Page 33 of Hannah and the Hitman

He growled from the action, then worked me to the brink of orgasm with a speed that showed not only that I’d never been touched by a real man, but that he knewexactlywhat he was doing. “Fuck, you’re tight. So good. You feel so fucking good. I can’t wait for you to clench my dick this way.”

He was a dirty talker. I hadn’t taken that into account.

I hadn’t takenhiminto account.

Potent. Overwhelming. Bold. Dark. A tad dangerous.

I loved it.

My hands gripped his arms through his suit jacket, his muscles rock hard. I lifted my head as the pleasure grew and grew. Met his dark eyes. Held them because while he had me pinned to the shelves and fingers inside me, his palm cupping my pussy, I was afraid I was going to fall. Itwas overwhelming and for a second, I was scared of how powerful it was. Maybe he saw a flare of panic in my gaze because he murmured, “I got you.”

I let go.

I tipped my head back, bit my lip as I rode out the most incredible orgasm of my life.

“That’s my good girl. Fucking gorgeous.”

20

JACK

I liked this.

A quiet table in a pizza place in Coal Springs.

With Hannah.

The woman who I fingered a little while ago in the back of the library. Whose hot little pussy was perfection. Wet and snug and eager to be filled. Whose taste I licked off my hand like a popsicle.

While she was usually shy and reserved, when I got my hands on her she was so responsive. Uninhibited. The real Hannah came out to play.

And only for me.

After she locked up, we walked to her favorite restaurant, only a few blocks from the library. It wasn’t a five-star establishment. It didn’t even have tablecloths. Our sausage and jalapeno pizza sat on a little stand that took up most ofthe space between us and the paper plates, napkins, and our sodas.

“You keep looking around,” she said, her voice laced with worry. “I know it’s not fancy, but it’s got great pizza.”

The tables were bolted to the floor and were covered in wood grain linoleum. The metal chairs had red pleather seat cushions. The tile floor was a little sticky. The music being played was vintage 80s. There was an equally vintage Pac-Man arcade game in the corner next to the restrooms.

The scent of garlic permeated the air from the pizza the teenager who worked the counter had set between us. He called Hannah by her name and Hannah waved to the guy in the back making the pizzas. She knew people in this town.

Hannah tucked her hair behind her ear and reached for another slice. She’d already had two. I loved how she wasn’t eating a fucking salad. No, she was putting away the slices as if cheese was a major food group. I found it amusing and endearing because she wasn’t trying to be anything but herself. Every minute with her and I liked her more and more. That didn’t even take into account how she came for me, almost as if she were surprised by how I could rouse that kind of pleasure from her body. I had to wonder if any guy had gotten her off before.

“Gorgeous, I don’t want fancy.”

“Says the man wearing a fancy suit and drives a fancy car,” she countered. Her cheeks were flushed from her orgasm and, unlike at her parents’ house the night before, her shoulders weren’t up by her ears like earrings.

“Ihavefancy,” I said. “Doesn’t mean Iwantit.”

The slice was by her lips, and she held it there. “You’d rather have a beat-up car?”

I wiped my mouth with a paper napkin I pulled from the metal holder on the table. “I sound like an asshole complaining about being financially secure. I’m not. What I mean is, my life’s pretty hectic. Simple and not fancy is really appealing to me.”

“Your job is hectic?”

I nodded. “Maybe it’s time for a new job.”

I’d never really considered that, until now. That maybe what I thought was normal–because no one else would think the life of a hitman was normal–wasn’t any fun at all. I didn’t have any hobbies. No friends besides Dax. The people I worked with, I killed. I knew the doorman of my building by name, but I was a big tipper at the holidays.