Last Kiss (Hitman #3) (20 page)

When I arrive back at our little room, Naomi is sitting in a chair that is draped with her clothes and mine.

“Where did you go?” She scowls.

“To get our entrée into Ponte delle Tette. It is an invitation-only fetish club in Venice. Guillaume Beaulieu is a man who can procure many things such as these.”

“The Bridge of—”

“Tits,” I supply as she struggles for the
tette
translation. “Everything in Venice involves water.”

“How come Guillaume can’t find your painting?”

“He trades in favors and small gems. He does not take on tasks that would endanger him . . . not anymore, at least.”

She makes no attempt to look inside the bag, perhaps afraid of germs, so I open the package for her. The invitations are on heavy vellum and tucked inside a large linen handcrafted envelope stamped with the letters
PdT
in large script. There are two masks, made by Ca’ Macana, along with one other thing. Perhaps the most important thing.

“This club is somewhat different. Everyone will wear a mask. Our costumes are thoroughly checked for electronics, particularly cameras or recording devices as well as weapons. Sex clubs in Venice are rare. There is no obvious prostitution nor any red-light district. Only private clubs exist, and this is one of the most discreet. In the club there is every kind of perversion you can imagine. Every kind. Our goal, Naomi, is to find and to place
this on our mark.” I lay a tag on the table between us. It is a two-inch-by-two-inch square that is made of gold filament.

“Is this an NFC tag?” She grabs it and holds it up to the light.

“It is of the same design, yes, but while a near field communication tag can only be read up to four feet, this can be tracked from a distance. But it is powered by nearby electronics. If our mark goes near any type of Bluetooth or radio signal, it will emit a signal, like a homing device. Because it is made of gold filament, it will register as part of the costuming rather than a banned metal.”

“How do we know who our mark is?”

“We look for the right perversion.”

“Which is?”

I stare at her. “The
Madonna and the Volk
is the painting he has acquired. Another of his favorites is
Leda and the Swan
.”

“Ohhhh,” she says with growing understanding. And then, “Ewww.”

I smother a laugh. “And this is yours, not part of a costume, but because I promised. And I always deliver my promises.”

She stares wide-eyed at the baseball cap in my hands.

NAOMI

I can’t stop gazing at the baseball cap in his hands. It’s a soft, distressed gray like my old one. There’s no fraying on the edges like the one I abandoned, but it’s similar, right down to the lack of a logo and the Velcro fitting strap across the back of the head.

He’s so thoughtful. Always, always thoughtful.

He holds it out to me, this
volk
, this monster who claims to have no soul. Who says he will destroy my family if they stand in his way. Who says he feels nothing for anyone and does not like to be touched.

But he likes my touch. And he remembered my baseball cap and how miserable I was to lose it.

I reach out and take it from him with shaking fingers.

“I regret we will have to experience another sex club, Naomi. I trust that you will be able to conduct yourself as you did last
time? Because you did very well. I have brought earplugs in case you will require them again.”

He’s talking, but I’m not listening. I finger the Velcro strap. It’s so clean, no lint stuck in the tiny plastic hooks. I adore it already. “Has this been laundered?”

“It was factory sealed when I purchased it. I made the vendor remove it from a plastic bag.”

Oooh, factory sealed. Germ free. I shiver. Those are magical words for me.

Vasily continues to talk about the club. Something about depravities and masks and historical figures in Venice who have visited the club. I’m not paying attention. I squeeze the bill to give it a little shape, and then adjust the strap to what will fit my head, and then put it on. It’s perfect. It’s not quite the one I lost, but it’s so close and I know he picked this out especially for me.

My heart is doing more of those funny little flips. My
volk
. My monster. I’m not even mad about the mattress anymore.

“I regret we cannot blindfold you this time,” he continues in that deep voice, looking at me. “Will you be able to function?”

“I think this cap is made from denim and not the normal acrylics,” I tell him, smoothing my fingers along the bill. It’s so soft that it’s arousing me. And it’s not just the cap. It’s that feeling I have when I look at Vasily, who’s going on and on about some sex club, and who showed me my G-spot earlier.

I know he’s a sociopath. I don’t care. We all have our issues. But he’s my sociopath, and as long as he doesn’t hurt me or my family, or make me feel like less, he’ll be mine and I’ll be his. I’ll tell him my conditions and then we can have crazy, slapping sex again.

I liked being wild with him.

“Naomi?” he says.

I look up from my blissful contemplation of my cap and pull it off my head, lovingly placing it on the clothing-covered arm of the chair. I want to wear the cap, but I also want to kiss Vasily’s hard mouth at the moment, and it will get in the way. “What is it?”

