THE DEVIL AND HIS ASSASSIN

Chapter 8

"Tell me, did you miss me? You didn’t answer me when I asked earlier."

Missed killing you? Oh, yeah… more than I’d like to admit, asshole. Every damn second I didn’t shove a blade in your chest, I thought about how much I wanted to. That is how much I missed you.

"You left me alone in that house," I found myself saying instead.

Dominic moved closer and his fingers threaded through my hair before closing into a firm grip, tugging just enough to tilt my head back and pull a sharp gasp from my lips.

"I’m here now, aren’t I?" His lips grazed the shell of my ear, the warmth of his breath setting every single nerve ending I possessed on fire. "So, did you miss me?"

"I… missed you," I whispered. The lie felt necessary. It was a survival instinct.

A dark, triumphant smirk curved his lips. His hand snaked around my waist, and he hooked my thigh over his hip. The hard ridge of his c**k pressed against me through our clothes, and he ground against me slowly making my head spin.

"Good. Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s set some rules, shall we?"

Rules? Great. Nothing like a psychopath setting boundaries to really spice up the evening.

"What rules?"

His eyes, which seemed dark in the pits of the shadows, held mine completely captive. "In the next few minutes, I’m going to f**k you," he said slowly. "You don’t touch me. You don’t kiss me. You don’t do a f*****g thing unless I say so. Understood?"

My heart was a wild drum against my ribs. Excitement, pure terror that he would discover my lie...it all churned together into a dizzying cocktail. But saying no now was not an option. I had made my choice the moment I walked into his orbit.

"Are we going to do it here?" I whispered, my eyes darting down the seemingly empty corridor. I could feel unseen eyes, the weight of his security lurking in the shadows. "Can we go to a room or something?" Privacy. I needed it. A place where his guard might drop, where I might find a sliver of control.

He went still, the amusement evaporating from his expression, leaving behind something colder and more analytical. The shift was terrifying. "If I didn’t know better, I'd think you're stalling." His thumb stroked a slow, threatening line along my jaw. "Is there something you're keeping from me, Maleeshka?"

Shit.

I kept my face neutral, praying my eyes didn’t betray me.

After a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, he gave a curt nod. Without another word, his hand slid from my hair to my arm, his grip firm as he guided me down the hall. He pushed open a heavy, dark wood door revealing a vast, opulent office. Moonlight streamed through a large window, painting everything in shades of silver and deep blue. He didn’t switch on the lights, leaving us in the semi-darkness.

He released me, the loss of his touch leaving a cold patch on my skin. He walked to the center of the room and turned to face me, waiting. The command was silent, but absolute.

And I understood.

My knees felt weak, but I obeyed, lowering myself to the lush rug.

He unbuckled his belt, the click unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He didn’t hurry. He made a show of it, his eyes never leaving mine. Then his hand was at his trousers and he took my hand, pressing my palm flat against the fine fabric.

I flinched. The outline of him was… immense. A thick, hard length straining against the constraint of his zipper. My fingers twitched before I yanked control back, but he’d already felt it.

"See what you f*****g do to me?" he growled, his voice rough and thick with need, every word vibrating against my palm where it pressed over his c**k. "You’ve made me so f*****g hard it hurts. You gonna take responsibility for that, Maleeshka."

Like I had a choice.

He guided my hand away, and he drew down his zipper. He didn’t remove his trousers, just freed himself, and the second he did, the scent of him hit me—clean, musky, powerfully male. His arousal.

My mouth went dry.

"Open," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for debate.

I parted my lips, my breath coming in shallow pants. I had to be careful. Too skilled, and he’ll know. I had to play the part of the novice, terrified and unsure, as if this was my first time.

He took himself in hand, the broad head of his c**k nudging against my lips. I kept my tongue flat, my movements hesitant as I allowed him to push past the barrier of my teeth.

The taste of him exploded on my tongue—salty, clean, uniquely Dominic. He filled my mouth, the girth stretching my lips taut. I made a soft, feigned sound of surprise of being overwhelmed.

