And then she would still be in his life. In that moment he knew he was fucked because he would take war from her over never seeing her again.
“Deal,” he said before lifting her up and shoving her against the door. Somehow, he managed to get the condom out and on.
His cock was inside her a second later, and he didn’t hold back. She wasn’t some fragile thing. She gave every bit as good as she got. Her legs wound around him, and he could tell she wasn’t afraid he would drop her or hurt her. She wanted it. Wanted his cock, wanted this thing between them that felt ancient and so warm it could hold him forever.
He kissed her as he moved inside her, all that silky heat threatening to overwhelm his every sense.
He wished he’d taken his damn shirt off because he wanted to feel her breasts against his chest, to know there was absolutely nothing between them, but the situation was too desperate.
He’d worried she would turn him away, but she’d opened her arms and her home and heart to him.
If he could trust her…
Her nails bit into his back. She’d gotten her hands under his shirt, touching him like she couldn’t stop. She shuddered, and he felt her tighten around him as she came.
Then there was nothing to stop him. He thrust in again and again, as if he could brand himself on her flesh, could own her through sheer physical possession.
The orgasm slammed into him, and he fused their mouths together, needing to be as physically close to her as he could in that moment.
This was far more than sex. More than anything he’d felt before, and he couldn’t be sure she wasn’t the enemy.
And in that moment, when she held him close and whispered to him, he didn’t care.
“I’m so glad you came back to me.”
He eased her down but held her close to him, not ready to let her go.
He might never be ready.
* * **
Kenzie closed the car door and prayed for patience.
Her mother waved from the front porch and then disappeared, likely to go help Travis pack.
They’d made the decision to send her brothers to Bliss for a couple of weeks until they figured out the whole assassin thing. Her mom was taking Colton and Travis and Seth to the airport later that day. They didn’t want the younger men of the family caught in the crossfire.
Though there were apparently other reasons she was acting as her dad’s personal chauffeur.
She turned on the car as Sosa kept talking.
“Then Miss Charlotte gives conditioner and shampoo, and it smells so good. Like the kind we get when we’re going to have to sleep with target before we kill them.” Sosa was a peach this morning.
“They don’t let you bathe? Or is that a French thing.” Her father sat next to her, claiming the seat before Ben could get in. He said something about his back and the seat heater.
She shouldn’t have walked in. She should have honked at the end of the drive and forced her dad and his would-be murderer to walk out and take the seats that were left. But no, she’d driven all the way to the house and gone in.
The houses in this part of the city were big and had some serious land. If someone wanted to drive up to the Taggart house, it was a haul and with so many cameras.
She’d thought she would meet with a crying Russian assassin, but Sosa had been sitting in the kitchen devouring Kenzie’s mother’s strawberry waffles and making friends with her dad’s Black Russian Terrier, though Kenzie had been pleased to see that her mom’s Cavalier King Charles Spaniel had watched from a wary distance.
Apparently Sosa was giving them decent intel. Decent enough they hadn’t buried her body in the backyard, and wasn’t that a shame.
“Dad.” Her father could be a massive ass sometimes. “Sorry, new friend, he’s sarcastic, but you’ll find out he’s brutal with pretty much everyone. He’ll tell you that’s what being tolerant means, but he doesn’t actually understand the definition of the words.”
Sosa’s head shook in the rearview mirror. It was obvious her mom had spent some time on the girl. She was wearing what looked likeKala’s old sweats and a McKay-Taggart hoodie, her hair in a ponytail, and with light makeup she looked even younger than before. “No, he’s not wrong. I’m not saying all French men are terrible. They’re not, but you should understand that I mostly assassinate mobsters and politicians and criminals. Surprisingly, it’s usually the politicians that are…how you say…smelly like unwashed ass. See, my friend Astrid, she believe that if you’re going to distract victim with sex before you murder you must allow them to finish and then slit the throat. She think it is good karma, but I usually get the killing done and say what a good time he has. Outcome is same, but with less scrubbing afterward for me. I find pretending to want to ride sweaty man like bull is excellent way to stab him in heart. What’s your favorite way?”
First off, Kenz was pretty sure that wasn’t how to ride a bull. Huh. Now that she thought about it, that wasn’t an accurate representation of girl on top since one rode a bull or stallion’s back, so it would be more like humping, though it would be a good position from which to slit a throat. Accuracy was important in her line of work.
