I positioned her on my bed, her knees folded and her weight resting on her ankles. I had her in a lacy black bodysuit, the dark color going with her olive skin perfectly. I wasn’t an artist by any means, but I knew exactly what kind of picture I wanted. I grabbed the sheets and yanked them back then arranged them around her. I had her hold on to one piece, letting it cover some of her abdomen so the white sheet would contrast against her skin.

I grabbed the diamond necklace I bought and hooked it around her throat before I added the bracelet. I layered her lingerie and jewelry, adorning her like the queen she already was. Her makeup was done and her hair slightly curly the way I liked. Her lips were painted a deep red, and her eyes were smoky and mysterious.

I used the camera on my phone to get the shot, allowing light from the windows in the background to hit her face at the perfect angle. I captured the natural lines of her body, the way the thin material hugged the steep curve of her back. Her tits were pressed together, but nothing more than her cleavage was visible.

I got the shot—and it was perfect.

I didn’t even ask her to pose. I didn’t ask her to smile or not smile.

She was just a natural.

Sexy all the time.

I shoved the phone into my pocket then walked back toward the bed. I was still pissed she thought I brought her here to kill her. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t a crazy assumption to make, but she couldn’t have been further from the truth. But surprising my victims wasn’t the way I operated.

I wanted them to know I was coming for them.

But eventually, I would kill her. And I wanted this painting to remember her, to remember the woman who captured my fascination. It would hang from the wall in my office, so when I drank myself into a stupor, I could stare at this image and think about her. And I could remember the fact that she made it, sealed herself in a priceless work of art.

She pulled the sheets farther up her body even though I’d seen her naked on a daily basis. “I’m not sure about this.”

“I am.” I’d never given her the option. She would make this painting for me, whether she wanted to or not. Sometimes she got comfortable with her bits of freedom and thought she had more of it.

But she didn’t have anything.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Hang it proudly.” We were eye level as I stood beside the bed. When she was raised on the mattress, I could stare at her head-on instead of craning my neck down. Being over a foot taller than her had its frustrations.

“Where?”

“Lake Garda.”

“Why?” she whispered. “You already have a picture.”

“Because I want you to make me something. And the only thing beautiful enough to hang on my wall is you.” I grabbed the sheet and pulled it away, so I could see her flat tummy. She had a cute belly button and flawless skin. Her only imperfection was the scar on her arm where she’d been struck by a bullet.

We had the same scar. I just had it in more places.

She continued to watch me with hesitance in her eyes. “I’ve never painted myself before. It’ll be weird.”

“You painted yourself in that Christmas picture.”

“But that was different.”

“How?”

“Because…it’s just in a different context. An image is about the viewer’s perception. I painted myself the way my family sees me. If I paint myself the way you see me…” Her voice trailed away, but her meaning was still in the air.

“As a beautiful woman I love to bed?” I asked. “No shame in that. You know you’re beautiful, baby.”

“I mean…as a prisoner.”

That’s what made the picture even sexier. “I know you can do it.” I grabbed her hips and tugged her toward me, forcing her bottom forward and her shoulders back. I yanked until her back was against the sheets, and her hair was spread out around her. I unclasped the crotch of her bodysuit and revealed her gorgeous pussy. My fingers rubbed her clit gently, moving in a circular motion as I stood over her. My cock was already hard in my jeans after taking her photo, but I knew she needed my touch to get ready for me. It was difficult for my cock to fit inside a woman unless she was soaked, so getting her wet was always necessary. If not, I’d have to break out the lube.

Her breathing filled the quiet room and became louder and louder. She stopped thinking about the painting I asked her to make and started to focus on the way my fingers made her feel. When I slipped two fingers inside her and rubbed her clit with my thumb, she breathed even louder.

When her arousal flooded my fingers, I knew she was ready.

I dropped my pants and boxers and positioned her at the edge of the bed. Her legs spread for me, and I slid my cock inside her, easily getting my length deep. I moved all the way inside until my balls hit her ass.

She released a quiet whimper and pressed her hand to my chest. “Too deep.”

I wanted to fuck her as deep as I wanted. If it hurt, I didn’t care. If she cried, that would just make me like it more. But the second she told me to stop, I listened. She didn’t say it to me often, so when she did, I knew she meant it. If she were anyone else, I probably wouldn’t care, but she earned so much of my respect that I couldn’t help but listen to her.

I thrust into her slowly, making sure I kept the last few inches out of her body, so I wouldn’t hit her cervix again. At this angle, I could get even deeper inside her. She took most of my length anyway, so it would be selfish to ask for more.

I gripped the backs of her legs and thrust into her at a slow pace, treasuring the way she looked on the bed underneath me. Her eyes were a little wet from my initial thrust, and it made her look even prettier.

