Chapter 13
Victor
Her dark brows knit together.“Are you serious?”
“Trade you.” I offer her the knife handle first. It’s one of my favorites, a fixed-blade combat knife, both handle and blade a rain cloud gray.
She stares at it. “Is this for real?
“A trade.” I point to her right hand and signal her to Come. “The fork, Lula.”
She sets the fork on the island and reaches for the knife, every movement broadcasting that she doesn’t believe this is happening and expecting a bait and switch.
It will take time, but eventually, she will realize I am honest with her and worthy of her trust.
A sign escapes her when she palms the knife handle. Her entire stance relaxes. This woman was born to hold a weapon.
“You’re really going to teach me?”
“Yes.”
“And if I attack you?”
I shrug. “You’ll learn faster.” I wait for her to make a decision. If she rushes me, I can overpower her. If she runs, it might be difficult to catch her. Untrained, she’s more of a danger to herself than she is to me.
“What if I don’t want to learn?”
“There are other ways to pass the time.”
She clicks her tongue, and I know I have her. She wants to know what happens next. In a world filled with many dull moments and even duller people, curiosity is our greatest weakness.
Come, I gesture to her. “The training area is this way.”
“Like this?” She gestures to her bare legs. She looks fantastic in my shirt, the tails just covering her soft backside and the tops of her thighs.
“I’ll give you more to wear if you are good.”
She scoffs and tosses her hair over her shoulder.
I lead her to the door with the hallway, and her breath catches. The hall is long and dim, lined with locked doors. I can sense her calculating her chances of escape.
“I thought you’d take me back to the dungeon.”
“No more dungeon.” I underscore this with a No signal. “You’ve earned a reward. New living quarters.” I spread my hands. “And a live-in chef.”
Her eyes narrow. She’s gripping the knife hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
I jerk up my chin. “Toss it at me.” Come, my fingers say.
She looks startled. I spread my arms wider, presenting a bigger target. Her gaze lingers on the ridges and contour of my chest, and her breath comes faster. Imagining fucking or killing me?
Probably both. She’s the only person in the world who wants to please and hurt me in equal measure.
I feel the same about her.
The minute stretches on. “Let me see how you throw.”
She grips the knife tighter. She doesn’t want to lose it.
“We’re not sparring?”
“I’d rather you not risk fighting in hand-to-hand combat.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“There are advantages to being smaller and lighter, but only if you’re faster.”
She smirks. “I’m only fast when I’m eating pastries.”
I’m about to command her again when her arm snaps back, and she whips the knife in my direction.
I catch it easily. It was a sloppy throw, angling towards the floor. With my right hand, I toss it up and down, catching it each time. With my free hand, I reach out to a panel on the wall and punch a few buttons. At the end of a hall, a ceiling panel retracts, and a large wooden target lowers. I pace closer and point to where I want her to stand. After a pause, she follows and obeys.
“Stand here. Like this.” I put her through her paces, running my hands down her legs so she shifts into the proper stance, cupping her hips and angling them. Pulling back her hair and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She shudders but gives me a glare that makes me glad I have the knife.
Then I stand behind her, pressed to her back as I move her arm with mine to mimic the proper throwing technique. With her naked, there’s nothing between her curvy ass and my groin but the thin fabric of my slacks. The more we move together, the more unsteady her breath. She tries to hide it, but I know her. Every rise and fall of her glorious breasts. The furrow in her forehead as she tries to master the movement.
My cock is hard and throbbing, poking into her lower back. I take a moment to push against her, burying my face in her hair to inhale her scent.
She waits, tense, for me to breathe in my full.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Killing with a gun is easy but killing with a knife?” I flip the dagger so the handle is at my lips, and the blade digs into my palm. “It is much more. . . satisfying.”
She shakes her head slightly, making her hair fall against my shoulder. “Psycho.”
“No, that’s like this.” I mime the overhand strike Norman Bates used.
“Ha. Ha.”
I catch her hand and press the knife into it, continuing my instruction. “Now.” I move her arm until she’s loose and limber, then coach her through a throw. “All the way through. As if you’re slashing someone.” The knife smacks the target, but the tip doesn’t catch, so it clatters to the floor.
