Reaching behind her, I grab her ass firmly as I lean forward and slip my tongue between her swollen lips. I slide my right hand down the back of her thigh and gently lift her leg so her foot is resting on the top of my thigh. She grips the shelf as I use my tongue to massage the flesh around her clit. I want to go easy on her. I also want to draw out the pleasure as long as possible. I’ve been longing to put my mouth on her since the last night we were together. I must savor this moment.
Using my left hand to part her lips, I lick all around her pussy, purposely avoiding her clit. Her whimpers come more high-pitched the longer I tease her.
“Oh, God. Please, Daimon.”
The sound of her pleading gets my cock painfully engorged. I want to be inside her so bad, but she needs a couple weeks for her body to recover. But that doesn’t mean I can’t pleasure her orally.
I slide my finger between her cheeks as I close my lips around her clit. I massage her tight opening while sucking gently on her delicate rosebud. It takes a moment before she’s relaxed enough for me to slide my finger inside her. She lets out a deep moan followed by audible panting. I push in a bit further as my tongue glides over her clit in tight circles.
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.”
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 ring 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.
“W
hat 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.”
He brushes the tears away from my cheek and gazes into my eyes, awaiting my response.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I whisper.
Daimon takes my hand and we both sit on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to do this. I can do it alone. It’s the way I’ve always done it.”
“You don’t want me to go with you?”
“I didn’t say that.” He reaches up and turns my face toward his. “I want you to do whatever will give you the most peace. If you think you need to face her, then that is what I want. If this mission makes you nervous, if you think it will transform you into a person you cannot live with, then I don’t want you to go. I just want you to be happy with whatever you choose.”
I gaze into his eyes, looking for a sign of uncertainty, but it’s me who’s having doubts. Not him. “Is there anything in this world you’re afraid of?”
A shadow passes over his blue eyes as his face hardens. “I’m afraid of losing you.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
This puts a soft smile on his face. “Do you want to forget everything? Just disappear with me?”
He reaches up and delicately pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger as he gazes at my mouth, awaiting my answer.
“No. I can’t let her get away with what she’s done. She discarded me as a newborn then hired someone to kill me. And in the process, I lost almost everything that has ever mattered to me. I can’t let that go. I’m not that sensible.”
He chuckles at my last proclamation, then he leans in to kiss me. His beard tickles my lips and I smile when I taste the sweet wine on his tongue. I wrap my arms around his sturdy shoulders and kiss him harder. After a moment, I pull away and look him in the eye.
“I love you, mon chéri.”
He laughs softly. “That was very sexy, but I’m going to have to teach you to speak French properly.”
“How long are we staying here with your brother?”
“Two weeks. That should be enough time for you to recover, and that’s when the Grand Prix Gala will take place in Monte Carlo.”
“Two weeks?” I mutter as my mind wanders to thoughts of Daimon and I holed up in this beautiful guest room for fourteen days. I look up at him and smile. “I want you to teach me everything you learned while being a hit man.”
He looks a little befuddled by this request. “Why?”
I gaze into his sparkling blue eyes and smile. “I want to make sure there’s no chance I’ll be holding you back. I want to be your equal.”
“You already are my equal. I told you this. You and I are the same.”
“No, we’re not. You know more about performing hits than I do. Far more. I want to know everything.” I rake my fingers through the soft dark hair on his head. “We’re a team now.”
He closes his eyes, savoring the sensation of my fingers running through his hair. “I’ll teach you everything I know…tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll be spending all night in this bed…worshipping you.” He opens his eyes and grabs my hands to pull them against his chest. “Lie down, chérie. Church is in session.”
After thirteen days of being Daimon’s student, my body and mind are both exhausted and invigorated. I feel like a new person. A better person.
According to Daimon, my training made me the perfect candidate for a job as an assassin. The only things I need to work on are embracing technology and weapons, and learning some foreign languages. We argued about the effectiveness of weapons for hours before I finally conceded to his point that it is always better to be prepared for anything.
Victor’s wife and three children arrived from their three-week trip to Brazil last night. They were too exhausted to spend time socializing with us, but they’re full of energy this morning as they scurry about the huge kitchen helping themselves to a traditional French breakfast of coffee, fromage blanc with fruit, and sliced baguettes with fresh butter and jam.
