Home > Last Gift (Hitman #1.5)

Last Gift (Hitman #1.5)
Author: Jessica Clare

To our fans – happy holidays!


NICK WATCHES THE CARS HEADING down the side street of our apartment building. It’s unusually busy, and I can tell it’s making him tense. It’s evident in the stiff set of his shoulders, and the way he ever so gently bends down the mini-blind so he can peer out on the snowy streets, unnoticed. When his hand brushes at his waist as if looking for his gun, I realize just how on edge he is.

I lick my fingers and put aside the Christmas cookie batter I’m making, and move to his side. “Nikolai,” I say softly. “What is it?”

He looks over at me, beautiful eyes dark with worry. “It is nothing, Daisy.”

But I know it’s not nothing. Every inch of his body is telling me that it is something. So I move to his side and peer out the window, trying to see what he sees. There are cars in the street, moving slow, but it’s to be expected. In the distance, there are Christmas lights covering every inch of the nearby buildings, all sparkling and pretty. I see nothing unusual, but I am not an assassin, so perhaps I am missing something. I turn to Nick. “What is it?” I repeat.

He nods at the window. “Many cars. They slow on this street. They watch something.”

I blink for a moment, and then laugh. “Of course they watch something. They’re slowing down to look at the Christmas lights.” I point at the nearby buildings, festooned with green and red and white lighting. There’s even an animatronic nativity that I passed by. It’s garish, but still impressive. “I imagine it’s parents taking their kids out to see the decorations.”

His shoulders relax a little. “Da? Is tradition?”

I nod firmly and link my arms around his waist. “Tradition. Nothing to be worried about.”

His breath exhales slowly, and his hands rub my back. “I still think like hitman.”

He does. I imagine it’ll take time for that to work out of his system. My Nick needs a distraction. “Do you want to get in the car and go drive past the lights?” Nick gives me such a disgruntled look that I laugh despite myself. “That must be a no.” I snuggle against him, loving the slow, possessive feel of his touch as his fingers skate down my back. “What Christmas traditions do you have?”

“I do not celebrate.”

This surprises me. I pull back and look up at him, puzzled. “Not at all?”

He shrugs. “You forget my upbringing.”

I do. My face immediately softens in memory. My poor Nick, brought up since childhood by the Bratva, raised to be a killer. Any kindness or softness he might have known before me was all an act, something he paid someone to do for him. The Bratva trained him to be an assassin; they did not train him to be a normal man.

I was foolish to ask. How could I not know the answer? It’s there in the way his hands have tightened around me. He realizes he is missing a vital part of a normal life, and it bothers him. It is another missing puzzle piece, and he wants to be whole for me.

I feel cruel for asking. I will distract him, instead. I am good at distracting. “I think we should get some mistletoe for our apartment.”

“Da?” His voice is musing, almost playful, and it makes me feel achy with need. I love it when Nick is playful. “You wish to hide underneath and surprise me with kisses?”

“Parts of you with kisses,” I agree breathlessly, and my fingers go to his belt. He stiffens again, but when I go down on my knees, his fingers caress my jaw with such love that I ache inside. I unbuckle his belt and pull it free, and by the time I tug down his zipper, he’s erect underneath his jeans and hard at what I’m suggesting.

I slide his clothes down his thighs and his cock pushes free, firm and beautiful and inches from my face. I am learning what pleases Nick as we live together. We practice a lot, I think with a smile, and I’m getting better at driving him crazy. I don’t reach immediately for his cock. Instead, my hands stroke back and forth on the thick muscles of his thighs, and I watch his cock jerk in response to my touch. There is a drop of pre-cum beading on the head, and I want to taste it.

I will, but not yet.

Nick’s hands are moving over my face, my jaw, my hair, frantically touching me but not wanting to interrupt what I’m offering. I know he loves this; it’s because he loves it so much that it gives me such great pleasure to do. I love pleasing Nick. I love seeing his face when my mouth is on him. This angle will make it almost impossible to watch his expression, but I will picture it instead.

Slowly, gently, I move my massaging hands up his thighs and curl them around his heavy balls. He groans as my fingers stroke them, and I feel his body twitch again. When another drop appears on the head of his cock, I lean in and lick both of them up, not wanting to lose that precious flavor.

My love makes a sound low in his throat, and it is beautiful to hear. “Daisy,” he breathes, and follows it with a nonsensical rapid-fire comment in Russian that I can’t make out. I’m taking Russian in one of my classes at school, but he’s speaking too fast for me to pick it up.

I close my mouth around the head of his cock, and my hand goes to grasp the base of him. Nick can stand it no longer. His hands tangle in my hair and then he’s pushing deeper into my mouth.

I loosen my jaw to welcome him, to take him as deep as I can, and moan deep in my throat when he thrusts into my mouth. He’s a little rough, but I love it. I love him losing control; it’s not something Nick does easily, and it’s not something Nick does around everyone.

But I love it.

Then he’s fucking my face, his cock thrusting into my mouth, the head pushing at the back of my throat, and I do my best to take him. He’s big, though, and I’m still inexperienced, and so when I pull away, my gag reflex working, he lets me. I cough a little, and then give him a faint smile to let him know I’m okay.

Nick takes his cock in hand, wet and gleaming from my mouth, and begins to rub the head of it against my lips, watching me with intense, fascinated eyes. I part my lips, feeling the hot, soft skin brushing against my own, feeling him glide the pre-cum on my face.

Then, he pumps himself hard in hand and he’s coming on my face, splashes of heat spattering on my cheeks, my mouth, my lips. I lick them, because he likes the sight, and I love the taste of Nick. So wonderful.

He groans at the sight of me, face upraised to him, covered in his come. Then, he strips off his t-shirt and begins to mop at my face. “You are too good for one such as me, Daisy, my love.”

“I love you, Nikolai.”

I’m rewarded by that intense satisfaction in his eyes.

I’m pretty sure I burned the cookies in the oven. I’m pretty sure I don’t care, either.

Tomorrow, I decide, I will go to a gun shop and look for the perfect present for Nick. Something dangerous and beautiful, just like him.

~~ * ~~


“YOU SEEM PREOCCUPIED TODAY,” a soft voice on my right says to me. It is some girl whose name I cannot remember or, more honestly, a name I do not care to learn. She’s the interrupter. All she does is constantly interrupt me while I draw, while I dream. Today she has broken up my replay of last evening’s decadent lovemaking.

I try not to be angry with her. Perhaps she has no Daisy in her life, no one whom adores her and she adores back. Another person would feel, I suppose, sympathy because of her lack so I try not to scowl at her. Daisy would tell me to be polite.

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