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“The way your dick keeps finding my private parts, I better be.”
He grinned and so did I.
“I guess I’m in private now.” He looked into my eyes and his face was void again. He nodded to the pitcher of juice on the table. “Pour me some juice.”
I looked to it and grabbed the pitcher, filling up a glass. He outstretched his hand for it and I drank it…all. Putting the cup and the pitcher back where I got it, I told him, “I made breakfast because I like food, not to give you the impression I’m a housewife or a domestic servant. You have hands, pour your own damn juice.”
His jaw cracked to the side for a moment…then the corners of his mouth turned up. “Why do I have feeling we might fight often?”
“Because you know you enjoy fucking me hard as punishment for the fight.”
He reached over and grabbed the orange juice as well as the glass I had used pouring himself a glass. Before lifting it to drink he simply said, “Let’s watch that movie tonight.”
I was not normal.
Neither was he.
And it was perfect that way.
“Do we have kettle corn?” I wondered.
“Don’t bother, I’m going to fuck you halfway through it, and it’s going to be a bitch to clean that shit up,” he said before stuffing his mouth.
“I’ll eat it during the first half of the movie then.”
ETHAN
“You were supposed to go to Bali yesterday, weren’t you?” I ran my hand down her spine as she laid on her stomach watching the movie on the screen…with the damn kettle corn.
“Someone distracted me with his cock all day and I missed my flight.”
“Shame, I hear it’s beautiful this time of year.” I kissed her back. “You’re wasting your vacation here with me.”
“Hardly a waste and besides, my job is a bit different.”
“How so?”
“I kill people,” she said calmly and stuck another piece of kettle corn between her lips.
She wants to get a reaction out of me. “You make a living from that?”
“What can I say? A lot of people want a lot of people dead.”
“So, a hit man…woman.”
She snickered and looked back over her shoulder. “I have standards. I don’t go killing cheating spouses, outside of my former brother-in-law to be, or your local baker.”
“There is a hit list for bakers? Hmm, who would have though?” I couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
She turned over and sat up, putting her bowl in her lap. “The neighborhood drug dealer is mocking me?”
“In my defense, it’s a very big neighborhood. Who are you killing if you aren’t killing local bakers?”
“Presidents,” she stated with a smug look on her face, tossing another piece of kettle corn into her mouth.
I paused, remembering the events of this past week. “You killed President Rojas too.”
“I think the politically correct term is assassinated.”
