Page 18 of Stolen By the Hit Man

Chapter Eighteen

Jasmyn

Finally, a kitten.

A tiny gray ball of fur is waiting at the back door as soon as we arrive back at the crappy home office.

Although Joaquin claimed all the cats in the neighborhood are feral, this one climbs right up into my arms.

Although the doctor’s office was closed after we finished at the courthouse, she let us in after hours. I’ve been advised to rest for a few days to ensure I don’t develop any complications, but I’m otherwise cleared to return home and resume work.

“The doctor emphasized no stress for a while,” I say with a laugh as I pet the little guy. “I guess this is a sign.”

Joaquin kisses me on the forehead as we head into the kitchen, and I go to the office to curl up on the sofa with the cat and a bottle of kitten formula.

An adorable, mewing stray is just what I need after answering that interrogation. I hear Joaquin in the other room filling the kettle and talking to Grady on the phone. "Sounds good. Travel safe...yeah, yeah, you'll be the first to know. No, I don't plan on fucking it up."

I certainly hope I didn't fuck up the interview.

I can still hear the investigator’s accusing tone in my head: Why did you take the gun with you to the compound if all you intended to do was ask for a divorce?

Because I was worried that things were going to go badly, and—shocker—they did.

And then there was the most obnoxious—yet understandable—question of all from the investigator,

Why did you leave the scene of the shooting? And why didn’t you report seeing these men supposedly move a body in the road as soon as you got your memories back? Sure makes you look guilty.

Because they were shooting back. Because I panicked. Because my boyfriend is a hit man and didn’t want to stick around to answer questions?

I managed not to blurt out that past part, and Casey did a good job of helping me give my statement to the detectives. I was free to go after that, but I was told I needed to stay in town for at least a few days.

That’s fine with me. The interview was harrowing, and I still don’t know for sure if I’m going to be charged with any crimes. I’m on pins and needles about it.

In the meantime, helping the little baby take some much-needed formula from a bottle is therapeutic.

Why do I feel like I’ve done this before?

I can’t put my finger on it, but I do have the urge to call home.

I still don’t have my phone back because the investigators are holding it in evidence after conducting a search of properties and vehicles connected to my kidnapping.

Fortunately, my assistant's phone number comes to mind, clear as day. She's understandably frantic and pelts me with questions.

“And you just left the scene of the accident with men you didn’t know?”

"Yes. Yes, I did because one of them looked like an EMT and the other one looked like a cop. And, oh yeah, the part where I couldn’t remember my own name.”

“When are you coming back?”

That last one is an excellent question. And one I will have to deal with sooner rather than later.

“I suppose as soon as the detectives clear me of any wrongdoing.”

“Well, your cats miss you.”

Cats? I have cats?

Wait a minute. Of course I have cats! How could I forget my sandy blond boy, Mister Bananas, and the orange girl, Professor Peaches?

“Oh my god!” I gasp as more memories flood in. “How are my babies?”

She sighs. “They are fine. They are now the boss of me.”

I look at the baby in my arms. “They’re going to have one more sibling. Maybe.”

That is, unless Joaquin wants to keep this one here, with him. I guess we’ll see.

Tabby lets me go just as Joaquin brings me a hot beverage I didn’t ask for. The off-kilter floorboards groan as he lumbers into the office carrying a chipped mug with an orange-scented tea. I take it, and Joaquin sits across from me on the floor.

The tea is warm and comforting, and I thank him for it.

“How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. I’m okay.”

“Bullshit.”

This puts me on the defensive, but not overly so. “Look. Am I shaken? Yes. Will I need to talk to a professional at some point? Also yes.”

“Well,” he starts. He rubs his hands together, building anticipation. “I have some news that might make you feel better than okay.”

I sit up. “What is it?”

“I just heard from Brian Casey. The county prosecutor won’t be pressing charges.”

I blow out a breath. “Will he want my statement about the body? The one I thought I saw them moving into the road just before the crash?”

Joaquin looks down at his hands, and his shoulders sag a little. “That’s the bad news. No.”

My jaw drops. “Why not?”

“I don’t know. But it sure doesn’t seem right. And on top of that, The Prophet is still missing.”

I’m grateful to no longer be treated as a suspect, but I’m anxious about everything else.

“Can we just be together for one minute with no drama and nothing hanging over our heads?” I complain.

Joaquin smirks. “You’ll be back to your fabulous life before you know it, and have forgotten all about the craziness in Darling Creek.”

It stings that Joaquin didn’t include himself in my fabulous life scenario.

“The doctor said I should take it easy. That means I should ease back into my life. I’ll give it a few days. Maybe a week.”

His eyes glint as he watches me drink my tea. “A week. That might be enough time,” he says.

“Enough time for what?” I ask coyly.

“To carry out my evil plot to keep you in my life.”

“Oh, the old Hallmark plot,” I say, a little relieved.

He arches an eyebrow. “Hallmark plot?”

“You know. Businesswoman gives up her high-powered career in the city to settle down in the country with the charming, be-flannelled local woodworker/handyman/farmer.”

He shrugs. “You caught me. But fair warning, I don’t have a table saw, and I don’t have a green thumb.”

I slap both my cheeks, Home Alone style. “Oh no. You mean if I uproot my life and buy an old bed and breakfast, you won’t be able to help me fix it up? Whatever shall I do?”

He seems genuinely confused by me, and it’s adorable. “Uh…pay people to do that shit? I gotta tell you, though, I’m not much interested in running an inn, or whatever you just said. Doesn’t sound like the wisest move. It would really eat up a lot of time and energy I’d rather spend having sex.”

I laugh, but he’s dead serious.

“I like the way you think,” I say, leaning in.

