Hit Man: A Sexy Action-Packed Alpha Adventure Romance Page 4

  I moan loudly, without restraint, feeling every wonderful second of his fingers working in unison with his tongue. I never imagined anything remotely as wild as this. Or him.

  This man was born to pleasure a woman.

  “Yes,” I pant. Yes. And we’re just getting started.

  He pulls away, rolling to his side to retrieve a condom from the pants he’s tossed onto the floor. “You have a beautiful body and a sweet little pussy,” he says. “I’d love to feel you come hard against my mouth but right now I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

  I’m far too turned on to be embarrassed by his dirty mouth. I like his dirty mouth.

  He tears the foil open with his teeth and rolls the rubber across his huge erection. “I think I’m going to enjoy this as much as you will.”

  What? He . . . thinks? As if he didn’t already believe so? And as for predicting how I’ll respond to his lovemaking . . .

  “When I’m done with you, you’ll forget how to frown.”

  My eyes widen. Cocky, bold-as-brass man.

  He kneels on the bed, stroking his erection while his gaze sweeps over me. His raw, hungry look sending shivers of excited anticipation up my spine.

  He wants me.

  And just like that, I forget what an arrogant prick he most assuredly is. Big regrets, remember? Go big or go home. Right now, nothing matters but what is about to happen between us.

  Sex.

  Wild, passionate sex.

  I want this arrogant prick inside me.

  “Want me to feast on that nice wet pussy?”

  Sweet lord have mercy.

  “Or fuck you?”

  “Fuck,” I manage to squeak out.

  He grins, and I smile back.

  With slow, measured moves, he climbs over me and between my thighs. His palms cup my bottom as he lifts me. And in one, long powerful thrust, he seats himself inside me.

  I stiffen in shock. Holy love of God, he’s huge. I struggle to catch my breath as my channel stretches to accommodate him. Every nerve cell comes alive in a sweet mixture of discomfort and pain, desire and need. I force myself to relax my muscles. It’s not like he’ll break me. And with that thought, somewhere deep inside me, a switch turns on. And if he moves a few more inches and slides his thick erection home, I swear I’ll come.

  He doesn’t move an inch. Almost like he’s as shocked as I am at how this feels. What I do feel moving is his heart—drumming in fast cadence against my chest.

  I open my mouth, eager to encourage him to continue, but he cuts me off with a curse. “Dios mío.” His head lowers, the warmth of his breath on my ear. “You a virgin?”

  “No,” I exclaim, tensing up. I’ve had a few lovers. Textbook, missionary-position men. Planners, like me, both in and out of the bedroom. None of them with his dirty mouth, his talent, his size.

  “Easy,” he hisses, then murmurs. “I didn’t expect . . .” He sucks in a breath, then adds, “We’ll take it slow anyway.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  His eyes flash wide. I’ve surprised him.

  “Slow is for senior-citizen drivers and taxpayers.” And perfectionists with the single-minded goal of getting things right.

  Tonight, fast feels right.

  I arch my hips up off the mattress, forcing him impossibly deeper.

  Tonight I’m going to be taken.

  Tonight I’m going to be fucked . . . by him.

  I roll my hips, and my eyes nearly roll back in my head as every nerve in my body comes alive. “What is your name?” I whisper.

  “Diego.” Beautiful name. Beautiful naughty man. On my next roll, he moves his hips with me. Stars. Yep, I’m seeing stars and I’m not even dreaming.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me for my name?” I push my ass into the mattress, and moan as his beautiful verga slowly slides out of me.

  “You like that, huh . . . Aubrey?” Inch by inch he fills me, cursing as he goes, ending with “Que rico.”

  I grin, pleased he knows my name. And I like how he says my name, rolling the r deep within his throat. “Que rico,” I repeat, unfamiliar with the word but guessing it’s more sexy talk that somehow didn’t make my dictionary.

  He pulls himself up onto his forearms and looks down at me. Serious as a button and exerting great self-control. Because I’m practically panting here with anticipation.

  “How well do you know Mendoza?” he asks.

  “Isn’t it some kind of sin for me to be discussing another man during sex?” I joke, my words coming out in a low, husky croak. I grab him by his ass and tug him into me, wanting more from him than questions.

