The Heiress and the Hitman

Chapter Four: TRIGGER MEMORY

My breath catches on a jagged edge as his thumb brushes deliberately along the frantic pulse hammering at my throat. Not hard enough to bruise, just enough to map the evidence of my fear. His grey eyes darken and his fingers linger briefly before returning to his side. He seemed to have a thing for pulse points. I wonder if it's an assassin thing.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth as velvet, the same throaty tone that almost ruined me earlier right before I kissed him. He was unreadable... unpredictable. That made him dangerous. The amusement I glimpsed earlier is no longer hidden; it curls at the corners of his mouth like smoke. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t release me either. Instead he tilts his head, studying me.

"I'm a bit worried about what kind of Husband I was for my wife to react this way around me..." His eyes bore into me. "You're terrified of me."

My stomach drops so fast I feel it in my knees.

He's still playing along with my ruse... And now I do not know if he's actually lost his memory or is just messing with me. Either way I'd probably end up dead. I'll have to play along too. His good arm snakes around my waist again. I should pull away. But I don’t.

Instead I lean in, slow and deliberate, until the heat of his body bleeds through the thin silk of my nightgown. The fabric is nothing, nearly translucent under the low penthouse lights and I feel every outline of his body against my skin. His gaze drops. Not by accident. It traces the curve of my breasts, the tight peaks of my n*****s still sensitive from the way they dragged against his jacket earlier, then lower, where the silk clings to my hips like a second, treacherous skin. The black flimsy thong I wore underneath the nightgown contrasted almost painfully with my pale smooth skin.

His jaw tightens. He swallows hard and drags his eyes back to mine, but the damage is done. His eyes look tortured. I see the suspicions and distrust warring with raw, unwilling hunger. The kiss we shared is still fresh, burning between us like an unspoken presence. I can still taste him on my tongue. I can feel the ghost of his fingers curled at my nape, tilting my head exactly where he wanted it. He wanted me. That was undeniable. So I use it...

I step closer, letting the nightgown brush his thighs.

"Maybe I like that I'm a little scared of you. But then again we've always been an unusual couple. It definitely made things interesting in the bedroom..." I whisper, the words drift against the shell of his ear like warm silk. My voice drops lower, husky, confessional. “It’s a pity you don’t remember. You used to love it when I was a little scared. It always woke the beast in you.”

His breathing stutters, just once, barely audible but I feel the shift ripple through the hard planes of his body pressed to mine. I don’t stop.

I keep going, painting the lie with intimate strokes. Creating a graphic picture of memories he didn't have.

I let my lips graze the underside of his jaw as I speak, painting the fantasy in slow, filthy detail. “You’d get so impatient… like waiting another second would kill you.” My fingertips glide up the inside of his forearm, tracing the vein that pulses hot beneath his skin. His eyes track the movement, heavy-lidded now, pupils blown wide. “You’d pin my wrists above my head and growl against my throat that you were done being gentle…”

I slide my palm higher, curling fingers around the back of his neck, my nails grazing his scalp just enough to make him inhale sharply. His chest rises against my breasts, hard and fast.

“Then you’d kiss me.” I brush my mouth over his, teasingly light before pulling back just out of reach. “Exactly the way you kissed me minutes ago. Hungry. Ruthless. Like you're trying to devour every inch of me.”

His gaze locks on my lips, grey eyes turning molten, stormy. The air between us feels electric, thick with everything he’s trying not to do.

I lean in until my breasts press fully against his chest, until I can feel how much harder he’s breathing, how much tighter his grip has become on my waist. “And then you’d touch me…” My free hand drifts down, skimming over his abdomen, lower, until my fingertips rest feather-light just above the buckle of his belt. I don’t move them. I don’t have to. “Here..." I guide his own hand slowly... deliberately, until his broad palm cups the curve of my ass, fingers digging in on instinct. “You couldn’t stop yourself..You’d spread me open on the nearest surface, counter, wall, bed, it didn’t matter." My eyes flutter up to his. His eyes never left mine. "You'd take what was yours. Slow at first… torturing us both… then so deep and rough I’d forget how to breathe anything but your name.”

A low sound rumbles in his throat, half growl, half curse.

I tilt my head, letting my lips hover over his. “You still kiss me like I belong to you, Nicolai.” My tongue flicks out, tracing the seam of his mouth in a slow, wet tease. “And you still touch me like you remember exactly how I break for you... So maybe your body remembers what your mind has forgotten. My love."

His control fractures. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to expose my throat. Then he slides his hands roughly up my spine, then down again, gripping my hip so hard it'll probably leave a bruise by tomorrow. His mouth crashes over the pulse point he’d been staring at, teeth scraping, then soothing with a hot, open-mouthed kiss that makes my knees buckle.

“Keep talking,” he rasps against my skin, his voice husky with desire. "Tell me what I supposedly did to my wife next.”