I liked to see a beautiful woman cry.

She stopped pushing against my chest and started to tug on my shirt. She lifted it up my stomach, telling me she wanted it off.

I pulled it over my head and tossed it on the bed.

Then her hands were all over me, feeling the muscles of my abs and chest.

I loved it when she touched me. She touched me with desire and eagerness. Her nails lightly dug into me, and her mouth parted slightly, showing those cute teeth. Her pussy became wetter and tighter, and her breaths turned to moans.

“Baby…you have no idea how sexy you look right now.” She was perfect underneath me, as much of a queen on her back as when she stood tall. The lace still pushed her tits together, forming a delicious cleavage line. Her tanned limbs contrasted against the black color she wore and with her eye makeup. Her dark hair was spread out across the bed, the brown locks striking against my ivory sheets.

“Not as sexy as you…” She dragged both of her hands down my body and gripped my hips so she could pull herself onto my length harder.

Fuck.

Vanessa was two different women. This version of her worshiped the ground I walked on and couldn’t get enough of me. The sex was so good it erased the war between us. When we used each other’s bodies, it brought us closer together. We even liked each other, needed each other. She was under this spell as much as I was.

She told me I was the best she’d ever had.

And she was mine.

I stilled my thrusts and leaned over her, holding my mouth just inches above hers.

Her hands slid up my back and into my hair. She fisted the short strands and breathed in my face, still moaning even though my dick was idle inside her. Her pussy was soaked, covering my dick from crown to balls.

“You think I’m sexy?” I whispered.

“You know I do.” She kissed me, giving me a delicate kiss in the corner of my mouth.

“I love being inside you. I never want to not be inside you.” I was the kind of lover who rarely talked, but watching and listening to her want me put me in a sensual mood. I was more aroused than usual, pulsing inside her because this pussy was all mine to enjoy.

“Then don’t be. Fuck me.” She kissed me again, this time sucking my bottom lip. “Fuck me and don’t stop.”

Jesus Fucking Christ. “Yes, baby. Yes.”

After I took that picture, we never left my bedroom.

I fucked her deep into my mattress, pumping her with more come than I ever did before. It got all over my sheets, but neither one of us seemed to care. We fucked deep into the night, past two in the morning.

I’d never fucked the same woman so many times.

By the time I was finished, I couldn’t go anymore.

My dick was broken.

She fell asleep instantly, and I traveled into my living room. I stared at the plate she snatched as a weapon.

Like she could have stopped me with a plate.

The corner of my mouth rose in a smile, and I poured myself a scotch in the kitchen. There wasn’t much food here because I didn’t come here often. I only passed through. Richard stayed in Lake Garda because that was my primary residence.

I liked to be away from people.

People were shitty.

I sat at the dining table and looked out the window to the city behind. The lights were bright, reminding me of other big cities I’d been to. They all looked the same at night. I drank my poison and sat in my boxers, letting the liquor do its magic.

I could normally sleep after fucking Vanessa, but now I was wide awake.

Thinking about that painting.

I wanted her to make it for me so I would remember her after she was gone. I wanted to remember my conquest, like a notch on my belt, a mark on my bedpost.

But then I felt like shit.

It was sick.

I was making her preserve her own memory, capturing herself in a way she didn’t want to be portrayed. Once my enemies were dead, I would have that painting as a trophy, to remember everything I accomplished.

But was it really an accomplishment?

I was hurt when she thought I was going to kill her, but did I have any right to be offended when that’s what I wanted to do to her? Didn’t that make me hypocritical?

And since I didn’t kill her when I was supposed to, would I ever actually do it?

Who knew?

My phone lit up with a text message from Max. Are you in Milan?

I texted back. Yes. I didn’t ask how he knew that.

We need to meet. The usual place?

I didn’t want them around Vanessa. I’ve got company.

Barsetti?

Yes.

So you aren’t going to kill her?

I dodged the question. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Let’s meet at our other place.

I woke up later than usual because I was up so late. Vanessa was gone, and I assumed she went into the other room to begin her artwork. I changed into my gym clothes and went to my private gym on the next floor. I did an intense workout before I returned and jumped in the shower.

After I had breakfast, I went in search of Vanessa.

She was exactly where I expected her to be, sitting on a chair at an easel. All the colors were in place, but her image wasn’t clear. She spent so much time detailing every little thing in the room, from the texture of the walls, to the light flooding through the windows, to the tiny details of the curtains.

She was a perfectionist.

She didn’t turn around when she heard me walk inside. Her brush was still against the canvas, perfecting the outline of her body against the bed.

I walked farther into the room, my eyes glued to her painting. But the second I took my gaze away from her artwork and looked at her, I noticed something.

Her shirt.

It was my shirt.

