Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Rett
Remember when I said he’d already stolen my heart so I couldn’t give him anything else?
I stood corrected. Because, as it turns out, if he had the ability to take my heart, then everything else was basically waiting on a silver platter. Which he helped himself to.
I couldn’t even be mad about it. Not when he was buried in my body and his arms wrapped me up so good. He was exactly as I remembered—devastating in the very best way.
Honestly, I never stood a chance.
As long as I could remember, I always had this fantasy.
That someday, someone would show up and be all he’s the one and rescue me from every bad situation, erase all the hurt I’d ever felt, and protect me as if his life depended on it.
Maybe it wasn’t very modern or independent to have a rescue fantasy, but for someone who’d spent their life in survival mode and just wanting to feel safe, it was my ultimate daydream.
That was all it was supposed to be. A rescue fantasy. A wishful daydream. Something to keep me going when things were hard.
But then he appeared out of the shadows, fulfilling those fantasies like he knew every secret I ever had, and made promises out of my dreams.
It was hard to push myself away from the comfort of his chest, but I guess Haz was right. I was good at gossip because I had questions.
His arms barely gave an inch when I sat back, and my stomach somersaulted at the feeling of being possessed. I wiggled a little farther onto his softening dick, a wordless way of saying I didn’t plan to go far.
“You really haven’t had sex with anyone in two years?” Yes, it’s what I led with. Might as well have had its own most-wanted poster for how bad I wanted to know.
His warm, satisfied eyes traveled over my face like looking at me was some kind of luxury and he was committing every detail to memory. The undivided attention filled me with an unfamiliar warmth, and when his thumb stroked across my cheek, butterflies fluttered inside me.
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because you’re so sexy.” Completely irresistible, actually. “You could have anyone.”
“Anyone isn’t you.”
“Then why’d you leave?” I blurted, not sure I wanted the answer but needing it all the same. It was the question that haunted me most. Almost as much as his absence. I asked myself almost every day, even when I told myself the answer was that I obviously wasn’t enough.
“I told you. I had a job.”
That was his go-to answer for everything. I was beginning to suspect he might be a workaholic.
“And you thought I couldn’t love a hitman?” The question came out fresh and completely unedited, making me realize a couple of things all at once.
I said the word love. But I meant it, so was there any use in taking it back?
and
Clearly, I should not try to have a conversation with his dick anywhere near me because it turned my private thoughts into mandatory announcements.
His eyes rounded like two big saucers, and I braced myself for the fallout of an accidental love confession. Turned out the word love was not the inflammation in that sentence. It was hitman.
“Who told you I’m a hitman?”
So me knowing his job was worse than me loving him. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
He was looking at me like he expected me to spill the tea, but I wasn’t sure I should. I mean, I didn’t want Haz to get in trouble for telling me. Also, I wasn’t exactly sure, but it seemed like gossip was something that should stay between friends.
“I never should have left you alone with that half-pint,” he grouched, figuring out my source without me opening my mouth.
It really annoyed me that he called Haz that, and I started to lift off his lap, which made me grumpy and annoyed because I wasn’t ready to move.
His hands, which had fallen away, slapped back around my hips, anchoring me in place. “Don’t even think about it.”
Obviously, I’d already thought it because I was already in motion. Duh.
Despite his ironclad hold, his dick slid free, and I felt empty and sticky all at once. Oh.
He tsked and quickly guided his hand between us to plug two fingers inside me.
I gasped, flexing around him while resisting the urge to swivel my hips. “W-what are you doing?” Please keep doing it.
“Keeping you full,” he rumbled. “I like knowing you’re stuffed with me.”
I flushed hot at the intimate words.
I hadn’t realized it until a moment ago, but he didn’t use a condom. Two years ago, he did. This was the first time he’d ever spilled inside me. The first time anyone ever had. I’d been so consumed at the time that I hadn’t even been able to think about it.
Now it consumed me. I wiggled a little, relishing the sticky feel between my thighs and the wetness of my hole. There was nothing between us. Nothing at all.
It should be really awkward to sit in a man’s lap, naked and vulnerable, while he used his fingers to keep his claim deep inside me.
Especially with so much… stuff (and I don’t mean cum) between us.
But it wasn’t.
It just felt… right. Like this was where I belonged.
“And I’m not a hitman.”
Oh. Was Haz mistaken, then? “So you don’t kill people with the government’s permission?”
