The Hitman's Dancer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Snake Eyes Book 2) (10 page)

I take my cock in hand and pull it out, despite her objections. “Show me your tongue.”

She obeys, tilting her head back and sticking it out. I stroke myself off, aiming my tip inside her mouth. Her little, green eyes beg me for it like a thirsty animal and I would be a fucking monster if I didn’t give it to her. She’s earned it, after all.

I shoot inside, letting the pool of white form on her delicate, pink tongue. She moans for it, pleasure crossing her eyes once more as it drips along her taste buds. I release her neck and she closes her lips around me, sucking me dry as I groan with delight.

“Good girl,” I whisper, wiping her chin. She pushes off the floor and I kiss her again, sucking on her numb, tired lips. “Go upstairs. I’m not done with you yet.”

Lucy smiles, her tits practically spilling out of her tight, black dress. She pushes up onto her toes for one more kiss, one that I can’t bring myself to deny her. Her lips taste so sweet, like warm milk and honey.

I almost object as she pulls away and walks down the hall, her little ass swaying in the most perfect way as she goes.

Fuck me.
It wasn’t all a fluke. That orgasm felt as intense as the last one. I take that back, actually. It was even more so with those adorable, sultry eyes staring daggers into mine as I shot down her fucking throat.

I’ve spent my whole life traveling the world, working for all sorts of different, horrible people, even worse than myself. I’ve gone undercover plenty of times, been shot at even more, but in my entire career, I’ve never once been compromised.

Not like this.

I feel it deep inside. That
change
, taking over the only part of me I thought could never change.

The killer inside.

I follow the sound of her heels on the floor, clacking up the stairs towards my bedroom just like I told her to do. Little Lucy Vaughn. From the moment I met her, she’s proved to be nothing but a challenge. One I gladly accepted but a challenge nonetheless. She shouldn’t be here. She’s smarter than this, better than this.

“Lucy.” She pauses at the top of the stairs and looks down at me from the shadows. “Why are you still here? With me?”

“Because I want to be.”

And just like that, she turns around and walks into my bedroom.

My god. Either it’s finally happened and I’m becoming something else in front of her very eyes or she’s just as crazy as I am.

I walk up the stairs to my room to find her lying naked on the bed, wearing nothing but her heels and a smile.

Definitely crazy.

But I’m not complaining.

Chapter 8

Lucy

I roll over onto my side to find him lying next to me. It’s barely morning yet. The world is still dark and cold outside… and he’s still here with me.

I keep waking up, thinking that it’ll be the time when I look over at his side and he’ll be gone. Off to work. Off to do whatever the hell he does while Spencer offers me toast.

I wiggle my feet, finally regaining feeling in my toes. Tonight was
intense
and by intense, I mean
holy fucking shit
. Dante Hart. Mafia hitman. Master of my cunt.

I focus my vision in the dark, watching him as his chest rises and falls. My eyes go lower, curiosity peaking inside of me as I push the comforter down to his waist.

The black eyes of the snake stare back at me. I’ve never seen it before on anyone and these mob guys are all about showing off their ink to anyone that’ll even glance in their direction. I reach out to touch it, careful not to put any pressure on his tanned skin.

Dante fidgets in the sheets and I jump my hand back but not fast enough. He snatches it out of the air and opens his eyes. They shift in their sockets, quickly finding me beside him in the dark. “Ms. Vaughn…” he growls.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

His lips curl as he twists his arm around me and pulls me in against him. “You’re cold,” he notes. I tremble against his warm body, feeling his taut abs against my back. His lips fall to my shoulder and they purse against my skin, sending little blasts of pleasure throughout my arms.

“Mr. Hart…”

“Yes?”

I turn my face to look at him and his lips graze my cheek. “You’re still here.”

He chuckles, his warm breath tickling my skin. “Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know.”

He shifts over, drawing me even closer to him with his strong arms. “Relax.” His lips crush mine, feeding the lingering desire still torturing my nerves. “Get some sleep.”

I kiss him back. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I do, you’ll be gone when I wake up…”

“Some might say that’s a good thing.”

“Dante—”

He inhales fast, bolting up to balance over me on both arms. “God, I love the way you say that…” He lowers himself down to kiss me and I feel him growing hard against my thigh.

I grin.
“Dante.”

His lips attack my neck, leaving hard bites on my flesh. I wince with delicious pain, aching all over as he descends beneath the sheets. He cups my breasts and pinches my nipples to life as I writhe beneath him, begging for him to go lower.

I moan as his stubbled face rubs between my thighs and his heavy breath strikes my folds. His rough hands push my knees farther apart, so far I’m practically doing the splits on his face. He cups my ass, lifting me towards his working mouth and he tongues my clit with devious intent.

I cry out at the ceiling. My toes immediately start to curl. He locks his lips around my bud, sucking softly as my hips jerk beneath him. He holds me there, refusing to let me take control, lapping up every bit of moisture that pours out of me.

“Dante!”

He groans against me, sending fierce vibrations through my core for me to get off on. I try to hold back, to let this pleasure last longer, but he plays me like his own fucking instrument. I’ll make whatever noise he wants me to, when he wants me to, and I can do nothing but lie here and let him pluck my strings.

Waves crash in around me and my entire body rides them on his face. He refuses to let me move, wrapping his arms around my legs to keep his tongue locked on me. It’s too much. It’s far too sensitive but I’m not strong enough to pull away. I moan louder, screaming his name, squeezing his thick hair with my trembling hands, praying for a reprieve.

Dante’s tongue slows down but he doesn’t stop. He keeps me going, pushing through the wave of ecstasy, forcing me around again while I squirm in his hands. Just as he senses me coming down, he picks up his speed until another orgasm tears through me.

