Thirst a dark stalker ro.., p.8
Thirst : A Dark Stalker Romance, page 8
I kick a pebble with my Italian shoes costing more than this dump, and light a fucking cigarette. When the nicotine hits my lungs, I feel sort of better.
“She got an email from me saying I was going to kill her.”
“Did you send her that? Sally, Sally, my love, that’s not very nice. I thought you wanted to keep her?” he asks, sounding serious, typing along. “Damn, her brother Billy still looks hot. Is he single? Can you ask her?”
“No, I’m not going to ask her if you can fuck her brother. And I am keeping her, and no, I didn’t want to kill her.” I let out a barrage of Russian swearwords and he laughs.
“I’m kidding, let me check. Thirteen years ago,” he stops talking, and I hear his fingers clicking on a keyboard. Fucker has a whole dungeon filled with computers from the last decade, and another supercomputer down another level at our New York office. “This is weird.”
“What is it? I haven’t got all day.”
“Dude, you’re asking me to track an email after ten years. Wait, this is—”
“What? The suspense is killing me,” I chuckle, taking another drag from my cigarette. I left her on her own too long. What if she shoots my ass or runs a knife through my chest? At least she would feel something. My dick gets hard thinking about it. Maybe I can ask her to press the blade to my neck when I fuck her. If I ever screw her again, judging by the way she looked at me, no. But I still want her after all these years. She’s beautiful. I adjust my throbbing cock through my slacks, wondering if she still likes to fuck hard. I haven’t been with anyone since her. I smirk, shaking my head, probably the only thing that stuck from the seven sins.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but after rerouting and numerous attempts and firewalls…”
“English please,” I groan, looking at the sky.
“The email came from an Interpol server.”
“Come again?” I only know one fucker who could put the knife in my back only meant for her. “It was Derick, wasn’t it?”
“Yup, asshole had it in for you from the start at boarding school. What are you going to do? If you kill him, make a video so I can watch,” he says all giddy. My phone pings, indicating he’s sent the proof. “Are you going to tell her?”
I lean against the motel door and stamp my cig out. “No, not yet. First I have to kill the son of a bitch for what he did.”
“You know she used to date him, I think, judging by the other emails here. Damn, that guy is good at lying,” he says sounding angry. “I’m taking the first flight out with the boys.”
“He’s fucking dead. I’m going to put the son of a bitch in cement,” I growl. “Did they fuck?”
“I’m sorry, dude, I think so, don’t know for sure though.” I hit the wood with my fist making the door rattle, not caring if I scare her one bit. The fucker planned this, he orchestrated it all to get back at me for taking the front seat of our operation.
“He looked me straight in the eye when I asked him if he had any leads on her and said no. Meanwhile he was fucking her to get back at me.”
“In Paris,” Vasily adds, the knife digging deeper in my back.
I growl. “He’s dead.”
“Good, I don’t like him anyway—he was ordering hits for all the wrong reasons,” Lee says typing away. “We still have to get the green light to go after him.”
“Leave that to me.” I walk to her car and lean against the hood. “Keep me posted if you find more dirt on him.”
“Will do, captain.”
“I’m not the leader of the fucking pack, Lee.”
“The board of misfits would say otherwise. Remember the vote last year? Face it, dude, you are numero uno; is that Italian?”
“No, Spanish, fucker,” I laugh.
I run a hand through my hair. “I never wanted to be a leader, Vasily, and you know it.”
“Comprende, Padre,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “I know, but you became one the minute the Company betrayed all of us when they put Derick in charge of our little black ops program.”
“Fanculo,” I swear. “That’s Italian for asshole; and my life is fucked,” I say, staring at the closed door to her room. Taking a deep breath, I smile. “Fuck, I’m going in, wish me luck,” I say, wiping a hand over my face.
“I’m hoping you’re referring to her room, and not her,” he laughs, making a gagging noise.
I end the call, swearing in Italian under my breath.