His words are dangerous and testing. But the way he’s grinding me against him... With slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that press the thick ridge of his arousal right where I ache... He’s definitely close to believing I'm his wife. And if fragments of memory are flickering behind those storm-grey eyes, I might as well drown them in heat before they sharpen into something lethal.

I’m not stopping until he’s all the way gone.

My fingers slide into his hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt his head back so I can drag my lips along the line of his jaw. I kiss it slowly. Tongue tracing the rigid line like I’m relearning sacred territory. He shudders, a low groan vibrating against my mouth.

“You’d mark me here first,” I murmur against his skin, “Then you’d work your way down… slow. Like you had all night to unravel me.”

He curses under his breath. His left arm was broken so there wasn't much he could do with it but his remaining hand roamed with purpose. He palms my breast through the thin silk of my nightgown, thumb circling the peaked n****e until I gasp into his mouth. Then he slips his hand beneath the hem, skimming up my thigh, fingers splaying wide to grip the soft flesh just below the curve of my ass. He lifts me slightly, pinning me higher against the counter so my legs wrap instinctively around his waist.

The new angle lets him grind harder, deeper. I feel every inch of him straining against his trousers, hot and insistent. My core clenches in response, slick heat soaking through the filmsy lace between us.

“Like this?” he growls, voice rough as gravel. His fingers dip beneath the edge of my thong, tracing the seam of my folds, teasing me. “Is this how I touched my wife?”

I nod, breathless. A tiny voice in my head seemed to be telling me I'd taken this too far. I ignored it. I wasn't even concerned with convincing him anymore. I just wanted more. I continued breathlessly "You’d tease me until I begged… then you’d slide one finger inside. Slowly and curl it just right..."

He doesn’t wait for permission. One thick finger pushes in, stretching me with deliberate patience. My head falls back as I let out a soft groan. He adds a second almost immediately, stroking that spot inside that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.

“f**k,” he breathes, watching my face like he’s memorizing every twitch, every hitch in my breathing. “You’re so wet for me... You always were, weren’t you?”

My eyes flutter open. I let him see the raw want there... real and undeniable. I'd think about what that meant later but for now I'll take what I can get.

“Always,” I whisper. He curses under his breath, pumps his fingers deeper, thumb massaging my c**t in tight, relentless circles. Pleasure coils low and fast; my hips rock against his hand on instinct. His mouth claims mine again. It's messy and devouring. He swallows every moan until I can’t hold back.

We’re well into dangerous territory now. His free hand works the hook of my nightgown down my back; Slipping it off me swiftly. Cool air kisses my bare skin as silk pools at my waist. He breaks the kiss long enough to drag his lips down my throat, over the swell of my breast, then latches onto a nipple... sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly.

I arch, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Nicolai…”

He growls at his name on my lips, switches to the other breast while his fingers never stop moving inside me. The rhythm builds faster, deeper until I’m trembling on the edge, thighs quivering around him.

But even through the haze, the tiny voice grows louder, doubt gnaws at me... Has he really lost his memory. Is he playing along, letting me dig my own grave deeper with every gasp?

I need to know but at the same time I can't stop. I've lost my damn mind.

I cup his face, force him to look at me while his fingers slow to a torturous glide. “Do you remember this?” My voice cracks, half plea, half seduction. “Do you remember me now?”

His eyes darken. Something unreadable flashing through them. Instead of answering, he withdraws his fingers slowly, leaving me clenching around nothing. He brings them to his mouth, licks them clean with deliberate strokes of his tongue while holding my gaze. The sudden emptiness leaves me squirming. I didn't want him to stop... The thought fills me with shame. I pull up my nightgown to cover my breasts.

He steps back just enough to create space between us. My legs slide down until my feet touch the floor again. His eyes narrow at me. Then he speaks, His voice is a gentle rumble “Have I ever tried to hurt you?”

The question hangs between us. It's unexpected.My body is still buzzing, mind foggy with need, but I shake my head. “No. Never.”

Not entirely a lie. In the version of events I’m selling, he’s never hurt me. In reality however… he had come pretty close.

He studies me for a long beat, chest rising and falling. “Why do I have a gun in my pocket?” He asks gently.

My heart stutters. A what now? My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. He had a gun? of course... He wouldn't come here with just a knife. Before I could react, his fingers slipped into his pocket. My heart leapt into my throat. He pulls it free. Black metal caught the light...

A handgun. Real. Heavy and Loaded... If his profession was anything to go by. The penthouse is silent except for our ragged breathing. His eyes, those grey storms bore into mine.The man who had me trembling and boneless in his arms mere minutes ago has vanished. What’s left is something colder.

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Aria,” he murmurs, the words almost fond.

He raises the gun. The muzzle points steady at my chest. I stop breathing altogether.

His voice drops to a husky whisper.

"Now you have to get punished."