I have been a contract killer since I was a boy. For years I savored the fear caused by my name, the trembling at the sight of my tattoos. The stars on my knees, the marks on my fingers, the dagger in my neck, all bespoke of danger. If you saw my eyes, it was the last vision you’d have. I have ever been the hunter, never the prey. With her, I am the mark and I am ready to lie down and let her capture me. Opening my small scarred heart to her brings out my enemies. I will carry out one last hit, but if they hurt her, I will bring the world down around their ears.
I’ve been sheltered from the outside world all my life. Homeschooled and farm-raised, I’m so naive that my best friend calls me Pollyanna. I like to believe the best in people. Nikolai is part of this new life, and he’s terrifying to me. Not because his eyes are cold or my friend warns me away from him, but because he’s the only man that has ever seen the real me beneath the awkwardness. With him, my heart is at risk..and also, my life.
I watch her through my bathroom window. I've placed one of my four rented chairs in here for that express purpose. I tell myself it is not creepy, as the American girls would say, because I watch everyone. But really I watch only her.
I cannot see everything. I've never seen her nude. I've never seen inside her shower. Smartly there is no window there. But I can see her bedroom and her living room and beyond that, with my scope, her kitchen. I know her schedule. When she gets up in the morning, when she returns to her apartment. If she were a mark, I could've killed her a dozen times over by now and been in the wind.
She throws her bag onto her bed and then lies down next to it. It takes many muscles to smile, more to frown but only a few to pull the trigger. I peer down the scope and place my crosshairs over her forehead. Puff, dead.
I feel restless and think perhaps I should review the information I have compiled for the mark or perhaps look at the routing pattern left by the caller from Neuchâtel. I do neither because as I begin to draw back from the scope her motions arrest me. Her small hand with the pink tipped nails are moving over her belly. One finger traces the tiny lace adorning the top band of her panties. My breath is suspended. Time is suspended.
I have never seen this before. She has never touched herself. Never brought a man home with her. I’d have shot him, maybe. No, I would’ve caused some disturbance. Something. I thought her maybe an innocent and fantasized about awakening her. But now her small fingers are delving beneath the cotton. I can see the bumps of her knuckles as the press against the pale pink fabric. She is moving her fingers in circles.
I imagine my own fingers, much larger, darker and more rough, pressing down upon hers. My fingers flex involuntarily at the thought of her pussy beneath my touch. I’d stroke her lightly and in circles as that is what she appears to like. I’d move my fingers lower, beyond her clit to her hot cunt. It would be wet, dripping wet. My fingers would be soaked and I would pause so that I could lick her sweet honey off each digit.
My cock is so hard I fear that it will break against the denim of my jeans. I draw a hand over my chest and pinch my own nipple hard imagining it is her tiny white teeth tugging on it. I’ve broken out in a light sweat.
Her legs tense and her hand motions become more frantic. I can see her chest rise and fall rapidly and her whole body is strained but when her release comes it is truncated. The look on her face is of frustration rather than satisfaction. She wets her plump lips and closes her eyes. She begins again but again she is unfulfilled.
My emotions war against each other. Unhappiness that she cannot find her own fulfillment but fierce possessiveness arising out of an idea I’ve tried to suppress. In my mind, only I can bring her to orgasm and release. I can teach her to touch herself in a way that will be pleasurable and satisfying.
I would not start with her pussy. No, the skin is the largest sex organ. I would stroke my hands over every inch, starting from her forehead. My lips and fingers would smooth away any furrows. My hands would encircle her neck and sweep down over her shoulders to her fine wrists.
I’d rub my body over hers so that she smelled of me. When she walked on campus, other men would stay away recognizing she was marked as my own. Belonging to Nikolai. Maybe I would tattoo it around her neck like a collar.
Chapter One posted at Natasha is a Book Junkie and can be found HERE
Chapter Two posted at Angie’s Dreamy Reads and can be found HERE
Chapter Three posted at The Rock Stars of Romance and can be found HERE
Chapter Four posted at The Rock Stars of Romance and can be found HERE
Right from the get go I was intrigued by this story. A hit man and farm girl? What could they possible have in common…except everything?
Nick “Nikolai” watches Daisy from afar while staking out his next hit. He’s taken by her innocence and beauty. He has lived a hard life on the cusp of right and wrong in a world where a solider of the Bratva does not question moral turpitude…he is not entitled to a conscience all his own. Though his mentor releases him from the Bratva he never truly escapes it; and it’s with the murder of that beloved mentor that Nick knows he must seek his vengeance on the family who killed him. The secluded life of a hit man leaves him caged, a connection he’ll learn he shares with Daisy.
Daisy has lived in her own cage. Every action controlled by her agoraphobic father who has turned their home into a prison out of fear of the outside world harming what little he has left. Daisy knows there is a whole world outside her door…one she is limited to experience on her brief trips from the house to run errands for essential necessities. Coming up with a plan, she bides her time and finds her self leaving behind the only life she knows…for the unknown. Finding an apartment, job and new best friend, her world starts to open up when in walks Nick.
There is a very charming quality to these two and in their interactions with one another. Neither knows how to be with someone in a loving, committed relationship. Nick is almost as innocent as Daisy in many ways. Not only is there a sweetness and tenderness to them, there is an intensity that lures you into wanting more. Nick is possessive of Daisy right off the bat, he only wants to keep her safe. Normally this would drive me crazy, but Nick has never come across a woman like Daisy who is so in need of love and protection BUT also holds her own, she tells him no, she tells him exactly what she wants…she sees him. It makes the way he handles her with care endearing.
As the two get closer everything explodes. Nick’s Bratva “family” knows he seeks vengeance for his mentor’s death and decide not to wait for him to make a move. This puts Daisy in the crosshairs and finds her learning all of Nick’s secrets about who he really is. However not all Bratva are on the same page and it makes for a very interesting who do you trust scenario.
In the mix of things are Regan, Daisy’s roommate and friend, and Daniel, Nick’s fellow hit man and not-so-much-friend. Regan gets caught up in this whole mess when the Bratva come for Daisy and well, lets just say she does not yet have a happy ending. Her story is going to crush me…I’m almost positive. Daniel has reached out to Nick on more than one occasion to tempt Nick into an alliance of sorts but it's not until Nick needs help protecting Daisy that he lets him in.
This was one of those books I found I did not want to put down, each page left me needing to know what would come next; I would have read it all in one sitting had I been able to.
In the end our H/h get an HEA…though there is a bit of a cliff for the secondary characters Daniel and Regan. I’m really eager for the next book, as I loved Daniel from the first moment he interacts with Nick, and to know he’s who helps with Regan, I simply MUST have their story.
Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at email@example.com.
Author Jessica Claire
This is a pen name for Jill Myles.
Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the 'naughty parts' of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.
After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own - stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.