  My toes curl up as I wither beneath him in pleasure.

  “Who do you work for?” he murmurs, sliding out of me until half an inch of him remains.

  I tug his ass forward. Or try to—seems he’s decided to take back control.

  “I’m presently unemployed. I told you, I’m here on a staycation.”

  “Convenient.”

  I stiffen beneath him. God, he’s infuriating. I don’t know whether to push him off me or put my hand over his mouth and tell him to fuck me fast then get off me.

  “I’m at Casa Bella for financial reasons. Okay? Happy?”

  Talk about ruining a good thing.

  He shifts his body and his erection presses deeper. I feel his teeth run along the thick cord of my neck, followed by his tongue soothing away the tingle his movements have caused. “I pissed you off,” he murmurs in my ear, before nipping at my earlobe. “Tell me to go.” He thrusts then withdraws. “Come on. Say it,” he insists, picking up the pace.

  “For Pete’s sake, no more questions. No more talking. Fuck me. I. Want. Fast.”

  He’s quiet for a second before he laughs. “A woman after my own heart. Hold on then, chavita.”

  And then he stops talking.

  And proves what a good listener he is.

  He grabs hold of my wrists and pins my arms overhead. And proceeds to drive into me hard, rolling his hips and cursing beneath his breath. Over and over, my body bouncing on the mattress from the force of his thrust.

  His lips find mine, and his tongue claims possession of my own.

  I’m trying to keep up, lifting my hips to meet him, wild with need, loving the feel of him inside me, the heat coming off of his skin, the aggressive way he’s kissing me like he’s trying to steal the air from my lungs.

  Passionate, arrogant, relentless. A woman’s wet dream, a husband’s nightmare. Diego is all this, and more.

  When he does come up for air, he delivers a second round of curses. I recognize a few dirtier ones. “Te voy a meter toda la pinga.” Take all of my cock. And “Quiero que te vengas.” I want you to come.

  A total turn-on, especially how he says it, in a whiskey voice rich with gravel.

  He releases my wrists.

  I claw his back, wild and on an express train toward orgasmville.

  He cups my ass and lifts me up and into his merciless thrusts.

  I anchor my legs around his back, hold on, and cry out his name as I climax. “Diego.”

  “Hang on tight,” he grinds out between his teeth. Pounding into me like a man hell-bent on breaking me in two. The bed shakes, the headboard bangs against the wall, and Diego stiffens above me as he comes inside me.

  Then there’s a loud, cracking sound. Our only warning before the legs of the bed give out and the mattress goes crashing to the ground.

  Diego rolls so we land on our sides, his knee between my thigh, my arm draped over his body.

  I blink. “We broke the bed.”

  “Guess you’ll be going home then.”

  “No. I have business here. Though I’m not sure how I’ll explain this.”

  Diego unwinds himself from my embrace. His hair falls across his forehead, messy and sexy as hell. There’s a fine sheen to his skin, damp from our fucking. The abs of his eight-pack flex as he stands, stretches, and assesses the damage done.

/>   And for a flash of a second, he looks as bewildered as I suddenly feel.

  Shaking his head, he stalks into the bathroom, then I hear water running. I sit up, my entire body aching.

  It’s worth it. I swear I could climax just thinking about what just happened. He comes out of the bathroom. His hair is wet like he’s pushed his head beneath the faucet.

  And as he pulls on his clothing, which is scattered on the floor next to the bed, he doesn’t say a word.

  Not. A. Peep.

  Right.

  To add injury to insult, he refuses to look at me when I’m positive he’s more than aware of me watching him.

  I hug my legs into my body, hiding my nakedness from him. Like he cares.

  My eyes widen as he stalks to the door.

  So much for me telling him when he can go.

  Whatever. This guy is unpredictable, to say the least. Not my type. Not in my wheelhouse of familiarity. A fling. A wild, wonderful fling. An anticipated regret. Why sugarcoat it with words?

  And at this point, I’m not even sure I like him.

