Page 2 of The Hitman’s Obsession

And dancing…

Goddamn, look at that ass.

Every shake of her hips left or right and her T-shirt flaps up, showing off her spectacular figure, giving me a glimpse of even more of her soft, youthful skin. My heart rate is climbing as I watch her move, but beyond that, my dick is swelling painfully beneath me, pressing against the plywood.

Jesus, how is she doing this to me?

A small white moth flies past her and lands on her desk. If I had a brush in my hand like her, I’d just smash the thing. But she sets the brush aside and very slowly creeps forward and grabs the moth with both hands. Carefully, she carries it over to her window and lets it fly out into the night.

Okay, so she’s a nice girl. Why should I care?

I’m sure plenty of the people I’ve killed were nice. It’s not my job to determine who lives and who dies. I’m just the middleman. An instrument—an instrument of death.

But my heart rate is still climbing. I do care. My stomach is tense. I’m clenching my teeth hard against each other, searching for some pain to bring me back to the reality of my assignment.

I level my crosshairs on her again.

She’s your job, not your business.

She’s going to die because of her father’s actions. That’s not my problem. She’s stunningly gorgeous. That’s not my problem either.

Even if I wanted her, it’s not like I could have her. That would be impossible.

She’s standing at the window now, looking out. The shot is even easier than it was before. Nice and clean. No chance of missing at this range. I pin my crosshairs on her chest and take a deep breath.

Now squeeze, nice and gently.

Again I try, and again, the trigger doesn’t move. Neither does my finger.

“Fuck!”

My pulse is racing now. My eyes are locked on to Annie’s flawless curves, and my cock is hard as steel. My balls ache more with every move she makes. Something is stopping me from shooting her, and it isn’t the safety of my rifle or a malfunctioning trigger.

It’s her.

This can’t happen. Roman Graves does not miss. Roman Graves does not hesitate. And Roman Graves definitely does not suddenly develop a conscience at thirty-nine years old.

But this angel has wrecked me. I’m gasping for breath, my heart is hammering against my ribs, and my blood is rushing to my center.

A growl rolls up from my chest as she leans in and closes the curtains. I’m gonna miss my shot.

But she doesn’t close them completely. There’s still a tiny slit where they don’t touch, and with the angle of my scope, I can see right in.

But I’m not tracing her body for the place to put my bullet. My eyes are glued to her tight little ass as she walks over to her bed and lies down. Her legs fall open, giving me a straight-on view of her cute little camel toe.

I shift my weight against the plywood to make room for my erection. I’m so hard it hurts. And goddamn, I’m leaking precum.

She picks up her tablet and swipes, opening something—a book, maybe. Her beautiful blue eyes scan the screen, and a few seconds later, her other hand slides down between her thighs.

I’m a hitman. A killer. But for some reason, in this moment, a voice inside my head tells me to look away.

I can’t. Just like I tried and failed to pull the trigger before, I try and fail to turn my head. It’s like she has me under a trance.

Seeing her half-naked shouldn’t affect me. I’ve seen people fully nude before on jobs. It should be meaningless. But with this girl, it’s like being hypnotized by beauty. Primal instincts swell within me.

I grind my teeth harder as I watch her middle finger press against her panties, moving in a circular motion. A damp spot appears against the cotton. Her big tits rise and fall as her breaths deepen. Jesus, this girl’s either reading a filthy romance novel or watching porn. She’s pleasuring herself. Fantasizing.

Yeah, but about who?