The three children—ages: eight, eleven, and fifteen—speak in rapid-fire French that sounds almost musical. Eight-year-old Louis sits next to me at the breakfast table as I’m pouring some corn flakes into a bowl.
“You are American?” he asks, then he takes a spoonful of fromage and strawberry preserves into his mouth.
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Louis,” snaps fifteen-year-old Victoria. “I’m sorry for my brother,” she continues, taking a seat on my other side.
Daimon sits across from me wearing a slight grin as he drinks his coffee and eats his baguette.
“I am not stupid,” Louis retorts, and Victoria shakes her head in dismay.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind answering. Yes, I’m American. Have you been to America?”
Eleven-year-old Vanessa sits across from Victoria. “We have been to New York and Florida and California.”
I swallow my shame as I realize these children have seen more of America than I have. “Which did you like the best?” I ask as I pour some milk into my bowl of cereal.
“California,” Vanessa replies. “New York was cold and so many people. And Florida was so hot and so many bugs.”
“I like New York,” Victoria says, sipping her café au lait. “I want to live in New York.”
“You can’t live in New York!” Louis shouts in my left ear. “They don’t like ugly people in America.”
“Be quiet. Nobody was talking to you,” Vanessa interjects.
“Shh! All of you be quiet. You are annoying our guests,” Victor’s wife, Imane, says, taking a seat next to Vanessa.
I look at Daimon and he’s still smiling. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m beginning to feel like fate may have intervened at the right moment for us. I am definitely not ready to deal with children at this juncture in my life.
Victor enters the kitchen with his cell phone pressed to his ear and a worried look on his face. He and Daimon lock eyes, then he nods toward the other room. Daimon looks at me and nods for me to join him.
“Bring your food. You need to eat.”
One thing I’ve learned about Daimon these past two weeks, which did not surprise me at all, is how bossy he is. He demands I eat at least four times a day. When I lived on my own in Los Angeles, I got used to eating twice a day due to my limited budget. But Daimon insists I need to eat more often to maintain a healthy blood sugar level, which he asserts is key to staying alert and energetic.
Victor leads us into the study where the walls are lined with bookshelves. I take a seat on a black armchair and Daimon stands next to me.
“What is it?” he asks.
Victor shakes his head in dismay. “It is not good.”
“What is it?” Daimon asks again more forcefully.
“It’s Julien. He is making the drop at midnight.”
The silence that follows this sentence baffles me. “What
? What does that mean?” I ask, holding my spoonful of cereal over the bowl.
Daimon runs his fingers through his hair, looking very unhappy with this news. “That’s too soon! We need more time. They won’t be in the high-limit room until ten or much later.”
“Daimon? What’s going on?” I plead, but it’s Victor who answers.
“I messed up. Your escape from the club was supposed to happen whenever the job was complete. I thought I had made it clear to your escort, Julien, that he would need to have you out of Monaco by twelve o’clock the following day. Somehow, the message was not received well. You have to get out of Monaco by midnight.”
Daimon shakes his head, still too upset to speak.
“We have less than two hours to complete the whole mission?” I ask. Surely, this must be a miscommunication. There’s no way they can expect us to pull this off in two hours.
“I’m sorry, Daimon,” Victor says, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair. “I know if I were not your brother, I’d be dead right now. Oui?” Daimon glares at him then nods, his jaw still clenched tightly. Victor turns to me. “See? You are changing him.”
“Is that a good thing?” I reply.
“Of course it is. Love is the best thing.”
Chapter Eight
Daimon
We wake at three in the morning to get ready for the train ride to Monaco. Our false passports were delivered to Victor last night. The photos on the passports were edited to make us look different. In my photo, I have blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, and a bump on the bridge of my nose. In Daimon’s photo, his beard is gone and his eyes are brown. But I can’t help but laugh at his hair.
“That’s a good look for you,” I say, grabbing the shaving brush from the bathroom counter.
He glances at his reflection in the mirror before he takes a seat on the toilet and closes his eyes as he leans his head back. “Don’t get too excited. You can’t pull it during sex or you’ll blow our cover.”