  He turns and says in a gruff voice, “Go home, Aubrey.” I watch the door as it closes behind him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Diego

  “Pendejo!” My fist tightens around the fluffy bath towel I use to dry off from my shower. I hurl it across the room where it settles without a sound on my bungalow floor. If only that drunk idiot who’d fallen off the dance floor had landed as quietly. “If Mendoza’s anything like his father, there won’t be an investigation.”

  “Better hope you’re right and that Fahder shows. I demand answers, without further interruptions,” Hayden responds, then falls silent. Great, the goddamn silent treatment. A sure sign of my boss’s displeasure with my update. Like my hand was the one to push the idiot to his death. Like I’m single-handedly responsible for this added complication. I grind my teeth together. Hayden’s been a controlling bastard since we ran the streets of Mexicali. A hardheaded guy who’s only gotten worse with age.

  “Ese maldito idiota tenía que caer.” Yeah, idiots and dance floors just don’t mix. The accident was anything but unexpected. Especially considering the rumor of a safety net is just that, a rumor.

  “English,” Hayden grinds out.

  Although fluent in English, Italian, French, and Spanish, for whatever reason, he always insists on English. Every so often I treat him to a little Danish, my mother’s native tongue. Keeping him on his toes, which really pisses him off. But there’s a time for everything though I’m wired enough to fuck with him a bit further.

  “Pinche estupidó.”

  “Diego . . .” he warns me.

  I run my hands through my damp hair. Getting close to the elusive Fahder is proving more difficult than anticipated.

  That’s what impatience gets you, I can almost hear the tick tock of Hayden’s thoughts. To his credit, he doesn’t actually say it. Good thing. Despite a night of sex that has my dick hardening every time I think about it, I’m still too worked up about the shit’s-hit-the-fan-fest soon to follow the pendejo’s death. The last thing I need is Hayden pulling me off the job. Or worse.

  My orders are to CLIT—Capture, Loosen Up, Interrogate, Terminate. So I set myself up nicely with Fahder’s bastard son, Juan Carlos Mendoza and his crew. Waiting for Fahder to show.

  He never did.

  Rumors of bad blood and hurt feelings . . . Mendoza with a hard-on to prove daddy wrong. Typical father-son bullshit.

  The kind I never had the opportunity to personally experience.

  I returned to the streets. Tried flushing Fahder out of his fortress of a home after realizing his security was tighter than an Afghan embassy. Succeeding with spectacular success, if I do say so myself. Except he had an escape plan and disappeared before I could get a visual on him.

  So I’m reporting in to Hayden to inform him I’m back at Plan A. I’m at Casa Bella, waiting for Fahder to arrive at his bastard son’s estate. Exactly what I’d been doing before my impatience with the whole fucking assignment led me onto the streets of Mexico City.

  Action is a necessary evil.

  Fuck knows I’m the guy to get that party started. Losing track of the sly bastard is irrelevant. Casa Bella is the next logical place for him to go.

  Except now there’s a dead man on the premises and Mendoza’s guest are suspicious about how it happened. I’m unsure if it was an accident or if the pendejo was actually pushed. But what I’m certain of is that Mendoza will want to avoid negative publicity, and a police presence at Casa Bella will cause a media sensation. And if Fahder gets wind of this, he’s not going to be too happy with his bastard son. How can I work this to my advantage?

  “Do I need to book a flight to Mexico City and handle matters myself?”

  I glare down at the phone.

  “Well?” Hayden demands.

  Fucking terrific. The last time he took that tone with me was when I failed to infiltrate the compound of a volatile group of culeros back in Shelby, Oklahoma. And the result? A month spent retraining at Hayden’s Hell Camp after being benched like some third-rate rookie while two actual rookies took over my assignment. Turns out, Hayden got what he deserved for sidelining me, in the form of a traitor on his hands.

  In our line of business, risk of exposure isn’t tolerated.

  Secrecy is the name of our game. I work for a PSC, a private security contracting company working off the grid, out of the public eye, and unknown to our enemies. TORC is so clandestine, it makes the stealth Russian spy network seem overexposed.

  TORC does the work the public doesn’t want to hear about. Necessary work like spying on Fahder, ranked number three on the worldwide SHIT list—Suspected Human International Terrorist. We’ve discovered he’s been buying vast quantities of weapons from another target, a man named Novák. The shipment arrived from the port of Marseille a few weeks ago. My job is to find out where they’re headed next. And more important, for what purpose.

