Chapter 20 Wesley
Wesley
Knobheads can learn.
It’s been the most difficult test of my self-control I’ve ever endured to sit across from Madison’s perfect, luscious, curvy, naked body and not reach out and touch.
I’ve pictured grabbing her and dragging her onto my lap at least a dozen times.
My cock is aching, and it hasn’t gone below half-mast since she got home.
Not even when the topic takes a turn towards the darker, more concerning stuff.
“Not to bring up the elephant in the room, but we should probably talk about the whole my name appearing on a hit list thing…”
I set aside my wine. “I expect you want to know where the list came from.” At her nod, I launch in. “My team and I have been working for a man we know as the General for several years now. He’s the one pulling the strings. He’s the one we need to find and kill.”
She inhales sharply, a line appearing between her brows. “So he’s your boss? That can’t be good. The General,” she repeats, like she’s tasting the word. “How do you know killing him means I’ll be safe?”
My smile is almost rueful. “Always asking the right questions. The General runs a dark web interface for hitmen and criminals. It’s how he contacts us with the jobs, how we send our proof, and how he pays us.”
“Sure,” she nods, playing it cool though I can see her eyes widen as she looks down at her nearly empty plate.
And I don’t blame her. Even having been on the fringes of the dark underworld like she has, I doubt she ever imagined something like this.
“No General, no interface, no money. I can’t imagine a hitman would bother to do a job without the promise of payment.
It’s not like it’s personal or something. It’s work.”
“Precisely.”
“So you want me to help you ID the guy, right? You’re thinking he’s probably related to some intel I sold?”
“Precisely,” I repeat, lips twitching. Am I even needed for this? I bet with the right push, she’d do it all on her own.
She cocks her head, and her hair spills down, coiling temptingly around a tawny nipple. “How does this guy contact you? How do the hits come? Is it posted on that forum or something?”
Eyes locked on her breast, I shake my head. “In an email directly to me.”
“Only you?”
“Until we decide whether to take the hit. I’ve always assumed they went out with some sort of priority based on track record.”
Seeing where my attention has landed, she grins and shifts back in her chair, spreading her thighs to give me a glimpse of more. “When did you get the email?”
My throat is dry. “About a week and a half ago.”
“Be more specific.”
Loath to look away, I quickly pull out my phone and call up the message. “The 25th at 2:49 PM.”
“That was the day I quit SmarTech. That was just a few hours after I quit—and waltzed out their front door with a panda’s ass full of stolen information,” she breathes, excited about a lead. “There’s absolutely no way that’s a coincidence.”
“SmarTech?” I repeat, brow furrowed. I ignore the panda’s ass bit, assuming she’ll explain later. “Interesting. There may be a connection there. Some of our other hits have used SmarTech encryptions. You stole data from them?”
“Yeah. The guy who hired me to do it—my tío—should have some answers for us, too. At the very least, he’s got all that data I stole.”
Odd. There was no mention of extended family in her background check. I file that information away for later. “Do you know what he wanted? Why he sent you?”
“He never tells me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I just copied over everything I could get my grubby little raccoon paws on. Client files, employee files, program files…”
“You are thorough,” I say approvingly, finishing my meal and collecting both our plates. As I move into the kitchen to place them in the sink, she watches me with a heavy-lidded stare.
“Then it’s settled. Tomorrow we can fake my death, head to your safe house, and we’ll grab the USB drive on the way. Love it when a plan comes together.”
I give the plates a cursory rinse, then wash my hands. When I’m done, I head back around the counter.
“It’s settled,” I agree. “And are you satisfied with your meal?”
I watch the question land, watch the fire burn a little brighter in those warm, caramel brown eyes, watch how her pulse thrums in that vein on her neck. “Yes,” she breathes, shifting in her seat and pressing her thighs together. “Does this mean it’s time to play?”
“Yes. But first, I brought you something,” I say, reaching into the bag dangling off the back of my chair and producing a box.
Her eyes light up. “Something sparkly?”
I laugh. “What are you, a crow?”
“Caw, caw!” she giggles.
It’s settled. I’m getting her the biggest ring I can find.