“In nome del Padre.” Please make it a quick death I mutter, touching my head, heart, and both shoulders in a silent prayer.
I try the handle—she left it open for me. Instinctively I reach for my gun when I enter the dark room. But she isn’t standing there with her shotgun to put a cap in my ass. Or with her knife to gut me instead. She is lying on her side on the ugly yellow comforter with her clothes still on. I stop dead in my tracks, what the hell? Is she crying? I softly close the door behind me, the only light coming from the fluorescent light of the open bathroom door. I have no idea what to do as I push my hands in my pockets and walk to her bed.
“Go the fuck away,” she whispers, her body shuddering as her voice cracks.
“I’m not going to do that.” I tell her, taking off my suit jacket, then my guns and the knives I’ve got strapped to my body. I pull off my black tie and open the top two buttons of my dress shirt.
She makes a pained sound, and I reach out for her, waging a war inside myself if I should take her in my arms or walk away. I can’t, placing my hand on her shoulder she reaches back with her left hand and clutches my scarred palm to my amazement, locking our fingers together while I sit behind her on the bed.
Should I hold her? I stare at her red painted toenails. Taking a deep breath, I kick off my shoes and lay on the covers behind her. I don’t know how to act like a normal human being. Most of the time I mirror everything people do to make them feel at ease, but with her I’m at a loss.
She freezes and a whimper runs through her body when I move closer. My face inches away from her black curly hair. She smells of mint and lemon. I close my eyes, cursing my dick which is pressing painfully against the zipper of my slacks.
Paxton lets go of my hand and takes a deep breath. She starts to talk, staring at the wall while I run my eyes over the feminine lines of her body.
“I hated you and feared you for so many years. And now you’re telling me it was all a lie.”
I nod, not saying anything.
“You,” she whispers, her voice shaking like her body. “I had a good life, you know?” she says, turning on her back while I push my hand under my arm. Her beauty is like a punch in the gut. Her kissable lips, straight dark eyebrows. Those different colored eyes catch mine, and it takes every last ounce of self-control not to kiss her.
“I’m not going to kill you, asshole. You gave me Iggy, and he’s become the love of my life. Not you, I can’t love you,” she states, slicing through the armor I wear.
I nod, knowing I won’t come between my son and Paxton, and I don’t want to. I know she can never love a monster like me.
“I never wanted kids,” I confess, and she cringes. “I’m fucking crazy, Pax. I don’t feel anything. The only time I feel a twinge of something is when I kill a man.”
“This is so fucked up being here with you. And I don’t believe that. Why did you want me then?” she asks, sitting up on her elbows.
“I—” I frown. “I saw you and had to have you.”
“But why?” She holds my gaze.
I don’t have an answer for her, not yet. I can never love someone else. I can protect her and Iggy. I can protect my men, Vasily. I want them to be safe, but this isn’t love, it’s protection.
“Tell me more about him,” I ask, my voice sounding hoarse. “Is he—” I close my eyes for a second and feel her hand caressing my cheek.
“He isn’t, he’s kind. He cares so much. He stands up for those who need his help. He makes me laugh, he’s smart. He’s a strong kid.”
“Fuck,” I let out a shaky breath. “He can feel.”
She nods, letting go of my cheek like her hand is on fire. She stares at the ceiling before turning to me. “Last week he stood up for a kid who was being bullied but when he came home I could sense—”
“He liked what he did to them,” I continue for her.
She nods, biting her bottom lip and blinking hard, fighting against her tears. “The other kids were all discharged from the hospital, and no charges were pressed because he protected Tommy, but I’m scared.”
“That he’ll turn into me?”
She nods, not saying anything.
“He won’t, amore. From what you tell me he’s a good kid. He’s got his heart in the right place. He might like violence, but he used it to protect someone. That’s a good thing.”
She sniffles, and I wipe away the tear traveling down her cheek. She doesn’t recoil from my touch but looks at me with a strange look on her face, somewhere between hurt and acceptance.
