Nikolai
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 site 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.
Daisy
I've been sheltered from the outside world all my life.
Homeschooled and farm-raised, I'm so naïve 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.
Scheduled to be release December 2013
NIKOLAI
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.
Jen Frederick
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 jensfrederick@gmail.com.
Jessica Clare
About
the Author:
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.
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