“Again.” I trace a circle with my pointer finger, then pat her ass until she heads down the hall to retrieve the weapon. The sight of her swaying away from me has my groin tightening. Her bare body is a thing of beauty, but the bruises from her last session have faded. I’ll have to do something about that later.
I make her throw again and again, driving through the motion until her right arm falters. Then I teach her a left-handed throw. Her chest is heaving, her golden skin slick from exertion.
At last, the knife thunks into the wood, right through a seam. I go to fetch it and touch the tip protruding from the other side. “It went through. Well done, Lula.”
She comes to examine it herself. She’s breathing hard but glowing, her eyes lit with a triumphant light.
“I killed it.”
“You did.” I give her the Good girl signal, and she doesn’t frown at my fingers like she usually does.
She works to wrench the knife out, and as she does, I slip behind her, running my palm down her belly as I kiss her shoulder. “You did well.” I let my hand delve between her thighs, cupping her heat. “You get a reward.”
It only takes a few minutes to work her up with my fingers. I know just where to rub and press and tug. As her muscles tighten, I work a finger into her backside, letting her anus clench on my fingertip. Soon, I’ll introduce her to a plug. She’ll only be allowed to cum with something filling her rear until she associates anal with pleasure.
I worm my finger in deeper. She twists in my arms but ultimately settles, accepting the intrusion along with the clitoral stimulation. In no time, she’s gasping and shaking through her climax. I keep stroking her, stoking the pleasure higher, forcing her through another and another.
Finally, I take my hand away. She slumps forward, and all her weight falls into my arms, pulling me off balance. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough. Her feet find the ground, and she snaps up, her elbow coming toward my face. I turn at the last second and grapple with her, drawing her arm behind her, but she’s determined and falls to her knees. I fall with her, but she has enough of an advantage to scramble away from me. She looks feral on all fours, hair falling wild around her snarling face. She still has the knife.
I smile and crouch and signal her to Come.
She lunges, knife first, and I hit her wrist hard enough to make her drop it. From there, it’s easy to tug her shirt down and restrict her movements. She shucks it off and lets it drop, leaving her naked, which is fine by me.
I stalk towards her, and she turns to run, trying every locked door. Eventually, I corral her back into the living area. She races to the kitchen, probably to look for another weapon, and I lunge, using the advantage of my height and weight to bring her to the ground, face down on the rug, with her arms wrenched backward into my hold.
She yells into the rug, shaking with the force of it.
I lean down and murmur into her dark hair. “To the victor go the spoils.”
That earns me another shout of rage. I ease off her, and she pushes up, attacking me again with her nails stretched toward my eyes.
This time, I catch her wrists and slam her onto her back, pinning her wrists to either side of her head. With my weight half on her, I can keep her immobilized for hours or as long as it takes for her to regain some control of herself.
Slowly, the rage bleeds out of her dark eyes.
“Good work. You almost cut me. If we spar to first blood, that would be a win.”
She bares her teeth at me. “I want more than first blood.”
“We’ll have to practice then. I’ll reward you when you win. But since you lost. . .” I ease off and flip her over. She lands face down over my lap. I don’t have cuffs at hand, but it’s a pleasure to restrain her and watch her bottom and thigh muscles ripple as she struggles. I slap her ass, letting my broad palm catch as much of her rear as I can. She yelps, and I continue punishing her, hard and fast, while her shoulders and hips rock, and she tries to wriggle away. I drape a leg over hers, pinning them down. I spank her ass red until her hips are surging up and down, seeking stimulation.
I’ve trained her to crave pain. I raise a knee under her, letting her rub against my leg until she’s close, then flip her to her back with a hand at her throat. “Little savage. This isn’t for you.”
I swat at her hands and use my knees to spread her legs. After a minute of wrestling, I pin her again and open my pants. I have her where I want her: her arms overhead and breasts lifted, her legs wide, and my cock nudging her folds. “I won. Now I get my reward.”
