Hit Man: A Sexy Action-Packed Alpha Adventure Romance Read online

  I want her smart mouth.

  I want her kind heart.

  I want her.

  Cómo pude ser tan tonto?

  “Please,” she whimpers.

  Yeah, How could I be so stupid? is right.

  I plunge my tongue deep inside and spiral it around in her tight channel.

  “Diego. I want you bareback and inside me. This time, fuck me until we come.”

  My cock is so damn ready for her, it practically vibrates in my hand. I withdraw my head, just in time to hear her fingers snap.

  “I’m in charge here, remember?”

  I grin, loving the husky desire in her tone.

  I push her forward so she tumbles onto the mattress, and wipe my lips with the back of my hand. “Sí, señorita,” I say in my most obedient tone. Which, even to my ears, sounds like I just commanded she stick her ass in the air and prepare to be punished.

  “Condom?” I ask, now giving her the choice I wish she’d had the last time we’d been together.

  “No.”

  I suddenly feel like I’m a teenager with his first woman. Bare. I’ve only had one person bare . . . her. And not wholly . . .

  “No seas timído, amante,” she tells me. Don’t be shy, lover.

  Naughty woman. Give a woman a little power . . .

  Yet, having a woman order me about . . . Aubrey commanding me, without me egging her on . . . and in Spanish? Can you say “fucking turn-on”?

  She’s looks back at me from over her shoulder. “How can I hate you one minute but can’t get enough of you the next? This isn’t normal. Nothing about us makes sense.”

  “Do you need it to right now?” I ask.

  I watch her considering my question. A deep thinker, with a deep sexual craving I plan on fulfilling.

  I sigh and offer her my explanation. “You ever hear the expression ‘opposites attract’?”

  “Yes.”

  “You build things and I . . . blow . . . um . . . break them down. You push and I pull. We’re like two magnets constantly being tossed about. Sometimes attracting. Sometimes . . .”

  “Stop. Don’t say it.” Her eyes narrow at me. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight—her looking over her shoulder, on all fours with her ass facing me. I watch, fascinated, as she turns around and slowly, ever so slowly, begins to crawl across the mattress toward me.

  Sexy as hell. So goddamn sexy my cock jerks at the sight of her.

  I stare at her and wait.

  She comes off the bed like a lazy cat, clasps hold of my erection, and forces me to step toward her. “Pull,” she says. She releases me and I let her spin me around. With both hands on my chest, she gives me a firm shove. I relax into it and allow myself to tumble back onto the bed. “Push.” I grin madly as she crawls on top of me and positions herself over me, her fingers wrapping around my erection and drawing my aching cock up to her entrance.

  “Quiero que me des duro hoy,” she tells me, and laughs at my surprised expression and for catching me off guard with her naughty, filthy talk.

  “Be careful what you wish for, chava,” I warn her, yet I’m not one to pass on a challenge. Any challenge, but especially one where I’ve been asked to fuck her hard all night.

  I hiss as she sinks down onto my lap, my cock squeezing into her tight channel. Her body shakes and her breath is labored.

  So good. So freaking perfect.

  “I thought you were a devil when I first met you,” she says, her tone full of need, full of awe.

  “And now?”

  “You’re still a devil.”

  “Better the devil you know,” I offer with a smug smile.

  “I shouldn’t want this. Want you.”

  She lifts and lowers, lifts and lowers, setting a smooth, comfortable pace. I don’t remember the last time a woman fucked me . . . truly fucked me like she’d wanted me more than anything. Maybe never. Never with the friction of my bare cock sliding up into her slick walls.

  Her eyes fall shut, her lips draw tight as she concentrates. I stare at her, memorizing every little detail about her, the way her hair falls in her face, the beads of perspiration on her skin, the way she arches her back and glories in feeling so damn good.

  I find myself caught up in her movements, her tightness, her sweetness. Until, to my surprise and abject horror, I feel the stirrings of an orgasm.

  There’s relinquishing control, and then there’s coming as fast as a man with his first woman.

