Chapter 28 Misty
MISTY
The Crock-Pots have filled the house with the warm smells of gooey reindeer cheese dip (not made with actual reindeer), sweet-and-spicy meatballs, and creamy mushroom-chestnut-and-leek dip. Everything smells like warmth and comfort and carbs. Like love. Like home.
I inhale deeply and let it all wash over me.
And that’s when it hits—sharp, unexpected. This will never really be mine.
The best I’ll ever do is live here in my teenage bedroom, stuffed animals still judging me from the shelf, watching as everyone else makes their own perfect holiday memories.
I’ll always be on the outside looking in.
Just a helper. The invisible stepdaughter who’s only allowed around when she’s a useful one.
The one to pity with no husband, no children. My eyes well up.
“It’s the holidays,” I tell myself. “Be grateful for what you do have.” Like Cocoa.
Except my own dog doesn’t seem to like me that much. She’s obsessed with Talbot. He’s infuriatingly the most interesting thing in my life.
“Cocoa!” I need the cuddly puppy hugs. The corgi’s not by the fire or staring at the food in the kitchen. “Cocoa?” I climb the stairs. “Where—oh!”
“Cinderella’s back from the hockey ball.” Talbot stands there, leaning casually against the doorway like he never left. My breath hitches. Before I can say anything, his hands encircle my waist, and he pulls me in like I belong there. With him.
And then he kisses me.
I sink into him, let the feel of him wash over me—the heat of his body, the whiskey-smoke smell of him, the scrape of his stubble against my cheek. For once, my brain stops spinning, my whole body falling silent except for the thud-thud-thud of my heart.
Did he really come back for me?
Cocoa hops around us, proud of her find, stubby tail wagging frantically.
Talbot pulls back just enough to drag his thumb across my bottom lip. “I could come up with a number of flowery excuses for why I’m sneaking around your house like a—well, like a ninja.” He laughs, low against my mouth, a deep, rough sound that shoots straight through me.
“The truth is—I want to fuck you. And I don’t need your family barging in.
Especially because I’m pretty sure your granny would do it on purpose.
” He kisses me deeper then, pushing me back against the wall, lifting me up like I weigh nothing.
My legs automatically wrap around him. “You say you don’t want this, don’t want things that are good for you, like Austen dead on the bathroom floor, like my dick up your cunt, but your subconscious seems to know otherwise. ”
“We can’t,” I gasp even as my hands are pulling at his shirt, even as my thighs tighten around him.
“We already did,” he reminds me roughly, sliding his hands up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher.
A skirt that I specifically wore because it felt the opposite of sexy.
“I ever tell you how much I like your sexy nineties-librarian look?” he teases, nipping my jawline. “Screams ‘I’ve got repressed sexual tension.’”
“That’s the opposite of what I was going for—” I protest, squirming.
“Playing hard to get with a hitman’s a dangerous game, Gumdrop,” he says, voice low and threatening. His hips grind into me, making me whimper.
“I’m not—” I can barely get the words out because his hands are sliding under my skirt, palming me through my panties. My whole body bucks against him.
“I told you,” he murmurs, kissing down my neck, “you get one free fuck with the deluxe assassination package. Besides”—his hand squeezes my ass possessively—“I like your fat, juicy pussy. And I want it wrapped around my cock.”
“We can’t.” I gasp again, clinging to his shoulders.
“What, can’t fuck against a wall?” His voice is hot against my ear, dizzying. “Or you can’t admit you want me?”
I can’t even think.
I can’t even breathe.
“You came back for this. You came back here for me,” Talbot growls against my neck. “Stop fighting me. Little girls who fight assassins don’t live ’til morning.”
“No, I did it for the meatballs.” I push at that plate-metal chest.
“Mm-hmm.” The low hum rumbles against my jaw, almost making me come right there.
“They’re fucking delicious, by the way. I’m going to have a plate after I fuck you.”
“Thanks,” I squeak. “I add homemade barbecue sauce to them.”
“It’s not a recipe your granny stole from someone who stole it off a bag, is it?” He unlaces the ribbon on the side of my skirt.
“No, but”—I duck out from under him—“you should really try the reindeer cheese dip. It’s got green and red peppers in it. It’s very festive.”
“Ah, yes, the traditional Christmas nacho cheese dip. Always a holiday favorite.”
I dart down the stairs. Stop into the living room to pick up the dirty plates and cups I didn’t clear before we left. Hang up jackets. Add more wood to the fire.
Talbot’s stalking me through the house, whistling Santa Baby slightly off-key. His heavy boots thud on the hardwood floor in time to my heartbeat.