“Oh—
fuck fuck
—!”

I slap his forehead, fighting back, begging for him to release me. Finally, I hear him laugh beneath the covers and his hot tongue sheaths itself back inside his blissful mouth. He climbs up my body, kissing my skin as he goes, and pins my arms above my head. I heave beneath him, completely out of control of my body. Even my toes have gone numb again.

“There,” he growls, my scent on his breath. “How do you feel now?”

“Exhausted,” I chuckle.

“Good.” He falls to his side and wraps an arm around me to hug me close again. “Now go to fucking sleep.”

I laugh before drifting off in his thick arms.

***

“And what’s that position called?”

“It’s called a warrior 2,” I explain as I extend my arms out parallel to the floor, one in front and the other behind me, and shift my legs into a forward lunge. The silk, blue robe slides across my skin as I move, leaving wonderful tickles that I just can’t get enough of.

Dante stares at me from his bed with his arms resting behind his neck. White scars lie scattered across his skin, illuminated by the morning sun. Each one tells a story, one that I’m wildly curious to hear. “And you do this every morning?”

I nod, pushing further into the stretch. “Yoga and other various things. Don’t you have some kind of routine? You’re in great shape.”

“Not really,” he smirks.

“Well, you should have one,” I say, taking another deep breath before rising out of it.

“How about…” He rolls onto his side. “Every morning, I
watch
you as
you
do your routine. Does that count?”

I chuckle and lower my arms. “It’s a start.”

“Excellent.”

I wander back to the bed. “So, does this mean I’ll be staying over more often?”

“It might.”

I hop onto the bed, smiling wide, and slip back beneath the covers with him. “Well, I can think of worse ways to spend my nights.” I mount him and straddle his thick lap, drawing my fingertip along the curve of the black cobra’s tail on his abs. He grows hard beneath me as I lean over and kiss him, feeling the stubble of his rugged face against mine.

We pause as the front door opens and closes downstairs.

“That’ll be Spencer…” he says, sliding me off of him. He stands up, completely naked and semi-hard, and reaches for his pants.

“Do you need me to leave?” I ask.

“No,” he laughs, throwing a shirt over his head. “Stay here. He and I have some business to discuss.”

“What kind of business?”

“Butler business.”

“Sounds real fucking exciting.”

He casts a side glance at me. “Stay here.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walks away, leaving the door slightly ajar. I listen for his feet tapping against the stairs but I barely hear him. For a guy so big, he sure doesn’t make a whole lot of noise. No wonder he managed to break into my apartment without me knowing it.

I fall back against the pillows, my eyes twitching about for a clock but there’s nothing in sight. I have another rehearsal today at noon and I’m already in hot water with Cynthia over yesterday’s poor performance. I couldn’t help it though. I was far too busy thinking about Dante’s huge talent that I couldn’t tap into my own but I couldn’t exactly tell her that without getting the sassy side-eye from her.

I reach for my phone before realizing it’s in my clutch downstairs. I sigh and catch sight of the television remote on the bedside table. There should be a clock on the national news networks. I flick it on and channel surf my way through until I find one.

My lips curl. It’s only eight-thirty.

My fingers twitch towards the off-button but a familiar image stops me cold.

A photo of a man with a black tattoo on his abdomen. A cobra, just like Dante’s.

TERRORIST GROUP EXPOSED.

I turn up the volume to hear the reporter as she reads from her cue cards.

“Breaking news this morning as the F.B.I. receives word that an underground criminal organization known as Snake Eyes exists… and just might be operating on American soil. The news comes from a supposed leak of their members and clientele, a list that F.B.I. officials are calling
absolutely startling
. Senator Ronnie Lamb, the front-runner in this year’s presidential election that was brutally killed last week, was supposedly one of their targets.”

My eyes shift towards the door as fear prickles down my spine.

“Sources have confirmed today that members of Snake Eyes wear the same tattoo on their chests — a black cobra. The F.B.I. has leaked this information this morning to assist them in a nationwide manhunt for members of this group. However, they do urge the public that these members should be considered armed and extremely dangerous—”

A shadow moves in the corner of my eye and my voice catches in my throat. Dante steps into the room, his face cold and dark. He stands between the bed and the door, his eyes locked on the television screen as the reporter rambles on.

“Dante, what is Snake Eyes?”

He looks at me slowly. “You need to leave.”

“What?”

“Get dressed,” he says. “Go home. Forget you ever met me.”

My heart drops. “Dante, what—”

“Do it now.”

I can’t read his eyes. I search them but there’s nothing there. No fear. No hatred. No love or affection. Just blank, black eyes.

Like a snake.

“I don’t understand…”

“Lucy, go.”

He turns and walks out, leaving me sitting alone in his bed. The television continues on, listing off all the reasons for me to fear him and turn him in as a terrorist.

It doesn’t make any sense. Dante didn’t bat an eye as he spoke about his work with the Zappias, one of the worst mafia families in all of Chicago. But Snake Eyes? One mention of them and he’s kicking me out the fucking door.

I slip back into my dress and walk silently down the stairs towards the front door to leave.

“Forgetting something, Ms. Vaughn?”

I turn to see Spencer walking towards me from the kitchen with my clutch in his hand. “Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you.”

He holds it out but pauses as his other hand drifts into his jacket pocket.

I freeze as he pulls out a small derringer pistol and points it at my face.

I gasp and turn away to avoid looking death in the eyes. Any second now, I’ll hear the bullet. It’ll fire straight at me and pierce my skull. Will I even feel it? Will it hurt? Or will the shock be so intense, I’ll black out dead before I even hit the floor? God, I fucking hope it’s that last one.