Joaquin holds back for a second, his gaze scanning my forehead, my nose, my chin. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Memorizing your face.”

Chill bumps form on my arms.

My lips part. That hot, liquid feeling flows back in. The feeling is never that far away when Joaquin is around, or even in my thoughts.

I wait.

I’m relieved that he said, “keep you in my life.” He didn’t say “keep you here.” And that makes me trust him.

I finish feeding the sleepy kitten and nestle him inside a cozy box that Joaquin has fitted with a blanket.

He waits patiently for me to tuck the kitten into bed, then resumes kissing me.

Joaquin is the perfect combination of making me want him but not demanding anything from me, other than letting him take care of me. It feels, frankly, refreshing.

Finally, Joaquin’s lips capture mine like a slow-moving train. Unstoppable. Insistent. We both know exactly where this is headed, and we’re both on board.

He would never treat me like he owns me, but in this moment, I want him to.

The kiss is slow and thorough, every lick of his tongue bringing me closer to an audible whimper of need. I ache to feel his hands on me. I yearn to feel him inside me.

I crawl into his lap, straddling him on the floor, with him leaning against the front of that hideous green sofa.

Feeling his cock rub against my core, through the oversized shorts I’m wearing, I finally let out the moan that I’ve been bottling up. He immediately grips my ass, holding me tight to him as the kiss grows deeper. Wilder.

I brazenly hitch my hips forward, letting my body stroke his erection.

A growl escapes him, and his hands are under my shirt, cupping my bare breasts firmly.

“Fucking magical,” he murmurs, squeezing both nipples between his first and middle fingers.

The sensation sends sparks of pleasure all through me.

I can feel a wetness between my legs. I should be embarrassed at the thought of making a little mess in his shorts.

But as Joaquin urges me on, I am sure he’s not going to care about that.

And then all thoughts of caring about anything go right out the window as he lets go of one breast, reaches down, and snakes his hand up my thigh, under the hem of the shorts.

They’re so big and loose on me he has no problem reaching my bare pussy.

I move maybe an inch to help him out, and he’s there.

Rubbing. Teasing. Finding my clit and making my body cry out for mercy.

“Oh my god…” I breathe against his lips.

“You need to come? I’ll make that dripping pussy come so hard right now?—”

I cut him off with a brash, biting kiss.

At the same time, I reach down between our bodies and tug at the button of his jeans.

He lets go of my pussy to give me space to touch him, and I feel the absence, like a lover edging me.

Once I get the button loose, I unzip his fly, and the next thing I know, I’ve got a bare-ass cock before me.

Commando. Thank god. I take Joaquin’s length in my hands greedily. And I squeeze. And I pull.

He sucks in a sharp breath through his gritted teeth, “What do you need, baby?”

“I need you to fuck me, Joaquin.”

“Shit,” he wheezes, slightly laughing. “I didn’t know you could talk like that.”

“You bring it out of me.”

I pull aside one leg of my extra-loose shorts until I have him where I want him. Skin-to-skin.

My body jerks as I use him to toy with my clit.

“Shit…holy shit…Jasmyn…”

I’m so turned on by humping his cock that a sudden orgasm hits me quickly and unexpectedly.

I let go of him as I cry out, my spine arching backward as I ride out this spasm.

Joaquin pulls me closer, nosing his face under my sweatshirt and taking one nipple in his mouth.

The strong pull of his lips and tongue on the one, then the other, extends my surging release.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart,” he says, hooking my arms around his neck.

“What? Oh!” I yelp in surprise at the strength it takes for Joaquin to rise from the floor to standing with my legs wrapped around him. I may be short, but I’m not petite by a long shot, yet he doesn’t seem to strain at all as he lumbers across the room and through the dark hallway to his bedroom.

The frame creaks as he sits down with me still on his lap.

We tear and tug at each other’s clothes until we’re both in a mostly-undressed state.

The hoodie is hiked up. His jeans are pushed down to mid-thigh.

The oversized basketball shorts are on the floor.

His tee-shirt is up hastily enough that I can feel the ripples of muscle along his upper back.

He leans away awkwardly for a brief moment. A drawer opens, and I hear the crinkle of a wrapper.

I use the moment to wriggle out of the hoodie and toss it aside.

Okay. I’m totally naked now.

Don’t think about it.

I bite down on my lip, feeling crazed and ready to scratch something if he doesn’t get a move on.

And just as I’m about to whine and cry about it, there he is.

Joaquin has me by the hips, moving me how he wants me.

I may be on top, but he’s in control.

I let out a sharp gasp as Joaquin fits us together. Filling me. Moving inside me. Stretching me.

What I must look like right now. Surprised and slightly pained and unsure about taking so much all at once. I imagine not very sexy. I must look like a sweaty, pink, drooling freak. Not the porn star I envision in my head sometimes.

And then all that negativity burns away as Joaquin stares up at me. “There you are,” he murmurs.

“There you are,” I answer. God, what a man this is.

Hard and tight everywhere. His brow furrowed in concentration.

His dark eyes boring into my soul, deeper with every thrust. And god, what a feeling.

His cock is so thick, my body feels like it’s quickly rearranging things just to fit him in.

The slight twinge of pain rapidly dissolves into sparks of pleasure as we find our rhythm.

Every touch, every move, hits me somewhere so deeply, so perfectly, I never want him to stop.

A certain possessiveness starts to take over.

He guides me on his dick, but I’m also noticing everything else.

The way he looks at me like it’s the first time we met.

Like he’s been struck by my skill, my beauty.

The way he talks through it is scrambling my brain completely.

“Is this what that wet pussy wants? Is this it?”

“Yes!”

“You take that dick so good. You’re gonna take it in until I’m done.”

“Yes!”

This is my man.

There he is…oh god, yes…there he is, indeed.