I feel off-kilter.
I never should have come here. I should have toughed it out at the hockey game, worn my dumb, ugly sweater, and faded into the background like I usually do.
The logical part of me is screaming, Stop running—but instead, I grab the basket of reindeer-shaped pita chips I deep-fried earlier and hold it out in front of me like a shield.
The kitchen island is the only barrier between us now.
Talbot prowls toward me, looking like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make. “Don’t fight me, Gumdrop,” he says softly. “You’ll lose. You already gave in once. I’ll get you on your back again.”
“That was then,” I say, voice high and breathless. “That was a younger, drunker me—”
He grins, slow and wicked. “You keep foiling my plans to kill Austen,” Talbot says, his voice dropping, deep and cold, dangerous. “You don’t let me go to a hockey game. And now you won’t even let me get my dick wet.”
He stills for a beat.
And then he whips around the kitchen island, faster than I can react.
I shove at him in a panic.
He grabs the back of my sweater and shakes me, rough, yanking it up over my head. The knit catches painfully on my jewelry as he rips it off.
“You paid for the Merry Christmas package, remember?” he taunts lightly, voice like a slap.
My skin prickles with something sharp, something dark.
Suddenly—terrifyingly—the smart-aleck-rake act crumbles. And I see him for what he really is.
A cold-blooded killer.
And I already got naked with him once, let him lick my hoo-ha, and acted like it was just a sexy little merry mistake.
Led him on.
Now he’s going to finish this.
He wouldn’t kill me. Right? He wouldn’t hurt a client. They have codes. Honor among assassins. Right?
“Let me see your pussy.”
Sex here, in my mom’s kitchen?
Bad idea. This Christmas season is the season of terrible luck. The family could show up, I could sprain something, I could get pregnant.
A little dark-haired baby with jewel-tone eyes? He is good with kids…
See? ’Tis the season of questionable decision making.
“Why don’t I just give you a blow job?” My mouth is dry. “I give pretty good blow jobs. Austen likes my blow jobs.”
That large hand grabs the back of my neck, forcing me to my knees in front of him. “You want to choke on my dick? Fine. But I fucking told you I don’t want to hear his fucking name.”
He shoves his cock in my mouth, making me gag. It’s not even half hard, but I already have trouble breathing around him.
I feel him get harder as he slowly thrusts into my mouth, the thick, hard length fat on my tongue. The hand holding my neck stills as he thrusts, each one deeper until I can taste him on the back of my throat. His huge balls slap against my chin.
He pulls out. “That fuckhead had it wrong,” he rasps. “Your pussy is better than your mouth. Now get on your hands and knees.”
“I can’t have sex on my mom’s kitchen floor,” I protest. I grab at his hand that hauls me upright by my hair.
“Fine. Then you can get fucked on her kitchen counter. How’s that, Gumdrop?”
He slams me on my back on the counter, sending the cups and paper plates with the holly decorations I’d carefully set out crashing to the floor. He shoves me back so my legs dangle helplessly.
The casual violence steals my breath.
My skirt strains, then he yanks it over my hips to dirty the floor.
I struggle when I hear him flip a knife open.
Scream when he presses the blade, cool, on my cheek.
“Yeah, I want you to scream just like that when my cock is pumping in your pussy.” A laugh rumbles out of him. “Let Austen hear how much you like my cock when he comes through the door and sees me fucking his girl.”
“I’m not his girl.” I struggle against the hand that holds me down.
He slaps my thigh. “Damn right you’re not. You belong to me. But see, Austen doesn’t seem to think so.” His thigh digs in between my legs.
I want more—more friction, more of him, need all of him.
My ass jerks up as he flicks his wrist and cuts a slit through my tights and my panties with the razor-sharp blade.
“Like butter.” His fingers digging into me feel so good.
Not as good as his cock will feel. The thought of that thick cock inside of me makes me shudder.
“You good and wet for me?” His fingers stroke me harder. The ripped shreds of my panties are soaking wet. The marble counter is cool against my palms as I try to push back against him.
Knife still in his hand, he cups my tits, playing with one then the other while his fingers move relentlessly in my pussy.
I pant and mewl as he strokes me, fingers playing in my slit, curling in my cunt, making me nice and wet for him. My hips ache with want.
“Talbot, please, I—” I let out a loud moan as he twists his knuckle against my clit.
“Damn, I like hearing you beg. I get off on it, you know, listening to them beg.”
“Shit.”
He shifts, grinding his bare cock in the hot slit of my pussy. He’s rock-hard and huge.
“I’m going to give this to you rough. Make you scream as you take me.”