"That’s it," he ground out, his hand tangling in my hair again, not guiding, just holding. Possessing. "Just take it. Get used to the feel of me."

I let him slide deeper, until the tip hit the back of my throat. I gagged reflexively, a genuine reaction I didn’t have to fake and pulled back, coughing slightly.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Easy now, Maleeshka. Don’t rush. We have time."

He began a slow, torturous rhythm, feeding himself into my mouth, inch by devastating inch. I focused on breathing through my nose, on keeping my teeth carefully covered, on using just the tip of my tongue to press against the sensitive underside of his shaft. I kept my hands clenched in my lap, obeying his rule of no touch, letting him use my mouth for his pleasure.

The control it took was agony. Every instinct screamed to take over, to swirl my tongue, to take him deep, to show him just how well I could please him. But that would give me away. So I stayed tentative, letting my tongue flutter shyly against the underside of his shaft, letting my throat flex when he hit too deep.

He watched me, his expression an unreadable mask in the moonlight, his breathing growing progressively heavier. His grip in my hair tightened, and his hips began to move with more purpose.

"You learn quickly." He rasped, hips grinding harder, the tempo rougher now. His hand fisted tighter in my hair, pulling at my scalp and holding me flush as he pushed deeper.

I sucked harder, hollowing my cheeks around him, and his groan ripped free as if it had been torn from him without permission. He thrust forward, hitting the back of my throat and my eyes watered instantly, tears slipping free and streaking down my cheeks.

I could feel it. The ache between my thighs. The shameful slickness soaking through my panties, spreading every time he groaned above me. Every thrust into my mouth sent a pulse of wetness gushing lower, my core throbbing with a need I refused to admit.

He suddenly went rigid, every muscle in his body tightening. The hand tangled in my hair clenched, pulling just enough to make my scalp sting. He was close—I could feel it in the tremor running through his arm.

"Look at me," came the husky voice.

It took everything in me to obey, dragging my eyes up until they locked with his. What I saw there nearly undid me. Possession, hunger, and something else I couldn’t recognize. He was losing control.

"Yeah, just like that. Fuck."

Heat burned my face as he shuddered, spilling into me with a growl. The taste flooded my mouth, warm, salty, and thick. My throat worked automatically, shame and heat tangling as the salty tang coated my tongue before sliding down in one humiliating gulp. His gaze never wavered, pinning me in place, making me feel the full weight of what I’d just done.

When it was done, I gasped softly and licked my lips slowly. He didn’t look away once, watching me with the focus of a predator marking its kill.

For a moment, the room was silent except for our breathing. My heart slammed against my ribs, my body trembling with shame and heat.

The door creaked open and with a sharp flick, the room flooded with light.

I flinched as the bright clinical light scalded my eyes after the intimate darkness. I froze, my body locking up as a man I didn’t recognize stood framed in the doorway. He was big, built like a brick wall stuffed into a tailored suit, his face a mask of cold professionalism that didn’t even flicker at the scene before him.

And what a scene it was.

I was still on my knees, the plush carpet digging into them. My dress was rumpled, my hair a mess from his grasping hands. I could feel the smudged tracks of mascara under my eyes, damning evidence of the overwhelming tears that had spilled over. My lips were swollen, undoubtedly red, and I knew my mouth was still glistening with the remnants of Dominic’s release.

I felt a hot flush creep up my neck, staining my cheeks. I wanted to shrink into the floor, to disappear.

Dominic, however, didn’t even startle. He slowly tucked himself back into his trousers and zipped them. He didn’t try to hide me or shield me. He simply adjusted his cufflinks, his expression shifting from predatory satisfaction to icy authority in a heartbeat.

"The car from the docks is here, Sir. They’re waiting on your confirmation." The man spoke finally.

"Tell them to wait, Sergei. I’ll be down shortly." His voice was back to that terrifying, calm coolness, completely devoid of the ragged desire that had been there moments before.

"Sir," Sergei’s eyes flicked towards me for a split second, a glance that held no judgment, no curiosity, just a flat, empty assessment before he turned and left, closing the door softly behind him.