  “Aubrey,” I manage.

  Her eyes fly open.

  “I shouldn’t want this either. Want you. But I do.”

  Before I can regret my words, I take her by the hips and guide her movements, setting a faster, more furious pace. Each time she bottoms out, I arch my hips up off the mattress. Over and over until I feel her tighten around me.

  I roll upward to sit and pull her in tight. Angle my head to catch her moan with my lips. Twirl my tongue to mate with her own while thrusting home, thrusting for all I’m worth. Without a word, she comes undone in my arms. I drive deep and climax right after her.

  Minutes pass as I hold her, her head folding into my shoulder as her body curls into my arms.

  I wait until her heart racing against my chest slows. Gently, I lay her down on the mattress, wrap my arms around her, and pull her into me.

  Cuddling her.

  Like the dumb pendejo I am.

  My stomach rumbles, reminding me of how hungry I am. Sex, steak, wine, good company. Enjoy it while it lasts, compadre.

  “Diego?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Think we can eat now?”

  I laugh, and disengage. “A woman after my own heart.” Yet, as I pull on my sweatpants and watch out of the corner of my eye how she rolls up the waistline of my oversize boxer shorts to hold them in place, I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Ya valió madre.

  I’m fucked, all right. Because getting rid of Aubrey just got a hell of a lot harder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Aubrey

  “The apartment looks like an explosion has gone off,” I mumble, taking in the destruction surrounding us.

  We’d just straightened up the bedroom, stripped the bed of its sheets, upended the nightstand that’d crashed to the floor, tossed an expensive yet now damaged lamp in the trash. And that was just the bedroom. A mini hurricane hit the bathroom, water everywhere, fingerprints . . . my palm print . . . on the shower glass. Two similar palm prints mar the otherwise perfectly polished floor-to-ceiling window in the living room—he ordered me not to move as he took me from behind. My folds wet just thinking about his reflection in the window, with his teeth gritted and his eyes shimmering with lust every time he angled his hips just so. I’m still too turned on by it to feel embarrassed, as any bystander below who happened to look up might possibly have seen us. Would I do it again if I could? You bet.

  I’ve no shame and a whole lot of kink-infused thoughts when it comes to Diego. If ever there was a man born to fuck . . . I turn to address the sexual dynamo.

  “This is almost as bad as the havoc caused by that bomb blast a few weeks ago.”

  Diego freezes, the barstool he’d been setting upright at an odd angle in his hands. His gaze skims over the room. I mean, oh hell, even the fancy sofa cushions are scattered across the floor after he had me sit on the perch he’d made, got down on his knees, and stuck out his wickedly talented tongue.

  I jump in surprise as he bursts into laughter.

  “A sex bomb. That’s what you are,” I add, waving at the disaster surrounding us.

  Which only causes him to laugh harder.

  I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. But, if the condition of the apartment is any indication, we both have.

  I sigh. What I should be feeling is relaxed and at ease with him, like I’d been for the last eighteen or so hours. Feeling like I want to curl up in his bed and daydream about the wildest night of my life.

  Instead, this weird em
ptiness is settling in.

  “You have everything you need?” He sips from his cup of coffee and leans against the breakfast bar. And if I thought he was handsome before, he’s jaw-droppingly gorgeous right now.

  Gorgeous, and aloof.

  Is he distancing himself from me?

  I give him a curious look, then cautiously reply, “Just what’s inside my purse.”

  “And your architectural plans?”

  My lips twitch at how thoughtful his question is. “I have duplicate copies in my purse. The larger plans are back in my apartment but no way am I going to risk retrieving them. The Hotel Dauphine downtown is nice. I stayed there when I first arrived in Mexico City. It’ll do for the time being.” Until the situation settles enough that I can make my next step, whether that’s staying in Mexico City or leaving for home to secure funding for my ABB project. I study his expression, gauging his reaction. Unsure if he asked me about my things because crazy-sex-time is over or for another reason.