* * *
Lula
Victor’shuge body blankets me, pressing me to the rug. My bottom is hot and swollen from my spanking, my core pulsing with need. His cock is at my entrance, and I’m wet enough for him to slide right in. But as soon as he tells me he’s won, I start fighting again.
I wriggle and try to ram him in the gut, aiming for the tender spot on his abdomen where my bullet went in. His jaw tightens—he’s so beautiful when he’s angry—and he drapes more of his weight on me, pinning me down.
I force him to tighten his grip until he’s hurting me. This isn’t some sweet lover’s tryst. Sure, he cooked me breakfast and introduced me to his favorite pastime, but we’re not sweethearts tangling on the floor, too overcome with lust to make it to the bedroom. He is my enemy, and I am his.
I cannot forget that. No matter how many orgasms he gives me.
His cock punches into me. My core clenches on that first blunt inch. He’s so big it always takes a few minutes to adjust to him. Today, he’s not giving me time.
“Let me in.” He emphasizes each word with a kick of his hips. He’s merciless in his invasion, and despite myself, my body softens and swallows him up. And, fates help me, it feels so damn good.
I widen my legs and arch off the floor. He lessens the amount of weight on my smaller frame. “That’s it. Good girl.”
“Fuck you.”
“With pleasure.” He rocks into me, and warmth rolls up my torso, blooming in my brain. He moves slowly, and I savor every drag of his long and thick rod. Lights spark behind my eyes.
All too soon, his thrusts turn savage. He clasps my hands and drives into me, holding me captive to his plundering. It’s too much. I want more.
I’m not fighting him anymore. My knees are open wide, and I let myself wrap my legs above his taut buttocks in an attempt to keep up with his punishing rhythm. His face is frozen in an intent grimace, the pale marble of his sculpted arms and chest glistening with sweat. He shifts to his knees, putting his giant hands under my bottom and jackhammering deeper. The head of his cock battering at my womb. My orgasms blow up like a bomb. Again and again, until l lose count of the detonations.
Victor hoists me up and carries me to the armchair, where he flips me face down onto the seat cushion so he can fuck me from behind. I grip the leather until it’s slippery with my sweat. With Victor wedged inside me, my knees don’t quite meet the floor, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t stop slamming into me, driving me forward until I’m clawing at the seat back for purchase. He draws my head back by my hair. Every time he tugs, I clench around him. Somehow I cum again this way, my head tipped back and mouth open, trying to drag oxygen into my lungs.
He flips me again and stands, holding me in his arms. I clutch his shoulders, and he grabs my hips, forcing me down on his cock again. Slowly, he impales me, letting gravity drag me down. At this angle, he’s so deep that I feel him in the back of my throat. When he works my hips for me, sliding me up and down, I stare down at the angry red inches disappearing inside me.
My legs vibrate in one continuous, nonstop climax.
And then we’re in his bedroom, and he’s letting me sink into the plush mattress before propping my legs over his shoulders and powering into me.
He’s still impossibly hard. I cannot believe his stamina.
Times like these, I think I should’ve shot him in the dick. But it’d be a crime to deprive the world of the most perfect penis in existence.
And just as I’m fantasizing about killing him again, he slides a hand up my backside and presses a finger into my ass. I come hard, feeling him everywhere, and he finally follows me over. I clench down on his cock, loving the way he surges inside me.
We lie on our sides for a moment, panting. I need a nap, and I’m going to be sore when I wake up. Victor fucks like he lives—with joyful violence.
“You like my finger in your ass?” He twists his digit deeper.
“No,” I say, just as a mini-tremor runs through me.
“Liar.” He probes me mercilessly. Just when I’ve stretched around his single finger, he adds another.
Meanwhile, his cock is growing harder inside me. As it swells, it adds pressure against the fragile wall between it and his fingers.
“Fuck me,” I moan.
“As you wish.” He removes his fingers from my ass and swings into the cradle of my hips.
“Again?”
“You can take it.”
I mutter something unintelligible. At least now we’re in bed. I watch him through half-closed eyes, letting him use my body to sate himself. I’m a tiny sailboat rocking on an endless ocean.