He scowled. “You two were supposed to be eating breakfast, not gossiping.”
“We can talk and eat at the same time,” I pointed out.
His face twisted into a grimace/snarl. “I prefer the term sanctioned operative.”
“Is that a fancy word for hitman?”
“It means I do shit other people would be in jail for, but I do it because it needs to be done.”
“Like killing people?”
He squinted. It wasn’t intimidating. “You got some weird fetish for murder?”
Wouldn’t that make me a serial killer? Oh my god, was he a serial killer?
Grunting, he made a face and pointed to mine with his free hand. “What’s that face you’re making? I don’t like it.”
“Are you a serial killer?”
He scoffed like that was stupid. “I’ve killed more than any lame serial killer.”
“So you’re worse than a serial killer?” I surmised. And if so, why was I still happier than a clam to be sitting there with his fingers plugging his cum in my ass?
“I only kill when it needs to be done. But I do other stuff too, like recon and information retrieval. I’m very good at getting in and out of places without being seen.”
“That’s why everyone calls you Ghost.”
“You called me Ghost back there,” he observed, cocking his head to the side.
His strong brows perfectly framed those scrutinizing deep-umber irises.
His Asian-American features blended perfectly, creating a face—an entire vibe—that was carved from contrast. A man made of sharp lines and soft edges in all the perfect places.
“Because I didn’t want Tommy to know your real name.”
His features tightened. “Because you’re scared of him?”
“Because you’re my Hiro.”
“Territorial,” he mused. “I dig it.”
I’m glad someone did because my being this proprietary over him was pure stupidity on my part.
But there was really no point in denying it anymore. Clearly, I had a penchant for bad boys. Which explained my reading habits so well.
“So that dude who looks like he moisturizes with motor oil, his name is Tommy?”
It was an accurate description. He did look greasy. I nodded my head.
“Tommy what?”
I shrugged. I only knew him by Tommy.
He sighed dramatically. “You have the observation skills of a bat during daylight saving time.”
I wasn’t really sure what that meant. Weren’t bats blind, so would it really matter what time of day it was? In any case, it seemed like an insult. Besides, what was I supposed to do, ask for his ID while I was asking for pills?
“Well, you have the tact of a car alarm at three a.m.,” I countered. Good one!
“Living around here, that’s probably a sound you know well,” he mumbled.
I didn’t bother pointing out that people around here could barely afford a car, let alone one with an alarm. It only proved his point.
Verbally sparring with him was a lot of work.
“So I take it you aren’t friends with motor oil head? And that’s why he helped himself to your apartment.”
I gasped, remembering Tommy had been alone in here for God knew how long.
I jolted up, but Hiro’s hand tightened around my hip. “Easy.”
“I need to check something.” Actually, I needed to check a lot of things.
“All right, slow your roll,” he cautioned, slowly removing his fingers from inside me. My hole felt sensitive and a little sore, but the way he rubbed the rim gently before pulling back completely made me forget.
“You didn’t use a condom.” I pointed out the obvious.
“You’re mine,” he replied as if that were explanation enough.
It was.
“Be careful getting up.” His voice was gentle. Not at all the menacing tone he’d used with Tommy.
I started to slide off, but my stiff hip protested, and my knee didn’t want to straighten. I slid to the side, both hands landing on the cushion for balance.
Hiro moved quickly but more gracefully than I’d ever been and wrapped an arm around my waist and stood, straightening us both. I stretched out alongside him, feeling the protest in my limbs while flexing my fingers at my sides.
“Pip,” he started, voice laden with concern.
“Be right back!” I said, dashing (okay, stumbling) toward the sink.
It was a gut punch the second I saw the black headphones submerged in water. They were ruined. Completely ruined.
How was I supposed to work later? I could call off, but I needed the money. I could maybe run out and buy a new pair, which meant spending some of my emergency fund, possibly running into Tommy on the street, and forgoing that nap I was so looking forward to.
My shoulders felt heavy as I weighed my options and dipped my hand into the sink to pull the headphones from the water. A sad sound echoed from somewhere deep inside me as I wrapped them in the single kitchen towel I owned.
“He do that?” Hiro demanded from behind me.
I didn’t answer, my attention on the half-eaten bowl of cereal sitting on the counter. The empty box was on its side, and raisins littered the laminate. Did he just pick them out and eat the flakes? Why would he eat my food if he didn’t even like it?
Because he could.