“I want to leave around ten tonight. It needs to be dark when we cross the border. I got a guy in my pocket, so it won’t be a problem to get back into the country.”
“Damn, Sal,” she whispers, sitting up.
I do the same, I’m already mirroring her to make her feel at ease with me. “What?”
“I’ve managed fine without you these last several years,” she says, standing and walking around the room to turn on a couple of lights. Leaning back against the headboard I rest my arms on my raised knees and watch her pace. She’s fucking cute.
“How old are you anyway?”
“I’m thirty-five.” The corner of my lip hikes up involuntarily. “Is that all you want to ask me?”
She points a finger in my face, takes a deep breath and I have to adjust myself for the thousandth time today. Her eyes dart to the place between my thighs and her cheeks heat.
“No, of course not, asshole. I want to know so much more. I want to shoot you. I want to fucking stab you in the dick.”
“Why don’t you?” I ask a little too enthusiastically judging by her raised eyebrow as a challenge, opening my thighs so she has a front row seat to my growing bulge.
Pinching her lips together, she flips me off. “I’m not gonna give you what you want.”
I rub the back of my neck waiting for her to go on, fighting against my disappointment.
She lets out a heavy sigh. “Because you are the father of my child! I had no idea what to tell him about you, so I didn’t tell him anything. But I know he suspects something is wrong with what happened between us.” Pressing both hands against her stomach.
I lift my chin for her to continue.
“Oh, don’t give me those puppy eyes, you know what you did.”
“What did I do?” I ask, flexing my fingers and leaning back with both hands behind my neck.
“You stalked me for months— no years; you hid in my freaking closet. I found the knife carvings of how many times you made me come in my sleep.”
“I did,” I nod proudly, all those happy memories come rushing back.
She stares at me, her mouth open. “I know there is something wrong upstairs,” she says trying to keep the smile out of her voice. “You do know what we did was wrong?”
“Why?” I ask, now I’m curious. She’s mine; why shouldn’t I hide in her closet and get off to her sleeping? I mean I did it a lot. Standing at the foot of her bed, my underwear trapped under my balls while I jerked off. I flinch, okay maybe it wasn’t my brightest idea to lick her pussy, but it worked on my end. I let out a couple Italian swearwords with a smile on my face.
“I don’t even know what that means,” she says exasperated, eyeing the guns on the other bed.
“You spent two years living in Italy,” I frown.
“I know the basics, fucker. Iggy is the one who can speak five languages fluently.”
“He can?” I ask, shifting on the bed, something like pride filling my chest.
“No,” she spits out taking a step toward me. “You can’t come in here and take credit for that. It was all him.”
“I can speak seven languages.” She flips me off and I laugh.
“Relax, babe, you need to loosen up so we can fuck again.” I’m waggling my eyebrows, blatantly checking her out. She definitely filled out in the ass department, and I want a taste, no I need a taste.
“Ahhh,” she growls, throwing a pillow at my face. I duck easily.
“Why are you so angry?” I ask, genuinely intrigued. She has so many emotions coursing through her body—I want to know why.
She tugs on her curls which bounce while she walks around the room like a caged animal. “I’m pissed off. I’m fucking angry,” she shouts, hoping she adds horny to her list. “Because you pretend what happened thirteen years ago wasn’t wrong.”
I shrug, “Because it wasn’t.”
“It was Salvatore, or Jonathan, whatever your name is.”
“Sal. And you liked it, didn’t you?” I ask, trying not to sound too smug.
She crosses her arms and shakes her head, but I see I’m getting to her.
I need to meet her halfway and pretend she still has a choice when it comes to me, us. “Okay, the way we met is a little unconventional, but I did make you come five times in one night. You were screaming my name and pulling my hair when I licked your sweet pussy, Paxxie. You even liked it when I tattooed your finger.”
“Do not talk about my pussy, or the tattoo,” she seethes, her eyes spitting fire. Damn, I like this feisty part of her.
“Why not? After all, it’s mine.”
