–barely–as she spreads her legs open. I’m fucking grateful that she figured it out, because I’m not sure how I would have managed to ask her to do so.

Spread your legs for mewould be a dangerous thing for me to say to her right now.

She watches in what looks to be horrified fascination as I draw the blade down my upper arm, where the cut can be concealed by my clothes tomorrow, until the blood wells up. I transfer the knife to my other hand, reaching up and smearing my fingers across the wound, and then I reach out, wiping it on the sheets between her thighs. I repeat it once more, until there’s enough of a stain to look convincing, but not so much that it looks fake.

“There.” I look at her, watching her face relax slightly. “It’s done. You can stay in the bed, I’ll sleep on the sofa in the other room.”

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