Never Kiss a Bad Boy (11 page)

“Warm?” I asked her.

Pure delight radiated off of her. “Yeah, I'm really excited to do this.”

My thoughts were buzzing, daring to escape—but I didn't let them. I locked down my own revealing sentence, the one that claimed,
So am I.

She moved beside me, taking the weapon like it was made of brittle porcelain. Instantly, I reached out and forced her to point the muzzle at the floor. “First,” I said gently. “Finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire.”

Marina slid her finger away, looking up at me patiently. A strand of hair, freed from the loose ponytail, trailed over her right eyebrow. “What's the next step?” she asked in a hush.

“Well, it's actually the
real
first step.” Pointing, my fingertip brushed over her thumb. “Pull the bolt back, make sure you have bullets in there.”

“You loaded it, I know there are bullets.”

Arching an eyebrow, I sighed. “Unless you yourself load in the clip, always check.”

The flicker of stubbornness she'd shown me was pushed down deep. Marina yanked the metal, exposing the chamber. Once she saw the bullets, she gave me a pointed look and slammed the bolt back into the Ruger. “Okay. Done.”

My hands came down on her shoulders. She became ridged, startling by my grip. I ignored her reaction and turned her towards the target.

“Face it like this.” Looking down, I saw how unstable her feet were. “And these,” I whispered, kicking her legs apart until she was balanced. “Make sure you're not going to topple over when you fire.”

I
heard
the sound of her swallowing. That, I couldn't ignore.

“Got it,” she said quietly.

Just like that, I was aware of her presence. Marina was under my grasp, her spine curving inches from my chest, her perky ass so close to my hips I only needed to rock forward to meet her.

Her exposed neck beamed at me, oddly pale in the ghostly lights.

Shaking myself, I gripped her elbows, guiding her into the final position. “Now, click the safety off—yes, that tiny notch there. Lift the gun, stare down the sight until the three orange dots line up—very good.”

She was listening, but I felt the tiny quiver in her breathing. I noticed everything, and Marina's anticipation was no exception.

Against her temple, my whisper stirred her tiny hairs. “When you're ready to fire, don't pull the trigger. Squeeze your muscles, your entire hands, instead. It'll keep you steady. Aim for the head, and remember... if this were real, you'd only have one shot.”

My last line made her inhale sharply.

The noise of the gun firing was muted, the suppressor saving our ears from an otherwise shattering explosion. The paper 'fwicked' when the bullet sank in. The hole was low, near the shoulder—but she'd hit the target. That was amazing.

“Oh shit,” she gasped, lowering the barrel and staring up at me. There was a galaxy in her eyes, begging me to go exploring. Her chest was flexing, waves of rich skin that glinted with sweat. This girl was a boiler and firing her first gun had turned her up a million fucking notches.

I thought, if I touched her, she'd scald me.

What better reason was there to get burned?

“Good job,” I said, unsticking my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

“I missed, though,” she noted. “He wouldn't die from that. He'd run, or call for help.”

Nodding at the target, I frowned. “Chances are he'd shoot back. You'd be dead.”

Marina looked away, not flinching like I'd predicted. “I need to practice more,” she said. I swear, she was talking to herself.

Reaching out, I took the Ruger. “I think we can fix your aim right now.” The gun was set aside, I lifted my hands. “Here, do this. Make a diamond shape with your thumb and pointer.”

Frowning, Marina copied me. We stood there, staring at each other through the gaps between our palms. I kind of loved it.

“Now what?” she asked, a tiny smile growing.

Now I grab your thick fucking hair and see how good my aim is when I shove my ridiculous hard-on between your thighs.

I kept my thoughts at bay
.
Grinning so my teeth showed, I closed one eye. “Look through the hole at the target. Shut one eye, then the other. You should only be able to see the paper through—”

“Oh!” she laughed, cutting me off. “I get it. Yeah, I'm seeing it with my left eye shut.”

“Right eye dominant,” I answered. Dropping my arms, I handed her back the gun. “This time, line the sight up and shut your left eye.”

Marina settled in, and when she slid her foot back, her hip touched mine. My cock pulsated sympathetically. “Alright,” she whispered. I observed the way she naturally held her breath and tightened her tendons. My heart was pumping with energy, already expecting the outcome.

