Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Noah,” I whisper softly, his eyes darkening, narrowing.
He moves again, rising up and catching my hair in his hands, a rough tug that is both punishing and erotic. “Stop calling me that. One slip and we could end up dead.”
“Noah,” I repeat, because I need him to understand that I’m not denying the danger nor am I denying who and what he is.
“Damn it, Ashley,” he growls, his mouth coming down on mine, his teeth nipping my lip, biting me, pain slicing through me, but I don’t care. I know that he’s punishing me. I know that he wants me to hate him, the way he’s decided to hate himself. “You will not defy me on this. Do you understand?”
“Or what?” I challenge. “You’ll punish me?”
He draws back and looks at me. “Is no part of you afraid of me?”
“Why would I be afraid of you?” I counter, catching his hair in my hand and not gently. “Because you’re an assassin?”
“Yes. Because I’m a fucking assassin.”
“Did you kill bad people?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies. “I killed bad people.”
“Did you kill good people?”
He cuts his stare, and I catch his face. “I’m not talking about Mick’s family. Did you kill good people by choice?”
His jaw clenches, but his answer is immediate. “Never.”
“Why are you an assassin?”
“Because not everyone deserves to live, Ashley.”
“Is this where I’m supposed to be scared again?” I challenge, but I don’t wait for an answer. “Because I’m not. Who was your first kill?”
“The kingpin who wanted me dead.”
It’s an unexpected answer—one that tells me so much about him. “You took control. You took the control he tried to take.”
“I took fucking control.”
“Then take it now,” I say, and I’ve barely spoken the words before his mouth is devouring my mouth, all but breathing me in. His hand scoots underneath me, cupping my backside and squeezing before he rises off the chair and takes me with him. He picks me up, and before I can even catch my breath, I’m deposited on the mattress while he comes down on top of me. And just that quickly, we’re side by side, kissing, touching, him pressing inside me.
I’m panting with the feel of him, with the taste of him on my lips, with the low, guttural sounds of hunger sliding from his mouth as he kisses me, as he drives into me, as he touches me.
I’m lost and found with this man in a way I have never experienced with any other person on this earth, and I want him to feel the same way about me. I kiss and touch him with all that I am. When it’s over, when we’ve both shuddered into release, we don’t immediately move. We lay there, holding each other. There’s dampness on my thighs, but I don’t care; I just don’t want to let go of this moment.
He strokes hair from my face and tilts my gaze to his. “I can’t give you kids and stability. I can’t promise you those things. All I have to give you is me.”
“All I want is you. And all I have to give is me, but that makes you hate who you are, and if that makes you question what you are then we’ll crash and burn.”
He rolls me to my back. “And if you wake up one day and regret what you might have had?”
“That only happens if you’re gone,” I assure him. “That only happens if what I regret is losing us. I never wanted a Cinderella fairytale. I want to train. I want to fight. I want to take control right alongside you.”
His eyes narrow, and he studies me as if he’s gauging my reply, as if he’s looking for truth in my words, but before he speaks, before I can speak again, there’s another knock on the door. “Come out, come out, you two playmates,” Savage calls out. “Pizza is here and so much more.”
“Holy fuck,” Aaron bites out. “I’m going to kill him before this is over.” He rolls off of me. “I’ll grab you a towel.” He walks toward the door we both assume to be a bathroom, and I sit up, appreciating his nice, tight backside, while calling out, “No, you won’t. He’s one of the good guys.”
Aaron returns with a towel that he tosses to me. “That man is a killer just like me.” He grabs his pants.
I scoot to the edge of the bed, and he tosses me my clothes. “And you’re one of the good guys, too,” I remind him.
“You sure you believe that?”
“I do,” I say. “Do you?”
“Not many people can separate killing and evil. Not many people want things to be handled the way I handle things. They’d rather see the system work.”
At this point, my bra and shirt are on, and I shove my feet into my pants. “I’ve seen enough in my years in criminal justice to know that real evil, like your Kingpin, exists. You don’t want it to survive.” I zip up my pants.