“You are not listening to me, are you?” His words are words that I have learned are angry ones, but he’s smiling at me like I have done something cute. This man is difficult to read. I don’t know if he’s happy or mad, so I decide that I will distract him.

I get up from the chair and approach him, then straighten his collar a moment before I grab it and mash my mouth against his.

My
volk
.

He groans and his mouth moves against mine, his tongue delving into my mouth, and I meet it with my own. I’m no longer afraid of Vasily’s germs—I welcome them. They’re mine and I’m his and we’re sharing everything, right down to microbes. My anger from earlier has vanished at the sight of the cap. I was seething not an hour ago—from that nasty trick about the mattress to the fact that he’d dyed my hair, again, while I was passed out and left me in a strange city.

But the cap has forgiven all. I’m filled with lust and a peculiar affection for this man. He confuses me, he doesn’t always listen to me, but sometimes I think he understands me better than anyone I know.

So I kiss the hell out of him, so fierce that my teeth scrape along his tongue and nip at his lip, and I can feel the shudder that wracks his body in response. I think of the earlier sex, the toe-curling intensity of it, and I want it again. I’m a cat with a new toy, an Aspie with a fixation, and I want more sex.

“Naomi,” he murmurs as I release his mouth and bite at the
faint blond beard stubble on his chin. It looks ludicrous with his dark hair but I don’t care. The texture of it is fascinating, and the taste of it is Vasily, which means it is mine, too.

“Hush,” I tell him. “I’m seducing you. I want more sex.”

He chuckles, the sound reverberating low in his chest, and my fingers undo the buttons at his collar and shove clothing aside. I want to see him bare, to press my mouth to more of his hot skin. And I want to bite him. I’m not sure if that’s appropriate, but if it’s not, he’ll tell me.

When my questing fingers reveal his chest, though, I pause. Raised red welts cover his chest, along with small reddish-purple bruises and scratches. I vaguely remember losing control during our last encounter. “Was this me?”

“
Da
,” he says, and his voice has dropped to a low, husky note.

I’m momentarily stymied. “Was this . . . inappropriate? Did I go too far? You have to tell me these things.” I smooth a hand over his chest, chagrined. “I can’t read facial expressions so I don’t know—”

His hand closes over mine. Squeezes it. “I liked it,” he tells me in a rough voice. “Naomi, in case I have not said it obvious enough, I enjoy being hurt during sex. It makes me very aroused.”

Curious, I decide to test this with a little experiment. I dig my nails into one of the scratches and watch his face. Sure enough, his pupils dilate and his breathing becomes quicker the harder I dig. Fascinating. I pull my hand from his and drag my nails roughly across the hard planes of his chest. “Is this a compulsion formed in childhood or is it the result of trauma? Or is this something you were born with?”

“Are you disturbed by my needs?”

That’s not an answer, but I let it slide anyhow because I’m
more fascinated by the thought of playing with him. “I want to bite you,” I tell him. “Hard. Really hard.” My hand smooths over his chest again. “On all these muscles—”

He grabs me with a muffled curse and drags me toward the bathroom.

“Where are we going?”

“I need a shower. And I am going to fuck you while we are in it, since you do not like the bed.”

Oooh.

We head into the small bathroom, hand in hand, and it still smells of the cleaning supplies I used. Before I showered, I hunted through the bathroom and found cleaners under the sink, and scrubbed the tile and tub before I stepped into it. I gave them another round of cleaning after my shower, so no trace of the nasty mattress germs remained.

“I smell cleaner,” he tells me. “You?”

“Yes, I cleaned everything. Even the tile walls.”

“Good,” he says thickly. “I am going to push you against one and fuck you.”

My pulse flutters to hear that. Oh, wow. That’s an erotic thought, and more exciting than anything I’ve done with a computer in a long, long time. I eye the shower and the now-clean tile, imagining us pushed against it. My nipples harden in response.

“You are quiet.”

“I was just impressed that I got wet so fast,” I admit to him. “Want me to show you?”

He snarls like the
volk
he is, and then we are kissing again, ripping at each other’s clothing. Fabric tears under my fingers, but I don’t care. If my violence excites him, I’ll give him violence. I want him as aroused as I am.

As our mouths mesh and our tongues twine, I tug at his clothing, snaking it down his arms and freeing his big, brawny, bitable chest. He’s ripping at my own clothing, and somewhere in our excitement, he’s managed to turn on the water to the shower. Steam begins to fill the room but neither one of us has stepped toward the water. We’re too busy divesting the other of clothing.

“Looking at your big body lubricates me instantly,” I tell him, pressing my thighs tighter together so I can feel the delicious squeeze of my wet flesh as it slides against itself. “It’s interesting that such a physiological reaction can happen so quickly. My body must be very attuned to yours.”

