A Very Merry Hitman (Holiday With a Hitman #2)

12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

An orgasm a day keeps the worries away.

Aileen stared at Dante for a moment, waiting for him to continue, but nope, apparently no date was all she was getting. “I didn’t hear a request or question in there,” she murmured as she took a bite of salad. The truth was, she’d said yes before things between her and Dante had shifted. And she’d only agreed to go platonically. It wasn’t like it was a real date.

“I wasn’t asking.” He pulled a beer out of her fridge and sat across from her, his expression almost challenging.

And ooohhh, she liked this side of Dante. Was this him being…jealous? “What’s going on with you?” Her lack of experience was vast and she wanted him to clarify exactly what his whole attitude was about. She was pretty sure she understood, but still, this mattered to her on the most fundamental level.

Because this was Dante.

He pushed up from his seat and stalked around the island, looking a little like he wanted to devour her. After last night—was it just last night?—she was very much okay with that.

“I don’t share, Aileen,” he murmured as he leaned down, so slowly it was as if time stopped.

The pulse point at her neck was going wild as he moved in. And when he claimed her mouth with a hunger that surprised her, everything else faded away. Forget food, she simply wanted him. Especially this possessive Dante.

She hadn’t even known this type of attitude would be a turn-on for her, but she liked that he didn’t want to share, that he was bothered by the thought of her out with another man. Because she couldn’t even stomach the thought of him with someone else.

Before she realized what he intended, he had her off the stool and onto the countertop to better match his height. He pushed the plates away and she spread her legs automatically, welcoming him against her. With him she always felt safe, and that in itself was terrifying. She didn’t want to get used to this, to having him around, even as she wanted him with what might be considered obsession.

She slid her hands behind his neck as he teased his tongue against hers in a way that made her wonder what it would feel like for him to do the same thing between her legs.

Something she’d been fantasizing about for longer than she wanted to admit. She’d been traumatized when she was in college, but it had been so many years since anyone had touched her intimately and she was at the point where she wanted to crawl out of her skin with need for Dante. For him to touch her exactly like she’d been dreaming about.

Wanting to touch him too, especially after he’d given her a climax last night, she slid her hands down the front of his dark shirt, then up under it, skating her fingertips over all that hardness.

He shuddered under her touch, making her smile against his mouth. She loved that she had that effect on him, that he clearly wanted her as much as she wanted him. This might be about two friends getting intimate but right now she knew this wasn’t some pity thing.

He wanted her physically. No denying it.

“I want to touch you here,” she whispered, sliding one hand between his legs to… Oh, he was reaaally hard. Harder than she’d realized.

“I want to taste you first.” A soft demand that came out hungry, desperate.

Heat bloomed inside her at his tone, his need. And she understood because she was right there with him. Her nipples tightened at the thought of one of her fantasies coming to reality but she tensed because he’d be right down there, his face between her legs.

“I’ve never…” She didn’t want to say it, hated admitting how little experience she’d had before everything had gone to shit. But she’d grown up relatively sheltered, and forget about dating before college.

“Do you want me to go down on you?” He was so close, looking right into her eyes, his dark gaze mesmerizing, addicting. And as he asked he slowly slid his hands up under the back of her sweater, palming her bare back with his large, callused hands. Holding her, anchoring her.

God, she loved the feel of him touching her, stroking her. And at that thought, she remembered how he’d slid his thick fingers inside her, bringing her to a sharp orgasm.

She nodded, even as insecurities bubbled up. She was trying to take back her control and that meant breaking out of her comfort zone. She trusted Dante to treat her right.

“Say it,” he demanded softly. “I want to hear the words.”

“I want you to go down on me.” Okay she could only get out a whisper, but she’d said it.

His pupils flared, but he didn’t waste any time scooping her up off the countertop and carrying her to the living room. “For the record, I want to taste you anywhere, including on the kitchen countertop, but I want you comfortable this first time.”

First time? Oh, oh yes, please. First implied there would be more. And she wanted to experience everything with him.

That nagging little voice in the back of her head played up on all her doubts, but she silenced it as he slid her pants and panties off with ease.