That time, the bullet whistled through the paper man's skull.

“I did it!” she cheered, eyes so big they could pop. Staring up at me, Marina's flushed cheeks begged me to turn them more red.

If I'd done this with another woman, not Marina, would I be just as turned on?

“Are you okay?” she asked, lowering the gun to her waist.

Not at all,
I thought bitterly. Closing my hand over hers, I endured her pulse like a punch to the jaw. “My turn,” I rasped.

Marina stepped back, concern clouding her eyes. My heel slammed into the switch, sending the target flying all the way back to the far wall. Ten yards, as far as it could go. She'd only fired two shots, I had another eight to work through.

My lungs flared, arms raised, leveled and steadied. I dipped my toe into the emotionless river that craved to drown me. I knew what it meant to go there.

Once you swam in the river of depravity—of murder—you had two choices.

Swim some more.

Or drown.

Bang.

The first pop. I knew the bullet would pierce the target between the eyes.

Bang.

Perfection, I nailed it a hair's whisper to the right.

Each time I fired, the explosion rocked my core. My cells sang to me, and my bloodlust teased me by becoming
real
lust.

Shooting a target wasn't like killing someone.

But my imagination was vivid... and I saw a human face with every shot.

When the bolt jutted backwards from the gun, I knew it was empty.
I
was empty.

“Kite?” The way she said my name, it was a hook in my gut. “Kite, are you okay?”

Turning, I saw the mixture of emotions on her face. Puffed lips, shiny eyes, and her coffee skin gleaming with her own heat.

Could she feel mine?

She asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” I breathed out. “Something is very fucking wrong.”
With me, with you, with the whole fucking world.
This woman had slammed into my life, hammered her way in and demanded I help her.

Marina, the brave and cocky and ultimately foolish girl.

To keep Jacob and myself safe, I was supposed to want her dead.

But right then, I wanted to bathe in her existence.

Her eyes flashed. “Kite?” That time, my name was an omen.

The river dragged me way down, and I let it take me under. Dropping the gun, I curled my hand behind her long neck and yanked her towards me. Her gasp tasted like bliss and cocoa.

Kiss me back,
I thought, crushing my lips on hers.
Let me know you want this as badly as I fucking need it.
Maybe that was impossible. The black hole in me was blaring, claiming it could never be filled. No one knew this sensation like I did. No one could.

Her teeth clipped my tongue; my lower lip. A hand wrenched in my hair, forcing me away from her face.

Panting, I looked into her eyes and struggled to breathe. Marina was my oxygen.

“Why,” she breathed out. It was a statement, not a question. Feverishly she watched me, still clinging to my scalp.

Her breasts were smothered against me, and I pressed her close to suffocate my brain even more. “Because I want you.” It was a sparse explanation. Yes, I wanted Marina. On paper it made sense; she was beautiful and sensual, she held her own and
holy hell
was she sexy shooting my gun.

There were a million reasons as to
why
I wanted to kiss her puckered lips.

She didn't blink, she gripped me violently. “No. Why do this... when you know it won't last?”

My mouth fell open, words failing me. Through my decadent lust, I realized what she meant. Marina was making it cryptically clear that she
knew
we had no future.

Did she suspect all along that she wouldn't make it out of this alive?

She wanted an answer.

I didn't have a good one.

The pad of my thumb ran over her lips, thrilling me with how plump they were. “Nothing lasts. That's reality.”

A tremor went through her body. The depths of her ebony eyes told me she disagreed. In a split second, she said so much with her simple look that I came close to begging her to let me inside her brain.

I wanted to understand the puzzle that was
her.

Marina didn't give me a chance. Closing the distance, she kissed me so hard it took us to the floor. Beneath us, brass shells rolled and clinked.

In spite of my fog, my own words were digging in painfully.
Nothing lasts forever.
Did I really believe that?
What a bullshit answer.

Soon, I forgot what the question had even been.

Marina wriggled beneath me, fighting to get her hands under my shirt. I understood the sentiment, my fingers hooking under the hem of her blouse. Ripping it upwards, I watched how it clung and squeezed her tits together until they overflowed in her bra.

