Assigned to Kill… Destined to Love

(Tay's POV) The wind swept cold against my face as I hooked my grappling line to the penthouse balcony. One silent pull and I was over the rail, boots landing without a sound. Heart steady, breathing even. This was routine. Leo Voss, arms dealer, money launderer, dead man walking. Contract clear: no witnesses, no trace. I checked my gear one last time. Silenced pistol on my thigh, knife in my boot, garrote in my sleeve. Everything was ready. I slipped the balcony door open. No alarm chirped. Good. The penthouse lay dark and quiet. I crossed the living room in seconds, body low, eyes scanning corners. Hallway next. Bedroom at the end. I moved like smoke, fingers brushing the wall for guidance. The door handles cold under my glove. I turned it slowly. The door opened without a creak. I stepped inside and froze. He was awake. Leo stood by the window, moonlight cutting across his bare chest. No shirt, just loose black pants riding low on his hips. Every muscle stood out sharp and hard, six-pack tight, skin smooth and golden. He looked like he had been waiting for me. My breath caught. Heat flashed straight between my legs, sudden and fierce. My p***y throbbed once, hard, like it had a mind of its own. I hated it. I raised the pistol fast. "Don't move." He turned his head. A slow smirk spread across his face. "Too late for that, beautiful." My finger tightened on the trigger. One squeeze and he would drop. Easy. Clean. But my hand shook just enough to notice. My n*****s pressed hard against the inside of my suit, aching. Wetness slicked my thighs. What the f**k was wrong with me? I never felt this. Never. "You came to kill me," he said, voice low and calm. "Yet here you are, staring." "Shut up." I stepped closer, gun steady now. "On your knees." He laughed softly. "Make me." I moved in, barrel aimed at his chest. Close enough to smell him, warm skin, expensive cologne, raw man. My stomach flipped. He lifted one brow, eyes dark and locked on mine. "Look at you," he murmured. "Breathing fast. Pupils wide. You're soaked already, aren't you?" "Shut your mouth." My voice came out rough. He took one step toward me. Slow. Deliberate. "Tell me to stop." I should have shot him. Should have pulled the trigger right then. But my arm stayed locked, gun pointed, body screaming something else. He stopped inches away. Heat rolled off him. I felt it on my face, my chest. "Your heart is racing," he said. "I can see it in your neck." "Back off." "Or what? You'll shoot?" His gaze dropped to my lips, then lower, over my breasts, my hips. "We both know you won't." I swallowed. "I have killed men for less talk." "But not men who make your c**t throb like this." He leaned in, lips near my ear. "I can smell how wet you are." My knees almost buckled. The gun dipped an inch. I forced it back up. "Last warning." He smiled against my ear. "Go ahead. Pull it. Or admit you want my c**k more than my corpse." Anger surged, mixed with pure lust. I shoved the barrel hard against his chest. "On the floor. Now." Instead, he caught my wrist. Gentle but firm. His thumb brushed my pulse. "Feel that?" he whispered. "You're burning up." I yanked my hand free, but slower than I should have. My other hand clenched at my side. I needed control. I needed to finish the job. But my body screamed for something else. "You're good," he said. "Best they ever sent. But tonight you're not leaving with my blood. You're leaving with my c*m dripping down your thighs." The words hit like a slap. My p***y clenched hard. A soft sound escaped my throat before I could stop it. His eyes flashed. "That's it," he breathed. "You feel it too." I lifted the gun higher, aiming at his forehead. "One more step and you're dead." He didn't step. He leaned forward until the cold metal touched his skin. "Then do it." Silence stretched. My finger rested on the trigger. I pictured the shot, the blood, the exit. Clean kill. Money wired. Another ghost story. But my hand wouldn't move. My chest rose and fell too fast. He watched me, patient. "Can't, can you?" "f**k you." "Yes," he said softly. "That's exactly what you want." Heat flooded my face. My grip loosened. The gun felt heavy suddenly. Too heavy. He reached out slowly, fingers brushing the barrel. "Let go." "No." His hand closed over mine. So warm and strong. He guided the gun down, inch by inch. I could have resisted. But I'm shocked I didn't. The pistol lowered until it pointed at the floor. "Good girl," he whispered. My breath shook. I stared at his chest, the slow rise and fall. I hated how much I wanted to touch it. "Look at me." I lifted my eyes. His stare pinned me in place. "You came here to take my life," he said. "But I think I'll take something else tonight." My throat tightened. "You don't know what you're talking about." "Don't I?" His free hand rose, knuckles grazing my jaw. "Your lips are trembling. Your thighs are pressed together. You're fighting so hard." I jerked my head away. "Stop." "Make me, please" His thumb traced my lower lip. I parted them without thinking twice. A low growl left his throat. "Drop the gun, Tay." He knew my name. But how? Of course he did. My fingers opened. The pistol slipped from my hand and hit the carpet with a soft thud. The moment it left my grip, reality crashed in. I had lost. Completely. No weapon. No control. Just raw, aching needs pounding between my legs. I stared at the gun on the floor, then at him. His smirk deepened. "There it is," he said quietly. "You're mine now.”