She leaned back on the couch, wondering about the logistics of this. Should she lie flat or—

“Just lean back and spread your legs.” Another soft demand, this one raspier, more desperate. “And…” He grasped the hem of her sweater and lifted up.

She wasn’t wearing anything underneath so her nipples beaded even harder under his gaze and the rush of air.

“I wish I had two mouths and four hands,” he murmured even as he placed his palms against her inner thighs, pushed gently.

She should feel vulnerable, but in that moment, she felt powerful. Especially when he groaned as he spread her folds with his thumbs, stared between her legs as if she was everything he’d ever dreamed of.

She knew she was letting herself get carried away, but whatever. This was finally happening and she was going to enjoy every single second. For however long things lasted between them.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his gaze right between her legs.

And yep, that had her feeling all sorts of things. Her inner walls clenched and her clit pulsed at his declaration, because apparently she liked praise.

Slowly, he ran his thumb along her folds, his eyes holding hers right as she sucked in a gasp.

“Perfect,” he murmured again. “You were made to be worshipped, baby.”

Heat flared inside her, pushing out to all her nerve endings, making it hard to breathe. How was she supposed to keep things compartmentalized when he was looking at her like she hung the moon? And saying things like this?

“When do you take off your clothes?” Because she wanted to see him too.

He blinked, then gave her a slow, wicked grin before he eased back and stripped off his shirt in what could only be described as slow motion.

It was like he was taking his time for her enjoyment and she was so okay with that. Still crouched in front of her, she took in all of him, every hard line and striation, the random scars that seemed to be everywhere. Some more faded than others.

Reaching out, she ran her finger along the scar slicing through his left clavicle. As she did, he slid a finger inside her and she forgot to breathe.

She arched into the slow thrust, clutching onto his shoulder as he buried his finger deep. Then another. Then she forgot to think as he knelt between her legs and began teasing her clit with such enthusiasm, she lost all sense of insecurity. God, his mouth was wicked and perfect and oh…it wasn’t going to take her long at all.

It was impossible to be insecure when he was bringing her so much pleasure and growling things like “such a perfect pussy” as he thrust his fingers inside her—as he sucked on her clit. She clutched his shoulders, glad he’d bared some of himself to her at least.

His words set something on fire inside her and when he sucked on her clit again, she completely lost control, coming around his fingers and against his face as he kept stroking her, teasing her and, oh god, her climax just kept going until she was a mess of nerves against the couch.

She gasped as he slowly pulled his fingers from her—then gasped again when he slid them into his mouth.

She stared as he tasted her again, and that rush of heat at seeing him like this helped her shed any inhibitions she might have been holding on to.

She reached for his pants, knowing exactly what she wanted—and hoping he wanted it too. He took over, shoving his pants down, but not fully off, to her disappointment.

“Touch me,” he demanded, and without thought she wrapped her hand around his hard length. This was a first for her and she was glad it was with him, that she hadn’t gone to a “professional.”

He closed his hand around hers, showing her exactly how hard he liked to be stroked. She was surprised by how intensely he stroked himself, but loved that he was being so open with her. And the growly sounds he was making? The dark, hungry expression? Oh god. Yes, please to all of it.

As she continued stroking him, he claimed her mouth, only pulling back when it was clear he couldn’t hold on to his control anymore. When he finally came all over her stomach and spread thighs, to her surprise, he rubbed himself into her, looking ridiculously satisfied before he kissed her again, this time softer, sweeter, even as he cupped her breasts. He slowly teased her nipples as he took his time with her mouth and she thought she might combust again from the pure pleasure of him.

“So no gala tomorrow,” he murmured against her mouth into the quiet .

She blinked up at him, slightly narrowing her eyes at the surprising topic. “Are you telling me what to do?”

“No, just telling you what’s not happening.” His half grin did all sorts of things to her insides.

It was impossible to be annoyed at him when she was still basking in that orgasm and he was looking at her as if he’d slay dragons for her. “You’re ridiculous, Dante.” She bit his bottom lip, hoping they weren’t done.

But he pulled back slightly then slid his T-shirt over her head. “You need to eat, then we’re talking.”

“I don’t want to talk,” she grumbled, but she stood with him. Talking was overrated—she wanted to stay naked. And she definitely wanted more orgasms.