Her hand finds my head and yanks my hair as her body begins to spasm. “Daimon! Don’t stop. I’m coming.”
I slow the swirl of my tongue to draw out the orgasm as my finger moves in and out of her. Her knees buckle completely. I allow her to slide down until she’s seated on my knee, facing me and straddling my thigh as I kneel on the shower floor.
She throws her arms around me and buries her face in my neck. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Alex
He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer to his chest. I take his earlobe between my teeth and tug softly. His cock twitches against my thigh and I seize the opportunity caused by this slight distraction to slide my hand down and grab hold of his erection. I form an O with my fingers and move my hand slowly up and down from the base to the tip.
He leans his head back and I suck on his neck as I pump my fist faster with each stroke. Then I stop and tilt my head back to see his reaction. He’s smiling because he knows what I want.
I sit on the floor of the shower as he stands up and plants each of his feet firmly on either side of my thigh. He leans forward, placing one of his hands on the shower wall for support. His other hand gently grabs the back of my head as he slides his thick cock into my mouth.
Keeping my left hand gripped firmly around the base of his cock, I use my other hand to pleasure myself. The tip of his massive erection slides in and out of my mouth, going just a bit farther with each thrust. Then he eases up on me when he sees my eyes widen from the deep pressure in my throat.
“That’s it, baby,” he growls when he notices I’m about to climax again. “I want to see you come with my cock in your mouth. Come on, baby.”
It takes all my concentration not to bite down or choke when another orgasm rocks me. But I manage to hold it together and the moment I move my right hand up to massage his sac, he explodes in my mouth. His seed tastes sweeter this time. Maybe it’s the tropical island diet.
I swallow every last drop, then he helps me onto my feet so we can finish showering. I’m not sure how much hot water this plane has left, but it can’t be much. Once we’ve toweled ourselves dry and changed into clean clothes, we relax in the bedroom of the jet for the remainder of the six-hour flight.
A private car is waiting for us at the Côte d’Azur International Airport in Nice, France. It whisks us away and I savor the twenty-minute drive cuddled up with Daimon in the backseat, ten minutes of which are spent driving along the most stunning coastline I’ve ever seen.
Route de Bellet delivers us to a grand chateau nestled in the rolling green hills of Nice. We have no baggage, other than the emotional kind, so as soon as the car pulls into the circular driveway, Daimon helps me out and we head straight for the enormous, rustic double doors of the chateau. Daimon reaches for the iron circle hanging just below the peephole, but the door opens before he can grasp the knocker.
A man with shoulder-length caramel brown hair holds his arms open. “Daimon!” he shouts, and they embrace as he continues excitedly in French.
“Alex, this is my brother, Victor.”
I smile, trying not to appear as useless as a door-knocker on a 10,000 square foot chateau. But that’s difficult when I’ve never been anywhere near a place this beautiful. Is this the lifestyle in which Daimon was raised? A job as a detective for the Los Angeles Police Department would be a long fall from this. Why would he take a job as a hit man if it wasn’t for the money?
Victor tilts his head and smiles even wider as he realizes I don’t speak French. “How rude of me! I didn’t know you only speak English. So nice to meet you, Alex. Please, come inside. Come.”
Victor and Daimon exchange an uneasy look when we enter and I get the feeling we are not as welcome as Victor would have me believe. Daimon grabs my hand as Victor leads us into a large sitting room with a wall of French doors that look out onto a courtyard. In the center of the neatly trimmed shrubs surrounding the courtyard, is a sleek water fountain with a modern copper sculpture. Daimon leads me to a plush taupe sofa in the sitting room while Victor takes a seat in a boxy armchair across from us.
Victor grabs a bottle of wine off the rustic coffee table between us and uncorks it as he speaks. “Interpol is looking for a man with dark hair and blue eyes and a woman with red hair and skin discoloration. It will be easy to disguise you, but they’re increasing security at the Grand Prix. She knows you’re coming for her.”
He pours each of us a glass of red wine and slides two glasses across the table toward Daimon and me. Daimon hands me my glass and I almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation. I’m at my lover’s brother’s chateau in France, planning a way to get past security at one of the world’s most exclusive social events of the year, and I’m not even old enough to drink this wine. At least, not in the states. In France, this is perfectly acceptable. Well, except for the things we’re planning.
Daimon brings his glass to his perfect lips, and I can’t help but envy the glass. He swallows the wine and smiles at me. “You don’t drink wine?”
I take a sip and I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s smoother than the wine I drank with Nick in La Palma. My chest constricts painfully at the thought of Nick. I killed him.
Yes, it was technically self-defense, but that doesn’t change the fact that I killed a man. Even after all those years of combat training with my father, I never thought I’d have to use the skills he taught me. I never thought I’d be a killer.
“Do you like it?” Daimon asks and I nod. “Are you not feeling well? You’re shaking.”
I glance at my wine glass and the liquid is trembling in my grasp. “I need to lie down.”
Daimon takes the glass from my hand and places both our drinks on the coffee table. “I’ll take you to our room.”
He says something in French to Victor and his brother replies in French. I don’t know if they’re doing it for convenience, but it makes me even more anxious. What is wrong with me? I was trained to be calm in stressful situations. It must be the hormones.
Daimon leads me up a gorgeous curved staircase to the second floor. The corridor upstairs is at least fifteen feet wide. Who needs all this space?
“What are you thinking?” he asks as he leads me toward the third door on the left.
I could tell him the truth, that I’m thinking of Nick and my father, but I’ll risk upsetting him. Or he may decide I’m not ready for this mission. I’m not one to go into a project like this knowing I’m not ready. It’s only since Daimon entered my life that I’ve been behaving recklessly. Acting impulsively instead of methodically.
I enter ahead of him and he closes the door. The bedroom is simple yet spacious. The creamy white linens bathed in the soft glow of the late-afternoon sunlight pouring through the French doors, which lead onto a balcony.
“What makes you think we’re safe here?” I whisper, as he pushes the bedroom door open. “If he’s your brother, won’t they come looking for us here first?”
He stares into my eyes for a long, tense moment before he responds. “No one will look for us here. Victor and I faked our own deaths many years ago, after our parents died.”
“Why?” I ask, though I have a feeling I may not want to know.
He heaves a deep sigh then continues. “We grew up on a small dairy farm in the countryside, far away from civilization. Our parents loved to take out the belt or the paddle when we misbehaved. But they really liked to hurt Victor the most. He’s four years older than I am, but I felt the need to protect him. I was fourteen the first time I stopped my father from killing Victor. The second time, I was fifteen… There was never a third time.
“I never thought I would become a killer. It was not my childhood dream. But it’s something I do well. I don’t pretend to know who deserves to die in the eyes of God. I only know who deserves to die in my eyes. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t become an assassin, but I never wonder whether I made the right choice in protecting my brother.”