I cry out, my world exploding into a million broken pieces as my fingers dig into his strong shoulders, my nails leaving little crescent-moon-shaped divots. My high blasts through me, but I don’t dare stop until every single ounce of pleasure has been thoroughly claimed.
My walls spasm around his thick cock, and he sucks in a breath as everything tightens, but just as he goes to reach that finish line with me, I lean forward and collect his lips in mine, offering a swift kiss, my hips stilling and ruining whatever high he was about to experience.
“It’s been real fun,” I say, planting my foot on the sand beside the sunlounger as he simply gapes at me, never having considered that I’d leave him high and dry. “But it’s time for me to go.”
Then, before he even gets a chance to grab my hips and finish what we started, I pull myself off him, scooping up my phone as that massive, heavy cock falls forward against his toned stomach.
“Get your ass back here, Firecracker.”
I pause by the door of the private cabana and glance back at him, a wide smirk on my lips as I blow him a simple kiss. “Have fun dealing with that,” I say. “And watch out for that sand. Wouldn’t want you getting friction burn while you madly rub one out.”
And with that, I slip out of the cabana, a booming laugh breaking free from my chest and making me feel more accomplished than ever before. Though something tells me I’m going to have hell to pay for that. And honestly, I can’t fucking wait.
Bring it on, Raiden Kane.
CHAPTER 12
RAIDEN
Crashing through the door of my new apartment, I put all my things down and curse myself for not unpacking properly. Boxes are piled up everywhere, the couch is covered in kitchen pots and pans—not that I’ve ever used them. The moment I got here, I’ve been focused on the spitfire next door, and now that decision is coming back to kick me in the ass.
I should have considered the state of my home before leaving for Barcelona. After every trip, the one thing I need to find my peace is to crash on my couch and let everything I’ve done fade into the dark abyss, otherwise known as my soul.
Taking a life has never been easy. Not that I actually got to do it this time. Nonetheless, it always takes a toll, no matter what kind of person I’ve been contracted to eliminate. I’ve been doing this foralmost ten years, and I still remember those first few kills like they were yesterday.
They weighed on my heart and left scars that never healed. I always find myself wondering about the families. If these targets have husbands or wives. Sons or daughters. Mothers who were expecting them at Sunday dinner. Fathers who were waiting for them to come help them with those heavy chores they couldn’t handle any longer.
Like I said, it always takes a toll, no matter the circumstance. Only now, ten years later, that toll has become easier to handle. It doesn’t exactly bounce off me like it does for others, but it also doesn’t destroy me like it once did.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Specifically the job I just completed. Well, attempted to complete.
There are too many unanswered questions, and the whole situation has made me uneasy. Is it plausible that another agency swooped in and took the kill? Absolutely. It’s rare, but these things happen from time to time, just not usually to me.
Again with the coincidences. I don’t like them, and Kiara St. James showing up in Barcelona at the same fucking party that I was at, well, that’s the biggest coincidence there ever was.
I don’t buy her story. Sure, she’s clearly a travel blogger. That much is obvious from her social media accounts, but I think there’s something more than that. I just don’t know how to prove it.
I know this is a long shot, but could it be that Kiara was the woman on the motorcycle? That she’s more like me than I ever couldhave anticipated? That her travel blog is just a cover for her to move freely across the globe without question?
It’s awfully convenient. But that’s insane, right?
It wouldn’t be the first time an assassin moonlighted as something else to be able to move around undetected. I do the same. I cover as an international sales rep, and nobody has ever questioned it, as long as I have just enough of a backstory that’s boring enough for the general public not to care, then I fly right under the radar.
As for Kiara . . . I don’t know.
Of course, there’s always a chance that she really did follow me there, that the moment I got my assignment, she packed her bags, followed me to the airstrip, and somehow smuggled her ass onto a private jet. And if that’s the case, I have a feisty little stalker.
I ain’t mad about it, but on the other hand, she seemed too irritated to have seen me there. Just the sight of my face manages to get under her skin, and I won’t lie, I like it that way.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I get lost in thought.
This bullshit has done nothing but circle my head since the moment she left me on the beach, rock hard and desperate. Well, to be completely honest, it wasn’t that exact second. I first had to deal with the raging hard-on she left me with, but once that was settled, I had nothing but time.
What are the chances that the woman who lives right next door is a fucking assassin, but not only that, one of the best I’ve ever seen? That kill was so clean. Butis it possible?
While Kiara is more than a feisty firecracker, she doesn’t strike me as a killer. But what do I know? I’ve only had a handful of conversations with the woman, and the majority of them are centered around her overwhelming dislike of my existence.
It is plausible, though.
