Himbo Hitman

by Saxon James

I’m killer with a pew pew. There’s one problem though. The last two jobs I went on, I ended up with cold feet. Worse, even. Frozen feet. I’d lifted the gun, looked my mark in the eyes, and all the fear and panic that flashed through them hit me right in the chest like they’d fired their own weapon. I couldn’t do it. So with an apology and a pinky swear, I sent them both into hiding.

Backstabbing totally fine. Back banging is a no-no. Ah, unless we’re talking sex. Then the rules are completely different.

“Sorry,” I explain, torn between helping him with the bleeding or shooting him again. “I was aiming for your head. I’m not a very good shot.” “Fuck you!”

“You know what? Just kill me.” I perk up. “Can I?” “No!” he snarls. “Jesus, what is wrong with you?” “Hey, you’re the one with a gunshot wound, so should you really be asking that question?”

“Actually, there’s one more thing.” He looks ready to hit me again. “Have you ever heard of a pinky swear?”

If you ask me, being a terrible shot has worked in his favor, so I’m not sure the taunting was warranted. Hurt my feelings a little bit, if I’m honest.

These guys are paying me. To talk to people.

I feel that!

Perry. Fuck. He’s so hot. A sweet, rambly mess with shoulders that look too broad for him to know what to do with. Then there’s the way his smile lights up his whole face like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Watching him move around that tiny cafe counter is like watching an overexcited Doberman in a china shop.

The problem is that the back-and-forth banter we’ve perfected over the last week gives me a buzz, and the need to feel that is wrestling with my annoyance. Which is making me even more annoyed.

St. Clare says. “My pretty mouth can do a lot of very pretty things.”

I might be shit at speaking bad guy, but I can speak innuendo, and the suggestion of having that mouth wrapped around my … around … that … has the blood relocating to a very specific part of my anatomy instead.

He’s … enjoying himself. We have him handcuffed to a chair because he tried to kill me, fucked up, and is now the one people are after, and he’s enjoying himself. I’m struggling to work out if Perry is the most laid-back person on Earth or is completely oblivious to the danger.

“Most people would be worried.” He thinks that over for a second. “Yeah, sure, I can see it. But really, what does being worried accomplish? As of right now, we’re safe. It’s all good. Whatever comes next will happen whether we worry about it or not.”

I puff my chest out a little. “You think I’m dangerous?” “Unintentionally.” Urg. Way to build me up only to break me down again.

As he walks out, my eyes stay pinned to his broad back, and then, very slowly, they dip toward his ass. I mean … I don’t hate it? Fuck. What I should be asking is who the fuck is self-destructive enough to flirt with the guy he was supposed to kill? Me, apparently. Maybe I really do need that gag.

“Fucking hell, Reilly.” Lars laughs. “You still want to sleep with him, don’t you?” I shrug. “Silver linings and all that?” “So, what? He fucks you, then kills you?” I frown, disturbed by that image. “Come on. That man is clearly a bottom.” “My mistake. You fuck him, then he kills you.” “Give and take is important in a relationship.”

“Perry …” My voice is hard to recognize. “Are you sure you’re straight?” His lips part, and I wait for the immediate confirmation. It doesn’t come. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

hall. “Maybe not professional will-spank-you Dom … just … would respectfully tell me what to do and be super confident and good in bed type of …”

“There’s one thing that I … that if I die, I’d sort of like to do first.”

“I’ve never kissed a man before.”

“And I’d really like to kiss you.”

“You want to kiss me because you think you’re going to die?” “Actually, I want to kiss you because you have a very pretty mouth, and that gets my dick hard.”

He jerks my head upward before his wet tongue finds my collarbone and slides tortuously up my neck. When his lips dip back by my ear, his voice is huskier than before. “I could lick every single inch of you, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Would you have kissed me if you didn’t think you were going to die?” He chews on his answer for a second. “No.” At least he was honest, I guess, even if it proves I was right. But Perry isn’t done. “And I would have missed out on the single best moment of my life.”

Perry is a steam train. A whirlwind. Inertia. The kind of force that can’t be stopped. Then there, hovering innocently over his chest, it feels like a calm secret just for me.

It’s consuming. So consuming it makes me forget the very real danger we’re in the second he touches me because if I die like this, I’ll be dying fulfilling my true purpose. Being St. Clare’s plaything.

“You’re a whore for it, aren’t you? You’d let me stick it in. Even if it hurt.”

I groan my way through it, not giving a fuck if I wake Lars because goddamn, the world should know how good St. Clare is at sex. As long as he’s only having it with me.

“And when we’re old and married, we’ll be able to tell everyone the story of how we met. Of our … meet shoot.” I blink at him. “Don’t try and turn this into a sweet moment.”

“This is more than sex, and you know it. I’ve done the just sex thing. I’ve been with people who aren’t interested in anything more than what I can give them physically, but I’m so much more than that. I know I can be. Let me look after you and be sweet to you and maybe fall for you a little bit. I want the sex and the emotions and to look at you and know that I have my own person who’s safe and home and all mine. I think you could be that person.”

I’ve never ever ever wanted this with another person and there have been plenty of other people. Not one of them comes close to him. He’s made for me. And I’ll do everything to prove that I’m made for him.

I kiss him again, more terrified than ever. Perry is the sweetest man I’ve ever met, and there’s no way that’s going to waste. Not when I’ve only just found him. I trust his process. No plans. Just vibes. He can do this.

We just work. We fit. And that gnawing lust deep in my gut gets more feral every time we’re together. It’s not stopping. It’s not ending. This is everything.

Perry Nikov is himbo husband material. And he’s all mine.