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She throws me a little wink before wrapping her beautiful, luscious lips around my dick. Her movements are tentative and unsure, but so fucking perfect I slam my fist into the wall. Layla’s eyes roll up to keep looking at me as she swallows me whole. The animal in me awakens as her gag reflex kicks in, so I weave my fingers through her hair and plunge down her throat. Tears fill her eyes and flow over her cheeks, and the sick part of me likes it.
“Why, Layla? Why tempt me like this? You already know what you’re going to get,” I snarl, fighting her hot little mouth as I fuck it hard and fast, giving her no choice but to hold onto my thighs.
A roar rips through me as I plunge my cock into her mouth over and over again. And just as I’m about to let her go, having proved my point, her hands skate around me and she digs her nails into my ass cheeks, preventing me from getting away. I hiss and stare in complete and utter awe as she keeps sucking me off like her life depends on it, her gaze never wavering from mine. Tears stream down her face, yet she never relents, never gives in—never surrenders.
This is what she’s trying to tell me. She’s not breakable, not fragile like fine china or some porcelain doll. She is made of flesh and bone and filled to the brim with hungry, dark desires that match my own. When she tips me over the edge with the way she starts humming around my steel length, her green eyes beam with triumph as she swallows every last drop of my release that I pump into her little mouth. She drinks it all, draining the strength and anger from me until my legs quiver. I have never come so hard or so fast. She leans back and pops her mouth from my softening cock, licking her lips clean of my release.
After I’ve returned from the nirvana she just gifted me, I pull her up and kiss her in a way that makes her knees weak once more, wanting her to experience an ounce of the pleasure she just gifted me.
“You’ve proven your point, wife,” I confess, kissing her temple.
“Good,” she whispers joyfully. “Now wash up. You’ve made me late for breakfast with your tantrum.”
She sucks on my lower lip and gives it a bite before hopping out of the shower and going on her merry way. I can’t help but laugh at the light she brings to my usual dark abyss. Not wanting to be away from her longer than I need to, I hurriedly wash and rinse my hair and jump out of the shower to get dressed. My mind is in a frenzied state, thinking of all the things we can do today, when my heart falls to the pit of my stomach with the sound of my phone ringing on my dresser. Still dripping with water, I pad naked over to it. My heart slows and coldness fills me, crushing my hope as I pick up the device and answer without a word. The familiar robotic voice on the other line steals any happiness I could have had today.
Goddamn it.
I hastily get dressed, my chest tightening when I enter our kitchen and see Layla cheerfully humming the same tune she had on my cock while stirring pancake mix in a bowl.
Shit.
I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder.
“Unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay for breakfast. A work thing came up that needs my attention. Shouldn’t take too long though,” I promise, and even I can hear the regret in my voice. I want to stay, I want to have breakfast with her, and never before have I ever been so torn.
“Hmm. Okay. I never did ask you what you do for a living.” She sighs.
“Security,” I reply instantly as she turns in my arms.
Her brows pinch together at my vague, one-word response.
I tip her chin up and deliver a kiss that has her forgetting all her doubts and questions.
“Here,” I say, handing her my credit card. “Once Zoey wakes up and you both have breakfast, you two can go out and buy anything you need—clothes, shoes, toys, or just anything that will make this place feel like home.”
Her nose crinkles at the black credit card, unsure if she should take it.
“Layla, take it,” I order, my voice stern.
This time she relents and hides the plastic in her front pocket.
“Good girl,” I praise before kissing the tip of her nose and rushing out the door.
“When will you be back?” she shouts behind me.
“As fast as I can, wife. As fast as I can,” I yell back, closing our front door behind me.
The transformation comes over me as soon as I am out of her sight. Alaric her husband disappears, and cold ice flows through my veins, allowing me to do my job. I get into my car and drive like the wind to Brooklyn, praying that today’s job will be quick and easy so I can come back home. The thought of turning down the job crossed my mind, but when I heard the password and the familiar digits and shuffled letters, I knew I couldn’t. Although all my clients have their anonymity ensured, some like to use similar passwords so I can identify them as one of my most active clientele. This one in particular is responsible for half of my year’s earnings, which means if I turned them down once, they wouldn’t use my services again, branding me as unreliable.
And I can’t have that.
My glowing reputation is my calling card.
If I piss off my biggest client, then the rest will also go in search of greener pastures.
Once I step into my brownstone, I rush to my office and go online to verify who my target is. The minute I read my client’s portfolio on him, I groan in frustration. Apparently, I only have a small window to get the job done. My target is flying in from Zürich, making a pit stop at JFK, and then boarding the red-eye to California. If my calculations are right, then I have only a few hours to get the job done while he waits for his connecting flight. It’s not going to be so cut and dry as I wish it were. JFK Airport sees an average of over five million passengers a day, and that’s not to mention the other thirty-five thousand people it employs. The heavy security and police detail also throw kinks into making this an easy kill.
Fuck.