A warm cloth to my sex snaps me awake.
“Lula, my Lula.” He’s cleaning me, kissing me. Then he turns his head and sweeps his tongue up my cheek, licking the tears off my face. I bare my teeth at him half-heartedly, and he laughs. “You want to mark me, my vicious beauty?” He settles my hand at the wound on his gut. “You already have.”
His skin is smooth under my palm. This is the moment. I could dig my fingers in, break the still-fragile scar tissue, and draw his blood. Instead, I simply rest my hand over the wound, savoring the feel of him. I’ve never liked cuddling, but Victor is huge and powerful, and the basest part of me registers him as safe. He’d never allow anyone to hurt me. He’d reserve that right for himself.
Sleep is rising to claim me. I try to fend it off, muttering, “I should’ve aimed for the heart.” I slide my hand up to his left pectoral. He presses his own hand on top of mine, forcing me to feel his heartbeat thundering in time with mine.
“You may not have aimed for it, but you hit it all the same.”
* * *
Lula
It’sdark in the bedroom when Victor wakes me, rolling me to my side so he can raise my thigh and slide into me.
“You’re nuts,” I mutter into the pillow. I don’t know what time it is, but it feels like the middle of the night. I half doze as he uses my body, only waking when he grunts in satisfaction and folds me into him, kissing the top of my head. I settle in his arms, trying to decide whether the wetness between my legs is his fresh cum or my own arousal.
“Finished?”
“For now.” He kisses my forehead. “Sleep. You need it. I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat.”
“I want pancakes.” I let sleep claim me again.
At our next meal, he makes me pancakes and lets me wear his shirt the whole time. When I’m full, he pulls me into the hall where he’s set up a wooden dummy and teaches me to slash and cut with a knife. “I’d prefer you never need to fight in close combat. But better to be prepared.”
He has me throw knives at a target until my arms are tired and rewards me with a shower and an easy, slow fuck against the tiled walls. Then he uses a straight razor to shave me. Once we’re clean and dry, he props me on all fours in the bed next to a black towel with a tube of lube and a small black plug on top of it.
He strokes my bottom. “Are you going to fight me?”
“I don’t know.” I glare at him over my shoulder. “Are you gonna put that in my ass?”
“Would you prefer to do it yourself?”
“What do you think?” I let him plant a hand between my shoulder blades and push me down so my cheek is flush with the bedspread, my ass high in the air.
“Push out,” he orders and probes me with lube-coated fingers before replacing them with the plug. I blow out a breath at the alien feeling, but it’s not so bad. What’s worse is how he uses his free hand to play with my pussy, and how quickly I grow wet for him.
“Now what?”
“Now a reward.” He twists his fingers into my pussy, finds the rough wall above my entrance, and rubs it. “Do you want me to tie you down?” But I’m already rocking into his hand, the plug adding another dark dimension to my climax.
Much later, he makes me what I think of as a late lunch—thick steaks cooked to perfection. He sits on a bar stool next to me and feeds me bite by bite. And I let him because the meat is too amazing to refuse. Melt-in-the-mouth buttery.
It’s super weird sitting on a stool with a plug in my ass. But it’s not that bad. At least I’m not bound with clamps on my nipples.
It’s the little things.
He pours me a glass of wine, a Chateauneuf-du-Pape that’s beyond compare to my cheap merlots. I lounge in the armchair, tipped onto one hip so I don’t jar the plug in my rear, savoring the smooth but complex red while he does the dishes. Just another episode of Life with a Hitman: Domestic Edition.
It’s been a while—at least a week or two—since I’ve had anything alcoholic to drink, so a few sips go to my head.
“You’ll be happy to know I made contact with men who can find Stephanos,” Victor tells me, speaking over his shoulder from his spot at the sink.
“You did?”
“Yes. They have not yet led me to him, but they will.”
I stare at the ripples in my wine. Having this conversation with Victor is weird. I’m used to thinking of him as an enemy united with Stephanos.
“I asked them who the mole is.”