Two fingers crept to her spine, popping the strap. “Fuck,” I breathed out. In the dim lights, her nipples were a dusty, canyon rock red. The swell of her chest called to me, muffling any compliment I had ready on my tongue.

That tongue was too busy licking the tips of her impossibly flawless breasts.

I'd spent a lot of time imagining the ways Marina would scream. There were two possibilities.

The first kind was a high pitched, distraught squeal as she realized I was going to be the last thing she'd see before her heart stopped. That scream would set Jacob and me free.

The other kind, the low rumble of her passion, I didn't have to imagine.

So far, I preferred this version.

“Kite, wait,” she hissed at me.

“No. I've wanted to fuck you for way too long.” I pushed my hand into her back, arched her against me so I could swaddle my face in her creamy tits.

Her nails cut through my shirt, still trying to get under it. “What? You only met me yesterday,” she argued weakly.

“I know. Too fucking long.”

I slid lower, tasting her stomach, the indent of her belly button that I could lose myself in. But there were better things waiting for me. Sweeter treats on the map of Marina Fidel.

Her jean button clicked in my teeth. Glancing up the landscape of her wide hips and bury-your-hands-here-waist, I saw her watching me.

Little Miss Composed and Confident, now she had a fist in her mouth to quiet her moans.

You might say I was moving too fast. I wasn't joking when I'd told her I had waited too  long. My life was a whirlwind of have it now or lose it forever. Patience was fine when you were staking out how to pierce the soft spot between a man's eyes with a bullet.

If you wanted your way with a woman, here, in New York City?

Move fast, or forget your claim.

I'd claimed Marina.

I'm not the only one who wants to claim her,
I thought distantly. But that wasn't something I could address at the moment. Whatever Jacob wanted out of this—from her or for her—it had to wait.

For now, I had her to myself.

And that let me be greedy.

Earlier, the thought of touching her had made me feel guilty. With her thighs around my face, fuck it all; I forgot how the word 'guilty' was spelled.

Ripping her jeans down her soft legs, I hooked her heels over my shoulders. Her pants were bunched around her shoes, trapping her satin-clad pussy inches from my smile. She couldn't get away, and neither could I. Why would I
want
to?

Pressing my nose into the damp crease of her cunt, I inhaled until my head swam. Marina's scent was an ocean that cradled me and tempted me to swallow mouthfuls of her. I was still losing myself, but this way was... better.

Warmer.

Ripping her panties to the side, I spread the plump lips of her pussy and just
looked
at her. Marina was panting, eyes glassy and frozen on my every movement.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in until my ribs creaked. Staring up at her under half-closed lids, I nuzzled her wetness and growled. “You're dangerous, sweetie.”

Her pitch-black irises twinkled. “I thought you said I wasn't.”

Chuckling, I enjoyed how she quivered when my breath tickled her clit. It was winking at me, calling my name. I was a monster, but I wasn't
rude.
“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you'll kill me right here. It'd be a glorious way to go, that's for sure.”

I heard her hiss through her clenched teeth. Then my lips came down, kissing the swollen pink nub between her thighs. Every muscle in her body went taut, her legs a vice on my skull and begging me to keep going.

Parting her with my fingertips, I lapped at her slick juices. In my pants, my dick was telling me to let it free. I would have listened, but I was drunk on Marina's flavor.

Trembling against my cheeks, she yanked at my hair. “Hurry up and fuck me,” she whined.

“Eager much?” I teased, gliding two fingers along her slippery entrance. I stuffed them inside slowly, enjoying how her pussy flexed and hugged me. I was obsessed with feeling her reactions. “I'm not ready to fuck you yet,” I said.

“I don't care,” she groaned, tossing her head back. Her hair swirled like a broom, flicking away a fragment of glass on the ground. It was amazing we hadn't cut ourselves yet on the filth. “Don't be cruel, just do it! Please!”

Flattening my tongue, I rubbed it over her clit and thrilled at her throaty sob. I was in her up to my knuckles, my tattoos vanishing. “No,” I whispered. Smirking at her, I curled my fingers and scraped the roof of her thrumming hole. “Come for me first. Then I'll fuck you. Is that really so cruel?”