  He nods. All signs of his earlier, rather vocal, expressiveness disappearing. Once more, he’s hard to read. I still feel the pull of him even when he’s pushing me away.

  A buzzer goes off and I jump.

  Diego glances at his watch, then at me. “Finish your coffee. I’ll be right back.”

  He disappears into a room off the living area, an office that I only catch a glimpse of as he opens then closes the door. A few seconds later, he returns and exits the apartment.

  I frown. What is going on? My coffee finished, I wander back into the kitchen and begin washing the dishes from this morning’s breakfast. There’s a dishwasher that looks brand-new but it gives me something to do while I wonder about Diego.

  Not the DEA.

  Not Interpol, but close.

  Works security, and it’s highly secretive.

  I sigh. Not a drug dealer—so he repeatedly has insisted.

  Dishes finished, I’m no closer to putting the pieces together.

  Diego returns, holding a large manila envelope.

  “Grab your stuff and we’ll go for a ride.”

  “You’ll drop me off downtown?”

  He doesn’t answer me but disappears into the office.

  With a heavy heart, I collect my things. I go and stand by the door, biting my lip and waiting for him to return. I’ve never been the meek type. Awkward maybe, uncomfortable in situations when I’ve no knowledge base to draw from. Saying good-bye to a man whose scent I can smell on my skin is as far from my realm of experience as it gets. I never anticipated how this would . . . feel. The tightness in my throat, the mixed bag of emotions flowing through me.

  I watch him return with a set of keys in his hands.

  “Thank you for helping me.”

  He stares at me, hard.

  I gasp as, with lightning-fast movements, he’s on me. His lips find mine, his tongue invading, seeking, taking.

  I drop my bag.

  His keys ring out as they hit the floor.

  He lifts me and pins my back to the door. My skirt is worked up over my hips, my panties ripped to the side.

  Naughty. So naughty.

  With a muttered curse, he slams into me. It feels so good my eyes roll back in my head and I moan.

  Holding me steady and firmly anchored to the door, he drives into me, setting a frantic pace. Taking. Taking. Taking. Wanting. Wanting. Wanting.

  Another hard thrust and my head hits the door. His hardness drags across my channel, the sweet friction of his slow withdrawal causing me to pant.

  He fucks me like a man on a mission.

  And all I can do is hold on to him for dear life.

  My orgasm hits me fast and dirty. And as I clench around him, milking him with my release, he angles his head back and watches me fall apart. I come harder, more intensely as I’m eaten up by his rich, intense, caramel-colored eyes.

  “Me estás gustando,” he murmurs, pushing up into me and falling forward so our chests touch and his face is nuzzled against my neck. He stiffens and groans into my ear as a burst of warmth spreads inside of me.

  We hold each other as we come down off the clouds. A pattern we’ve fallen into after sex, me in his arms and him as affectionate as a woman could hope after her world’s been spun topsy-turvy.

  Seconds pass before Diego speaks. “That was a mistake.”

  I gasp, hurt.

  He lowers me onto my feet. Not caring to look at him, I retrieve my underwear from the floor. The purple thong he’d stolen from me and demanded I wear earlier, now ruined.

  His wetness seeps down my inner thigh.

  Like teardrops, only stickier.

  A mistake?

  Diego finishes adjusting his pants, scoops up the keys and manila envelope and, as if he hasn’t just insulted the hell out of me, as if he didn’t screw me bareback against the door and break my heart, takes my hand and presses the keys into my palm. “You can drive part of the way.”

  “I’ll call a cab.”

  He ignores me. “We’ll go for a drive before I drop you off.” Grabbing the handle of my bag, he ushers me out of the apartment.

  And I’m happy to go.

  But as we take the elevator down to the garage below, I realize something. What I thought was sex, wild and raunchy and oh-so-filthy sex, is going to be hard to forget. But Diego, the man, the attentive lover, the dirty-mouthed initiator, the cuddler, the savior—because he did save me, several times—who has somehow, incredibly worked his way inside my heart, isn’t someone anyone ever forgets.