“Is that so?” His accent is thick, a sure sign—at least to me—that he’s enjoying my words.

“It’s true,” I say as I step out of my panties. “Feel my secretions.” And I take his hand and guide it between my legs. “Very wet, yes?”

His fingers press against my vaginal lips and then dip between them, moving back and forth. Even his hand feels so big that I get even more aroused, and when one finger traces the opening to my vagina, I bear down on it, wrap my hands around his neck, and lean in and bite the hell out of his clavicle.

Vasily snarls and thrusts his finger deep inside me, and I ride it, biting madly at all the skin I can find. I dig my teeth in, wanting to mark him more. I think he likes the marks, so I will leave him with dozens of them to pet and admire.

“You must stop,” he tells me.

“No,” I say and drag my teeth across his skin viciously.

The breath hisses from between his lips and he fingers me roughly even as he drags our joined bodies back to the sink. I make a protesting noise as his fingers slide from my pussy—so wet that
they make a sound as they leave—and cling to him as he tries to roll on a condom while I distract him. I rub my own pussy because it feels good, and then drag my fingers over his hungry mouth as he rolls the condom down his length. “Drink,” I command him.

He sucks my fingers clean, and his teeth nip at my skin. When I pull my fingers free of his mouth, I give it a light slap. We’re acting like savages, and I’ve never been so aroused or had so much fun. I love the way Vasily’s gaze narrows as I smack him, and his lungs heave like bellows.

And then he grabs me by the waist and drags us both into the shower, and I’m pressed against the wall a split second before he wrenches my thighs apart and slams into me.

I scream with pleasure. The shock of him forcing his way inside is delicious, and I’m so wet that it doesn’t hurt. I love his wildness, his frenzy as he hauls my legs higher around him and shoves deeper inside me with the next thrust. I want to claw at his shoulders as he begins to roughly piston his hips against my pinned ones, but the water is making our bodies slick, and there’s nothing for me to grab but his hair.

Oh, his hair.

I grab two fistfuls of it and yank even as I lean in to bite at his beautiful, hard mouth, so like the sculpture of a cruel god. His breath hisses out again and he snarls something that I pay no attention to, and he’s fucking me so hard and fast that I’m pretty sure he’s going to come in the next two seconds. And I want that, so I pull his hair harder. “My
volk
,” I yell in his ear. “You’re mine, right?”

“Yours,” he growls, and gives me one mighty shove, his entire body trembling as he spends inside me. Then his hips shudder against mine and his wild plunges slow down.

He’s come and I’m still wanting. So I slap at skin and tug at hair. “More, Vasily, more!”

“Patience,” he tells me in a thick voice. I think he’s feeling good, but I’m not there yet, and so I yank his hair again, like a child deprived of a pony ride. His hand steals between our sealed bodies and I feel the hard press of it between us as it steals to where our bodies are joined. Then, his thumb rubs against my clit.

My legs jerk. Between the feeling of his still-hard cock inside me and his thumb on my clitoris as he begins to rub, it takes mere moments before I’m screaming my own pleasure, and I come with my teeth sunk into Vasily’s shoulder as he continues to work and manipulate my clit. I sigh with relieved pleasure as the aftershocks end and he slowly drops me from the wall to land on my feet in the tub.

“Let us wash together,” he says, and peels the condom off.

It’s a good idea. We both need to clean up. I step forward into the spray, and his hands begin to run over my wet skin. He unwraps a bar of nearby soap and begins to rub it along my breasts and arms, cleaning me. I stand still and let him.

“You are not uneasy about the sex club?” he asks.

“Hmm?” I’m drowsy with endorphins, and my legs are a little weak in the knees. I feel really good, too. Gosh, I love sex with Vasily, fluids and all. It’s clear I’ve been missing out on something great. I wonder if there are other exciting things we can do in bed. This might just be the tip of the iceberg—

He grips my chin and turns my face toward him so he has my attention. “Naomi. Are you uncomfortable with the sex club we must visit?”

“No? I think I like sex now.” My hands move over his chest, reddened with my scratches and bites. One of his nipples is
purpling from where I sucked on it too hard. I should feel a twinge of guilt but all I can think is how he must have enjoyed that. “I’m just sorry we haven’t had a lot of uses for a hacker at the moment. I mean, you don’t need a black hat for going into a sex club, you know? If you wanted me to appropriate funds for you, I could. If you wanted me to take down a network, I could. But suck on your cock in front of others? You don’t need me for that.”

“I do not need a hacker,” he agrees, and my heart momentarily drops. But his hands skim along my wet skin and then cup one of my breasts. “But I need you. You are the only person that can touch me and I do not feel revulsion, Naomi.”