Page 52 of Hannah and the Hitman

“Then we need a safeword.”

“A safeword?” What kind of rough did he have in mind?

“How about… trampoline?”

He was sweet and filthy. I couldn’t help but laugh into the bedding.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Just…. do something!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

35

JACK

I loved her pussy. With my hands on her thighs holding her open from behind, I licked and learned every swollen inch. What made her gasp. Startle. Moan. Drip. Then I got my fingers in her, knowing her secret sweet spot when she moaned my name with sultry abandon. That didn’t even include that she’d thought about ass play and wanted it.

I looked forward to teasing her, edging the hell out of her until she was a sweaty, desperate mess.

But not now. Not when she needed to know I would always satisfy her. That I wasn’t either one of her ex’s. That she wasn’t broken. Unappealing.

I’d never do anything to get her to say trampoline. Never push her too far. Never give her more than she could handle. Because what got her hot, got me hot.

I brought her to orgasm swiftlyso she’d know she was responsive–even though her being soaked wasn’t proof enough. Andverysexual.

As she collapsed on my bed in a sated, satisfied heap, I wiped my mouth once more with the back of my hand.

I could spend hours between her lush thighs. Days. The fact that she felt like she had to reciprocate meant she didn’t understand this. Yes, I wanted to make her come more than I wanted my own release. And yes, I wanted to come really fucking bad. But I got immense satisfaction, and a shit ton of caveman pride, in feeling her shift and push into me for more. Her moans. The way her pussy fucking wept for more.

She wasn’t unresponsive. She was hips up with my finger teasing her virgin ass. My handprint was a pretty shade of pink on her pale skin. She was so uninhibited. Begging. Moaning. Fucking perfect.

She wasn’t shit at sex. I’d prove that to her one orgasm at a time and if I had to, I’d keep her in my bed until then. And I hadn’t even taken my clothes off yet.

It was time for that to change.

36

HANNAH

When I opened my eyes after my second Jack-induced orgasm, he stood at the foot of the bed and taking his clothes off. I hadn’t had a chance to see much of his bedroom before, but it was clear there’d been a designer involved. The walls, carpet, and bedding were various shades of tan and cream. The furniture was definitely not from IKEA. But I didn’t care about the decor. I was stuck on Jack, undressing.

The suit jacket was shrugged off and dropped to the floor. Next, he loosened the tie, pulled it over his head, let it drop. Then started on his shirt, undoing the button at one wrist then the other. All the while, he was staring at me.

Me, sprawled on my stomach in a glorious heap, my dress bunched up around my waist. Eyes roving lazily over my body.

For me, this was a treat. An epic show, watching Jack take his clothes off.

A cat jumped on the bed, startling me. I hadn’t expected Jack to have a pet, let alone a fluffy one that was technically cockblocking.

Jack sighed. “That’s Pancake.” He grabbed the cat and carried him to the hall and set him on the floor, then shut the door behind us.

“I can’t believe you have a cat,” I said, when he came back to the end of the bed.

“I can’t believe you’re in my bed,” he said, undoing the buttons on his shirt. “I’ve imagined this, ever since the plane.”

“You pictured me in your bed… on that flight?”