She stamps her foot on the floor, grabs a knife, and throws it at me. I don’t duck, a thrill runs through me because I can feel a trickle of blood running down my ear, and the knife is sticking in the headboard an inch from my lobe. “I’m not yours,” she says, and motions over her body. “This is not yours.”
I look at her sideways, I’m not going to tell her she already is. She’ll find out soon enough. I plan on keeping her one way or the other. Her parents and brothers might be a little hard to persuade but she and Iggy are mine, they always were. I’m going to protect them at all costs. Every assassin will know they’re off limits. I’m going to nail Derick. I’m going to make him pay for keeping her away from me, and for the things I did for him when he was king before I took over.
In nome del Padre, in the name of the Father, I’m going to protect what’s mine. But first, I’m going to fuck her.
Paxton
My heart is racing, the bastard still gets to me after all these years. I debated shooting him in his ass when he left me alone while he took care of his phone call outside. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Most was in Russian, and a couple Italian swearwords I recognized.
“I’m gonna take a shower before we head out,” he says, brushing past me and disappearing into the bathroom. After a minute, I hear the toilet flush, and the shower turn on. I sit on the edge of the bed debating what I should do. There are numerous options lying on the bed. I eye the knife still standing straight against the headboard, with his blood on the blade, and my clit twitches. I groan, this is not the response I should be getting. I shift my ass on the sheets, I’m horny and I can smell my arousal already. I fall back against the sheets and place my hand over my heart. I’m not going to shoot the motherfucker. He’s Iggy’s dad; he deserves to know him. I cringe. Iggy doesn’t know anything; what will happen when they meet? The only thoughts running through my scrambled brain are: I’m fucked, and the man still looks extremely good after all these years. He definitely bulked up since the last time we met. And the scars covering his body and face are hot as hell. Maybe I can ask him if he’d wear the balaclava again?
What the hell am I talking about? I know nothing about the bastard. We have nothing in common, only Iggy. Why am I still attracted to him? I shouldn’t want to shoot the guy and fuck him at the same time, but I do.
He is the only one I ever had sex with. Those other guys, including Derick, didn’t get past second base. I sit up. But what was all that shit about me being his, and how the hell did he find me?
Before I can think it through, I’m stomping to the bathroom and slam the door open. What I see makes me stop in my tracks. The shower curtain is wide open, and he’s leaning with one hand against the wall while the other is pumping up and down his impressive shaft, the tattoos on his chest wet from the water. He’s got his eyes closed and his head a little tilted to the side, breathing hard while he jerks off. Before I can make a move, he locks eyes with me, his hand picking up the pace. Winking, his mouth parts while I watch him come against the tiles. Jets of white cum splashing on the wall while our eyes clash.
“Came to watch the show?” he asks, turning toward me while letting go of his dick. Resting his arms against the shower rail, showing off his impressive muscles, the asshole blows me a kiss. I run my eyes over his body, stopping at his semi-straight cock thickening under my gaze. His flesh glistens with droplets of cum.
“Fuck you,” I bite out, but my clit pulses none the same.
“Is that an invitation?” he asks, as his eyes wander from my legs all the way up to my face, his expression transforms from playful to intense lust. “This dick is yours, babe.” He tugs on the tip to underline his point. All thoughts of why I came in here, to ask about how he found out I was in Alaska looking for him, fly out the window when I catch his stare.
“I,” I begin, losing my train of thought. He shoots me a smirk, and I don’t know if I want to punch him in the nuts or fall to my knees in front of him.
The look in his eyes changes when he says, “Babe, no one has to know what happens between us.” His voice suddenly serious.
“Nothing is going to happen,” I repeat, taking a step toward him, my pussy begging for his thick cock. All the while I’m trying to convince myself I don’t need his touch to quench my thirst. I don’t need to feel his hands, or the way my skin bruised while he fucked me. My pussy spasms thinking about it. I run a hand over my face, I’m crazy. This isn’t normal, what I want isn’t right. But maybe I don’t want what’s right, I want what’s wrong. I want him.
