Maid for the Hitman: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance by Flora Ferrari (lightweight ebook reader txt) 📗

But I know he didn’t mean what I wish he did, that we’re going to be together forever, that we’re going to start a family together.

But then he did say he owned my womb, too.

What did he mean by that?

Maybe it was just dirty talk. It’s not as though I’ve got enough experience in this area to judge.

He stands up, his near silver eyes glinting in the lamplight of the library.

“Fucking hell,” he smirks, swaggering over to me with his hands behind his back.

His muscles throb and pulse in his steel-colored suit jacket, the tendons in his neck shimmering as though he could explode any second.

“Did you bring your duster, my little maid?” he snarls.

I’ve never been called little before, but I think he’s talking about our age, rather than my size. A thrill moves through me at the word, setting my nerves alight, making me want to reach out and grab the thick outline of his manhood.

“Yes,” I say, taking out the miniature duster and opening the contraption.

“Good little minx,” he smirks. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s time to clean.”

His eyes burn into me, his smirk captivating as it twitches toward a real smile.

But I think Ryland is too much of a wild beast to actually smile for real.

“Don’t you think I’ll need more than this little thing?” I murmur, giggling.

“Just bend that gorgeous ass over and start dusting, maid,” he smirks. “You’re not staying here for free, remember.”

I turn away from him, wondering if he’s laughing at me behind my back. The desire to accept this budding closeness rises inside of me like a deafening scream, moaning at me that I deserve this.

Just because the douchebags in high school never paid me any attention, it doesn’t mean nobody ever will.

I walk over to the nearest bookshelf, awed by the size of it, by the number of books. My heart swells and sings knowing that this man places such a high importance on books.

I wonder if I’ll get a chance to tell him about my passion for literature.

I wonder if he’ll care.

“Oh, fuck,” he growls as I bend forward, trailing the duster along the shelf. “Who told you to take your underwear off, Rosie?”

“They were all wet and sticky,” I murmur. “And I thought you’d want me too. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” he snaps, his voice husky. “I can see how wet you are, glistening in the light. Your hole is so fucking pink. Your lips are so big and juicy looking, begging to be touched. Keep cleaning, maid.”

I move along the shelf, sticking my ass out for him, fireworks flaring through me when I hear the floorboards creak toward me. He walks calmly across the room, bringing with him his just-Ryland scent, musky and woodsy.

“Tell me you’re sexy,” he growls.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

He takes another step forward, bringing his possessive hand to my thigh and squeezing down. I whimper and almost drop the duster, as he grips even harder, sinking his powerful hand into my flesh.

“Tell me, Rosie,” he snaps. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the goddamn truth,” he snarls.

“I’m sexy,” I say, quietly, as he inches his powerful grip further and further up my thigh.

“Say it like you mean it,” he grunts.

“I’m sexy, Ryland,” I moan.

Higher and higher, he moves his hand until he’s barely inches away from my sex, still sensitive from where he ground my panties against it earlier. And yet it throbs with neediness, begging for him to move up the rest of the way, to push against me with searing flesh-on-flesh contact.

“If you don’t start putting some fucking passion into it,” he growls, “I might have to spank you until you can’t sit down for a week. Now—say it.”

“I’m sexy,” I moan, voice shivering as his finger brushes along my lips, sending tempting tingling to my clit. “I’m sexy. Oh, that feels good.”

“You’re soaked,” he breathes. “You’re drenched. Have you ever been this excited before, Rosie?”

“Never,” I moan. “It feels so good.”

“I need to taste you,” he snarls.

I cry out in shock when he loops his arm around my waist, lifting me off my feet as though I weigh nothing.

I’ve never been held like this before. I feel like I’m flying.

“I’ve dropped the duster,” I giggle as he carries me across the marble floor, his shoes making clicking noises against the surface.

“Don’t worry about the damn duster,” he laughs savagely. “You’re still my horny maid. Don’t worry about that. But right now I’ve got a more important job for you.”

He lays me down on a table and looms over me, his clean shaven jaw tight as he glares down at me with savagery in his eyes.

“What?” I whimper.

“Cream for me,” he snarls. “I need to taste your come, Rosie. I just know it’s going to be as juicy and perfect as you are.”

I moan as he falls to his knees, sliding his hands from my ankles, up my calves, and over my thighs.

Sensations dance up my skin toward my sex, my clit singing a song of need even after the pleasure that rioted through me so recently.

He pulls me down the table and brings his face close to my sex, his warm breath whispering over my lips and my hole.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I can smell how wet you are.”

“Is it bad?” I murmur.

“You smell incredible,” he snarls. “I bet you taste the same.”

I stare down between my thighs, his silver hair dancing in the lamplight. His shoulders are like boulders barely contained within the prison of his steel-colored suit.

I bite down when he brings his tongue to the edge of my hole, skirting it teasingly.

He moves the tip of his tongue around and around, making my hole get wetter and warmer each second.

I let out an insistent moan. I don’t even mean to.

It’s like my womb sends the signal up through my body, screaming at me to make him touch my clit, to make him gift me more soul-searing pleasure.

He