  Nothing good, that’s for sure.

  Call me a hit man, a killer, whatever. Spying, interrogating, terminating arrogant pendejos, maintaining world peace is the name of our game. Whatever it takes to keep governments working and people safe. Whatever Hayden orders, using whatever means necessary.

  Like fucking a woman for information.

  I shake off the thought.

  Despite my recent setbacks, I was born to do this job. I get off on it, the adrenaline rush from stalking my prey, being one step ahead of my targets, working people over like they’re putty in my hands. Put a bullet in some moron’s head? No problemo. Take a lover to help my cover—like I’d done with Diana, during round one of my stay at Casa Bella? Yeah, she was only too happy to share my bed. Nothing stimulates me more than fucking up assholes who don’t see me coming.

  And sex. Lots of sex.

  Though I never broke a bed before. . . .

  “Say the word,” Hayden warns.

  “I’ve got this.”

  “You spent months at Casa Bella and Fahder was a no-show. Pitched a fit and informed me you were hitting the streets. That if you can’t lead a terrorist to water . . .”

  “Well, I’m back and going to wait it out. Have a little patience, because this is going to work. Just hit a little bump in the road with that gilipolla falling. Fahder will show. It’s just taking longer than expected.”

  “Patience,” Hayden snorts. “I give you a week, max, before you grow bored and want to switch things up. Again. We can’t afford any more screwups.”

  Two weeks. Yeah, I know my limitations. Fahder better hurry the hell up.

  “I found another way into the room hidden beneath the mansion.”

  “Guns? Drugs?” he asks.

  “Empty.”

  “Not for long, I’m thinking.”

  “I agree. The cave was built for a reason. Mendoza has beefed up patrol and has placed even more security cameras throughout the estate. He’s preparing for something. And Big Brother isn�
��t just watching the sprawling grounds of his estate; he’s got a camera inside each of the bungalows.

  Unlike his father’s impenetrable former residence, Casa Bella, for all its grandeur, is low-tech. You get what you pay for, right? What Mendoza gets is sporadic power outages that knock out his entire surveillance system. With the convenient timer on my expensive little black box, I control the outages, when they happen, and when they end. Something, though, that is best used on the rare occasions when I’m alone with a few security guards and an overabundance of household staff. Something used sparingly, before it becomes obvious someone is fucking with the power grid.

  With Mendoza’s return, I’m going to have to get creative. No time like the present; I’ve got a meeting with him and his crew in half an hour.”

  “Any other unforeseeable complications I need to know about?”

  “Let me get my hit man’s crystal ball out and I’ll fill you in,” I mutter. Still, I refrain from sharing my other problem.

  The brunette saw me.

  Which makes her someone who needs to be dealt with. I can’t have witnesses running around, gabbing about me and my peculiar actions. How I’ve done something out of the norm. Something that will likely cast unnecessary attention onto me.

  With Mendoza’s crew away on business, the timing had been perfect to more closely investigate the cave built into the foundation of the mansion. Accessible in three ways. By taking the hidden stairwell beneath the living room, which is heavily monitored by cameras as well as routinely patrolled. Or making a miserable descent down the long, steep pathway leading to the waterfall and the cave hidden behind it. Miserable because of its unnaturally high volume of trip wire traps and security cameras. Clearly, Mendoza believes most perpetrators would be stupid enough to take the steep hike down Obvious Way.

  The least obvious access point is through the living room. A scenic twenty-foot-drop over the waterfall and into the waters below. Like taking a barrel over Niagara Falls, sans the barrel.

  Sans anything but my waterproof supply pack, which contained a waterproof flashlight, a rope, a change of clothing, sneakers, and a baseball cap. If by the off chance an outside camera picked up my movements, I can deny it was me and back up my lie with the proof captured on one of two cameras set up in the living room under which I’d strategically posed in my suit. The man walking across the lawn in shorts and a T-shirt could be anyone out for a casual stroll. Yet I’m counting on not having to explain myself. It pays to know where the cameras are located and where the blind spots are.