I hold the box out in front of her face, letting her slide the lid off. She peers inside curiously, then stares at the curved device.
“You bought me a… really weirdly shaped vibrator? I have plenty of toys, Wesley.”
The admission makes my stomach twist in excitement. “None like this. It’s one of a kind.”
She glances up. “Why? Did you make it or something?”
“Modified it.” I lift it from the package, discarding the box, so I can show her some features more closely.
“I did some reading and found out that SSRIs disrupt dopamine and norepinephrine, as well as spinal reflexes that can impact nerve sensitivity. Multiple articles recommended stronger vibrations and multiple types of stimulation simultaneously, so I combined this part here that sucks and this part here massages inside, but I wanted to ensure it was still waterproof so I—what?”
She’s staring at me, not the device, her jaw slack. “You… looked it up? You read articles?”
“Yes…”
“You made me a vibrator?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and a little squeaky.
I know she’s pleased, but when I nod and her eyes fill with tears, I panic a little. I put down the vibrator and cup her cheek. “It’s important to me that you enjoy yourself, my love. It’s not enough to simply satisfy you—I want you mindless from the pleasure, screaming my name.” I grin.
She sniffles and laughs, blinking away the mistiness in her eyes. “Is this your way of apologizing for leaving me with the worst case of blue clit last night? I mean, even though there was no penetration, I feel like last night qualifies as pulling a hit it and quit it.”
I wince.
“Love ‘em and leave ‘em?” she suggests, as if the phrase she picked were the reason for my reaction. “Smash and dash—”
I cut her off with a laugh and a kiss. She meets my lips eagerly, instantly trying to deepen it, but I pull back.
“I’m not apologizing because I’m not sorry—that implies that I regret touching you, and I very much do not; not for a second—but I didn’t want to leave you like that.
I hoped this would show you that I intend to finish what I started.
And I can recognize when I’ve been a knobhead. ”
“You were a knobhead,” she agrees, the barest twitch of a smile at the edges of her lips.
“A proper knobhead. But knobheads can learn—and I promise I’m a fast learner.”
She throws her hair over her shoulder. “Okay. Just so you know, there’s no guarantee this will work—but I really, really want to try it.”
I was hoping she’d say that. I tap the countertop. “Hop up. If it doesn’t work for you, you can let me know what kind of modifications you’d like.”
“Now?” her brows lift and her smile slants into a teasing smirk. “You sure there isn’t something more important you have to do?”
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away this time, Madison.”
With a single laugh, she climbs the rungs of the stool. The instant she’s on her arse, I step between her legs and pull her to me. Her breasts press against my chest, her hard nipples poking me.
This kiss needs no time to ramp up; we’re both desperate for it.
She clutches my shirt, balling it into her fists as she breathes a sigh into me.
As I deepen the kiss, pushing into her harder and taking ownership of her mouth with my tongue, she whimpers.
The sound goes straight to my cock, making it jerk and swell and pound.
I love the way she clutches and holds onto me, like I’m a lifeline.
It makes me feel like she wants to depend on me—like she trusts me to keep her upright and safe. I feel strong. Powerful.
Her teeth nibble at my bottom lip, drawing me back in when I pull away. I smile against her mouth and adjust my hand so it’s around her throat instead of under her chin. Instantly, she stills. I need to remember this—how pliable she becomes with a gentle but firm hand around her neck.
I reach for the toy I made. She watches, excitement making her pulse thrum in the veins on her neck.
“There’s lube in my bedside table.”
“I have a better idea.” I grab the closest counter chair, take a seat, then slide both arms under her thighs and pull her towards me in a quick, jerking movement that forces her down onto her elbows.
Since I’m still seated, her pussy is at nearly the perfect height.
I won’t even have to bend down too far. Her scent—musky, tangy and heady—invades my senses.
She squirms in my grip, though. “I don’t… um… Never mind.”
As she trails off, I frown and tighten my hold. “Tell me,” I urge, voice dropping.
I think I see a faint darkening of her cheeks as she mumbles, “Well, I suppose you did research it…”
“I did. I promise nothing you say will shock me.” I need this, I realize. I need her honesty and vulnerability. I need her trust.