“Did they tell you?”
“No, but I will tell you when I find out.” He dries another dish. “Your cousin is looking for you.”
“Of course he is.” I can imagine my cousin now, standing with arms braced on his desk, barking orders to his men, and only taking breaks to comfort Leah.
“He’s intensified the search. Offering a reward for any proof of life.”
“Can I get word to him?”
“What would you say?”
That shuts me up. What could I say that Victor would allow? “Wanted: tall blond hitman. Likes to torture people. If spotted. . .” I hesitate.
“Shoot to kill?” Victor dries his hands on a dish towel hanging neatly on the oven handle. The dish towel is a creamy white, decorated with little yellow ducks because why not?
“Maim,” I say. I don’t sound certain. Victor prowls over, holding the wine bottle. He tops me off, then sets the bottle down and scoops me up, only to sit with me in his lap. And I let him. I’m more worried about spilling the wine.
I settle into his arms like we’re a couple decompressing after a long day’s work. A half-naked couple, him only wearing soft slacks and me in nothing—no bra, no panties—but his shirt. And a butt plug.
For a while, Victor does nothing but stroke my back and watch me sip my wine.
Maybe I’m tipsy, but this is nice. The plug is still annoying, but its presence makes my pussy wet.
“Do you like it?” He tips his head towards the glass.
“It’s good.” It’s my turn to turn to him and hold the glass to give him a sip. Which might be a mistake because it leaves his hands free to roam. He trails his fingers over my hip and into the cleft of my bottom, finding the flat end of the plug. He does nothing more than tap it, but I feel the vibration deep in my core.
He just watches me, noting every twitch of my facial muscles, every catch in my breathing.
After a time, he leans in, stirring my hair with a silky whisper. “Do you like your plug?”
I won’t dignify that with a response. He doesn’t need one. His roaming hand finds my bare pussy and the dampness there.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to check.” He’s thorough, too, his fingers dancing from clit to plug and back again. My mind goes blank from the wine, from his touch.
He only stops to pour me more wine. Only a quarter of the bottle left.
“How does this end?” I ask the open air.
He’s drawn down my shirt to play with my breasts, and he brushes his lips across the top of my shoulder.
“Victor,” I call his name to catch his attention. “Will you ever let me go?”
“You know the answer to that.” His long fingers trail over my curves, dipping between them. His callouses catch on my nipples, and my stomach muscles tighten. “We belong together.”
I scoff.
“Can you imagine your life without me?” I open my mouth, and he pinches my nipple in anticipation. “No lies.”
“I’m a lawyer. I twist the truth for a living.”
“Then let this be the time and place you tell the truth. Not only to me but to yourself.” He loosens his grip on my nipple, rolling it between his fingers instead. “If I disappeared tomorrow, would you miss me?”
I imagine it. The empty rooms, the unlocked doors. I’d get my escape, but. . . “I’d be pissed.”
“Would you hunt me down?” He sounds amused, as if predator and prey is a game we play.
Maybe it is.
“Yes.”
“And when you caught me, would you kill me?”
I try to imagine my life before Victor. Nothing but long hours of work for La Famiglia. Nights I spent alone with my resentment and my red wine. Bad wine compared to the heady ambrosia I’m drinking now. “No.”
“So you would miss me. Or perhaps only the orgasms I give you?”
“I crave them,” I finally admit. “I crave you.”
“It’s not a weakness to need another person.”
I want to scoff again, to roll my eyes. He’s wrong. Needing someone is the greatest weakness of all. Instead, I challenge him like the lawyer I am. “Who do you need?”
“You.”
I don’t want to believe him. But he takes my wine, drinks it down in one deep swallow, and takes me back to bed to prove how much one part of his anatomy needs me. Several orgasms later, I’m back to drifting off in his arms, enveloped in his wintry scent. I’m not thinking of how I could incapacitate him and escape. I’m thinking of steaks and massages and sessions on the cross. Secrets whispered in the middle of the night.
Being the one person in the world this dangerous man needs? Fate, save me from this exquisite hell. I do not want to give it up.