It was the shirt I’d been wearing when she asked me to take it off. It was the shirt that fell on the ground and lay forgotten while we screwed for the rest of the night. I left it there because I forgot about it, and when I woke up this morning I never picked it up.

And now she was wearing it.

Ten sizes too big, it reached her knees, and the sleeves almost touched her elbows. It didn’t show her curves, and it made her look even smaller in comparison. Her legs reached out underneath it, toned and beautiful.

I’d never seen a woman wear my shirt before.

And look so sexy in it.

Time seemed to stand still as I looked at her, unsure how I felt about what I was looking at. She had a bag of her own clothes, so it wasn’t like she didn’t have anything else to wear. I was always possessive of her, but seeing her in my belongings seemed to change my hold over her.

I felt like I owned her even more.

And she wanted me to own her.

I didn’t let my victims humanize themselves. I didn’t let myself get attached to them or pity them. I had to kill them, so they were nothing more than livestock. Like a cow that would be taken out to slaughter for meat.

But seeing her in that black t-shirt changed everything.

And I would never look at her the same way again.

I pulled my sweater over my head and then put on my shoes.

Vanessa was sitting on the couch with a blanket over her legs while she watched TV. When she realized I was leaving, she sat up. “Are you going somewhere?”

“I’m meeting the guys.”

“Tonight?” she asked in surprise.

“Yeah.”

“It’s almost eight.”

I grabbed my keys and wallet off the counter. “I know. I have a watch.”

“Isn’t that late?”

I killed people for a living. There was no such thing as late. “I’ll be back later.” I headed to the door, not in the mood to say goodbye. I was annoyed at myself right now. Seeing her wear my shirt pissed me off. I wasn’t angry at her for wearing my clothes. That would be a stupid thing to get upset about. But I hated the way it made me feel.

Vanessa followed me to the door dressed in a purple nightdress. Her hair was down, and her face had been washed. She packed her toothbrush, but I forced her to use mine anyway. “Is everything alright?”

“I have to work.”

“You’ll be back tonight?” She followed me all the way to the elevator, the small nightgown barely covering her body.

“Yes.” I hit the button, and the doors opened.

“That’s it?” she asked incredulously. “No other explanation—”

“I’m not your boyfriend.” I stared at the pissed look on her face as the doors closed. When she was finally gone from sight, I took a breath. I didn’t like the way this woman made me feel. When we were together, I forgot about all the shit in my life. When she wore my shirt, it made me feel like I was connected to her.

I hated that feeling.

So I pushed her away—hurting her on purpose.

I hit the button and rode the elevator to the bottom floor. Then I walked to the bar a few blocks away. It was a dark place with guys who looked the other way when they saw trouble. Women were on poles, their titties hanging out.

I wasn’t impressed.

Max was already there, getting a lap dance from a blonde. He grinned like an idiot, entertaining himself until I arrived.

I dropped into the chair across from him. “Get your pussy later.”

He chuckled then excused the woman. “Like the pussy you have every night?” He grabbed his beer and took a drink.

I didn’t like the way he referred to Vanessa, mentioning the heaven between her legs. That was my pussy—and no other man could talk about it. “She’s off-limits. What do you have for me?”

A folder sat on the table, but he didn’t push it toward me. He studied me with his brown eyes, his hand gripping his glass. “Off-limits, huh?”

“Yes.” I challenged him with my gaze, warning him not to cross the line.

“First, you were going to kill her. Then, you were just keeping her. But now, she’s off-limits. The only women who are off-limits are wives and families. So, which one is she? I know she’s not family…”

One of the guys in our crew had a wife. Wives were safe from trash talk and our general perverseness. And we also had a protocol. If the wife was ever captured along with the crew member, she took priority. The man could die—as long as she lived. When I said Vanessa was off-limits, that wasn’t how I meant it. I just didn’t want him to talk about her pussy like he had the right to.

Only I did.

“Do you know anything else about Joe?”

Max let it go, probably because he could feel my rage. “I’m pretty sure it was him. I’ve gathered enough evidence to prove he was in the neighborhood on the night of the murder. That’s an odd coincidence.”

“Too much of a coincidence.”

“So, I think it was him. But you really should take some time to think about this. If you don’t pull it off right, all the Tyrants will be after you. If you really want to kill him, do it without leaving a trace back to you.”

“I do that for a living, so it shouldn’t be hard.”

Max glanced around the bar, making sure there was no one around who was eavesdropping. “You’re putting the rest of us at risk here. And none of us believe avenging your mother is worth our lives, our livelihood. I’m sorry you’re still angry about it, and I don’t blame you for being upset, but you should let it go.”

Letting it go was easier said than done. “What if it were your mother?”

He held his silence.

