Page 17 of Kissing the Hitman
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“I thought they went down after you ah, you know.”
“Come.” He lifts his head finally. Now his expression is soft.
“Yeah, that.” He lets out a sexy chuckle, amused that I’m not saying the word.
I squeak when he suddenly rolls us. It happened wickedly fast. Before I know it, I’m on top of him. His cock is deep inside of me. I start to move my hips, but he stops me. His hand grips my hips in a firm hold.
“You’re sore. I should pull out, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I just need to keep feeling you.” Damn that’s sweet. All my insides melt.
“Sore is not what I am, Finn.” I lay my hands on his broad chest. “I want more too.”
“Careful, starlight. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I do. I want him. The only question is: how long do I get to have him?
ChapterFifteen
FINN
Usually, I don’t dream but this time, I have a vivid vision of a cat-like creature all in black who jumps me from behind. I try to spin around, but the body clings to me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a wink of silver and then feel a slice of pain as a dagger plunges into my chest. I push the form off and try to pull the knife out, but instead of extracting it, every movement ends up shoving the blade deeper. I wake up in a cold sweat and pat my hands over my body. My racing heart slows as it registers that I am unharmed. Georgia did not kill me in my sleep. Slowly, I sit up, careful not to disturb her sleeping body.
I climb out of bed and take a seat in the chair next to a small desk. The fact that she doesn’t stir despite me moving around doesn’t fit with her being a paid assassin. A real killer would be a light sleeper. Every time she shifted in her sleep, I woke.
There have been plenty of opportunities to do me in, especially while we were having sex. I have zero sense of place or time when her body is next to mine. Georgia could have knifed me, poisoned me, or asked me to suffocate myself, and I’d have done it happily so long as I got to be inside her wet cunt while I was dying.
Could she really be a travel influencer like she said? None of her actions make sense. She’s a very public figure. She takes photos of everything and posts them for the world to see. She sleeps like a log and has only one phone that I can find—no other hidden electronics. Her story about her grandmother is so genuine, I’m struggling to believe it’s just a cover. I give my jaw a hard squeeze. I need to check in with Mercy.
I’ve been here two days and haven’t scouted my mark once. I head to the outer room and pull my comm piece out of the lining of my suitcase. From the way that the interior print is aligned, I can tell no one has disturbed it.
I insert the earpiece and grab the ice bucket. Out in the hall, Mercy comes online.
“Where the fuck have you been? Is it the other op? What do you need?”
“It’s all good,” I lie through my teeth. “I’m making contact with the mark tomorrow. Anything you want to update me on?”
There’s a long stretch of silence as Mercy tries to get more information out of me. I don’t give in, and she knows it. Finally, she clicks her tongue in defeat. “Nothing on Miss Georgia. On paper and per everything on social media—and she has a big social media presence—she’s as she says. A travel influencer with a decent sized bank account that’s supplemented by advertiser payments. I’ve managed to match two hits to vacations of hers. There was a hit on a deputy in a southern Mexican cartel when she was in Guanajuato, and then a hit on someone who was reportedly doing arms trade in Bulgaria. She was in Plovdiv and Sofia.”
The back of my neck prickles. “Any others?”
“That’s it. I can’t find any records of hits that happened at the same time.”
The uncomfortable truth is I’d rather her be an assassin because otherwise there’s no way this piece of sunshine fluff is going to want me in her life. How do I even explain my line of work to her?I travel, too, babe. To lots of exotic places but while you’re visiting castles, gardens and museums, I’m tracking scum of the earth and exterminating them.
“I’m doing the phone swap today. Probably around one.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She clicks off.
I slap the ice button and watch the cubes tumble into the bucket. After the bucket is half full, I tuck it under my arm, pocket the earpiece, and return to the room. Georgia is standing in the middle of the living room with the comforter around her body and a confused, slightly bruised expression on her face.
“I thought you left.”
I raise the ice bucket. “Went to get some ice. Like my water cold.”
If that doesn’t sound like the dumbest thing alive. I tuck her under my arm and lead her back into the bedroom. “But now that you’re awake, I have some other ideas about what to do with the ice.”
Her eyes widen. “I don’t know about that, Finnick.”