  I stare at the doors of the elevator, already feeling the loss.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Aubrey

  His motorcycle isn’t where we’d left it parked in the spot by the elevator bank in the garage beneath his building. But, like Mexican tap water, I avoid any conversation with the man. I’m too upset. And after he drops me off at my new home, I might very likely throw up.

  The envelope. The keys. It’s possible he sent his motorcycle out for repair.

  I silently follow him to a classic 1980’s red Camaro. He hands me the keys and opens the driver’s door. A peace offering? Is that what this is? Because it certainly feels like it, with him offering to let me drive when I get the funny feeling he’d rather I didn’t.

  He curses as he walks around the hood to the passenger’s seat.

  With a sigh, I slide into the bucket seat. For an older car, the Camaro has a fresh, new-car smell. It’s immaculately kept, its leather dashboard shiny, its bucket seats firm and without tears or broken springs. “Your car?” I want to ask but don’t. What’s said has been said, what’s done has been done.

  With great care, I pull out of the garage. “Turn left, then take Coronado Boulevard East,” he says without a hint of emotion in his tone.

  He hits a button on the visor and the garage door closes. He presses it three more times, setting a security alarm, I assume.

  He gives me directions but we don’t converse. I drive down Coronado, turn right, and turn left, following along while taking one last, long hard look at him from beneath my eyelashes.

  His hands rest on his thighs.

  His long legs stretched out before him.

  Him relaxed back in the seat, unaware of the devastation he’s causing.

  That last-minute fuck against the door.

  That wasn’t good-bye.

  It was more like hello. More like . . . stay.

  We did things I never imagined two people could do. We . . . connected. And as the cloud nine I’ve been riding comes crashing down to earth, I still can’t help but think it isn’t all about sex.

  Well, not for me, anyway.

  I bite my lip. Wasn’t about sex—past tense. His body language says it all. Chalk it up to a good time, Aubrey. A temporary fling. No strings. No attachments.

  I sigh and refocus on the purr of the Camaro’s engine as we drive along the streets of Mexico City.

  “Park on the corner,” he finally addresses me, pointing to an open sp
ace off to our right. “Stay put and hang low. I’ll be right back.”

  He exits the Camaro, pulls the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head and, tucking his hands inside his pockets and hunching his big, broad shoulders forward, he stalks away around the corner and out of sight.

  As I sit and wait, I consider an earlier conversation we had about the Marines. He certainly acts like someone with military experience. The perfect warrior, in fact. His muscled body, his clever mind, and his uncanny gravitation toward trouble. The perfect makings of a military man.

  Or a stripper.

  My lips twitch at that memory.

  Proof. Maybe there’s something inside his Camaro that’ll help me put the puzzle that is Diego together.

  I flip open the middle console separating the bucket seats. Inside is a souvenir from the 1980s, a stale pack of Juicy Fruit gum, and a prepaid video-game download card.

  Assassin’s Creed II.

  I grin because I’ve not only played this game, I excel at it. Though my reasons are more esthetically oriented than violent. The game maker hired twenty architects to design the landmarks’ features and ensure the accuracy in detail. I scowl and place the card back inside. Diego and I are headed in separate ways. They’ll be no whupping his ass in this video game, or in any other way.

  The console is otherwise empty and the glove compartment locked.

  I sit back in my seat and wait for his hooded head to reappear around the corner, which it does seconds later. But instead of sliding back into the car, he opens my door and ushers me out.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “I’ve checked you into another hotel just around the block. You’ll stay here for the night.”

  “Why the change?”

  “This one has better room service,” he replies with a straight face.

  “Seriously, why?” Suddenly I’m anxious, a feeling that’s begun to fit me like a second skin.

  And Diego doesn’t miss it. “Relax. It’s just a precaution.” He pauses before looking away. “I need to get going.”

  My heart clenches.

  “You’re booked on tomorrow’s one-fifteen flight to Sacramento.”

  My eyebrows lift. I never confided to him where I was from. What doesn’t this man know about me?