“You wouldn’t let it go,” I said coldly. “And if you did, what kind of son would you be?”

“And what kind of mother would want her son to risk his life when she’s already dead?” he countered.

We stared at each other while the music played overhead. The bass was loud as the women worked the poles in their heels. Most of them were just in thongs, their plump asses firm. The lights were low, and their faces were barely distinguishable. Like the other men here, I enjoyed watching them dance and move.

But now that Vanessa was waiting for me, I didn’t find them appealing.

Because Vanessa put these women to shame.

Max ended the silence by pushing the folder toward me. “I’ve got a hit for you.”

“Where?”

“Russia.”

I hated going to Russia. It was cold as fuck, even colder than it was here. And it was enormous. It was three times as big as all of Europe combined. “When?”

“Immediately.”

That meant I was leaving tonight. “How much?”

“Twenty million.”

“Wow. This guy has a big bounty on his head.”

“He raped our client’s daughter. He’s paying extra because he wants you to torture the guy before you kill him.”

So it was personal. “Consider it done.”

When I returned to my place, Vanessa was in bed. She wasn’t asleep, but she was playing a game on her phone. Her eyes followed me as I walked inside, and she set the phone on the nightstand. She looked at me but didn’t say anything, obviously angry by the way I spoke to her when I left.

I grabbed my bag and tossed my clothes inside.

She couldn’t hold her silence anymore, not when she realized what I was doing. “Where are you going?”

“I have a job. I’m leaving for Russia.”

“Right now?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes. Right now. I’ll be gone for a few days. I’ll leave my key, so you can come and go as you please.”

She sat up in bed, her hair pulled over one shoulder. She looked sexy making herself at home in my bed, lying on the side of the bed that I usually took. “You’re off to kill someone?”

I stuffed the last of my things in the black leather bag and zipped it up. “Yes.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, turning judgmental.

“My target raped my client’s daughter.” I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t have to justify what I was doing. But I wanted her to know that, to know she shouldn’t feel bad for my victim.

He deserved to be my victim.

Her arms returned to her sides. “Oh…”

“I expect that painting to be done by the time I get back.”

“You can’t rush art.”

“But I can rush you.” I pulled the strap over my shoulder then approached her at the bedside. My guns were on the second floor, away from my living quarters, so Vanessa wouldn’t have access to them. I stared at her slender neckline, wanting to sprinkle kisses everywhere before I left, but I knew I should leave. I had a plane to catch. “Don’t call me. I won’t answer.”

“Alright.”

I wanted to lean down and kiss her goodbye, but that felt too domesticated. I usually kissed her when I left, but now that I’d seen her in my shirt, everything felt different. It seemed like this was more complicated than just a master and a prisoner.

She stared at me, like she was thinking the same thing.

I finally had the strength to turn away and walk to the door.

“Bones.”

I stood at the doorway, still gripping the strap of my bag. I didn’t want to turn around, I didn’t want to look at her. I just wanted to walk off like she meant nothing to me. But I turned around anyway.

She moved to her knees then pulled the purple nightdress over her head, revealing her gorgeous tits, sexy curves, and beautiful skin. Her dark skin looked good under any light, but right now, it looked especially stunning.

Fucking kissable.

“You’re just going to leave without saying goodbye to your baby?”

I never got so hard so fast in my life. My bag dropped to the floor with a thud, and I pulled my shirt over my head. This woman wanted me and was pretty much begging me. My assignment didn’t seem important anymore, not when her tits looked that gorgeous and her nipples were so hard. Her little belly was calling to me, asking for my kisses.

I kicked off my shoes then dropped my pants. Bits of clothing dropped on the floor until I reached the bed buck naked.

Vanessa grabbed me by the arm and pulled me on top of her, her legs immediately circling my waist and her fingers running through my hair. Her mouth was on mine, and she kissed me like a woman who didn’t want her man to leave.

My cock found her pussy like a magnet, and I slid inside her, greeted by her arousal.

“Apologize to me.”

I was so hard inside her, oozing from my crown because I was so turned on. I loved being the master, keeping my prisoner in line. But when she became sassy, needy, it hit the right spot. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t ever leave like that again.”

“I won’t.”

She kissed me hard, her hips rocking with mine so she could take my cock hard and fast. “Promise me.”

I was sick of making promises. I was tired of making exceptions for her. I was pissed at myself for bending all the rules for her. She was still alive because I allowed it, and I was buried between her legs right this very moment because she made me weak. Our relationship had turned into this combustive explosion of intense chemistry that made both of us stupid and irrational…and made us despise each other more at the same time. I hated her because of what she did to me. And she hated me for making her feel so much shame, for enjoying the feeling of her enemy’s cock deep inside her. But I made another promise to her, a promise I would keep because I was a man of my word. “I promise.”