Page 7 of The Hitman’s Obsession

My whole life I’ve watched him bail on me, disappear for months, leaving me with bills to pay and a house to take care of. As soon as I was able to move out, I did, but he still always somehow manages to mess up my life. Even from afar.

I guess I never realized it until just now, when a man who could have stepped right out of one of my books came in through my window like he owned the place—but my dad is the reason I’ve never found any of those past boys attractive.

My dad may be charming, but he’s not competent. He can’t take control, and neither could any of the other guys I went out with. That’s why I never did anything with them.

My whole life has been me making decisions, me being the adult, me mopping up Dad’s messes. Giving up control was dangerous and could lead to disaster. But when I look at Roman, a sinful thought rips through me.

Giving in to him doesn’t feel dangerous at all. In fact, it feels like the right thing to do.

My body betrays me. My expression shifts, and Roman reacts. He nearly frowns and mutters softly, his voice low and heavy, “Tell me to leave and I will.”

This is it. This is the crucial moment.

The sensible answer, the right answer, is to tell him to go.

That’s what any girl in her right mind would do. Tell the big, strong man who just broke into her apartment to get the fuck out and never come back. Right?

I glance at the window and picture him leaving…climbing out into the darkness, never to be seen again. And a pit forms in my stomach. I look down as my mind starts to spin.

This is a bad man. A dangerous man. A criminal. Any man who would watch a girl through her window and then break in must be.

Tell him to leave. Just do it. Tell him to go.

My floor creaks as he takes another step closer. “Tell me to leave, Annie. And I’ll go.”

I know what I have to say. I’ll just tell him what he wants to hear and go back to my books, read another chapter, have another orgasm, and go take a long shower. A very, very cold shower.

His eyes are on me now. I can feel them. And when I look up, my lips part, and without thinking, I say the only thing I can.

“No. I don’t want you to.”

3

ANNIE

Without thinking, I move close and press my hand to Roman’s chest. My blood pumps madly as I feel the slab of muscle beneath his shirt and the warmth from his body flooding my palm.

My gaze tracks down his physique. Down the massive build of this gigantic man, all the way to the bulge in his pants signifying his lust for me. A tiny smile spreads over my lips as I take it all in. Long, thick, and a tiny wet spot in his pants. I may be a virgin, but I’ve done my reading, and I know what that is.

Precum. Roman is just as horny as I am. He wants to fuck me. And that turns me on even more.

Did I mention I’m a freak?

So this is what one of my fantasy men is like in person. He’s better. Way better. Roman is solid, unmoving. I can feel his raw strength in the way his body tenses under my hand, almost like he wasn’t expecting me to touch him.

This man is dangerous. He’s hurt people. But when I touch him, he swallows hard. His Adam’s apple moves, and his lips purse. And that’s when my inner sin takes over.

I lean in and kiss him.

An intoxicating wave sweeps over me. My vision blurs, and every nerve ending in my body sparks up like Christmas lights. I’m lightheaded and start to fall back, but Roman catches me. His massive, strong arm wraps around my waist, and he pulls me back to him.

Yes, this is it. Exactly what I wanted.

Our size difference has me drooling. The way he just grabbed me and held me like it was automatic. The way he’s kissing me back like I already belong to him. Suddenly it hits me—I don’t even know how old Roman is. But he’s definitely not nineteen—thank God—or in his twenties. Somewhere in his thirties, most likely. Maybe even more.

My womanhood clenches as he presses his tongue deeper into my mouth, grabs a fistful of my hair, and squeezes just enough to hurt. Using one enormous hand, he grabs me by the ass and lifts me. I moan into his mouth.

For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to carry me over to the bed, and I prepare myself to feel the nice soft mattress and blankets on my back. But I’m wrong. I’m so wrong.