Assassin's Haiku (7 page)

“No.” Diego stared at her, a perplexed expression on his handsome face. “I killed people today, Haiku, hundreds of people, and I’m coated with blood.” His voice was flat. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He had killed hundreds of people? She sat in his lap, not caring that the clothes she wore would be ruined. He had been through so much. “Because I love you.” She leaned into him and kissed a patch of clean skin. Diego shook against her. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders so she could touch more of him. “Besides, I’m used to cleaning up naughty little boys covered in blood.” She tapped the end of his nose, and he blinked. “I take care of toddlers, remember?” She took care of special toddlers, actually. When she first met Jacob, he’d been covered in blood, yet he hadn’t had a scratch on him.

“I remember.” Diego rested his head on her shoulder, the tremors in his body subsiding. “I remember everything about you. You were wearing a pink blouse when I first saw you. It had lace around here.” He touched her neckline. “And a small brown handprint here.” He put his palm on her stomach, underneath her left breast.

Her face grew hot. There were things she’d rather he not remember. “You must have thought me a mess.” His home was a glaring white, and her clothing had been covered with grime.

“I thought you were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.” Diego smiled slowly.

The dazed look had left his eyes, much to Haiku’s relief.

“You looked like an angel. You still look like an angel.” He frowned at the mark on her shirt. “Even covered with blood.”

She tugged off his glove. He must have forgotten he hadn’t removed both of them. “I’d rather be covered by you.” She peeled herself away from him. He was sticky with drying blood. “Come.” She took his uninjured hand, helping him to rise. “Let’s take a shower.” He followed her docilely to the bathroom, leaving a trail of blood and clothes behind him. She’d clean that mess up later. She would clean him up first.

She turned the tap on, and the cool water trickled down. Haiku stepped aside, allowing Diego to enter the shower first. His tanned skin was stained with blood. He stood under the water, his face turned upward, streams of red running over his body.

Haiku removed her own clothing, the shirt she had borrowed from him and the boxers she doubted he’d ever worn. She moistened a soft washcloth and rubbed it over his wide shoulders, down his proud, straight backbone, between his hard-as-rock ass cheeks. Slowly and gently, she washed him from head to toe, cleansing every inch of his flesh, careful not to get the gauze around his hand wet. He stood motionless, his black eyes blank as he accepted her care. The pool of water around them faded from red to pink to colorless until the water stopped, the supply depleted.

Haiku unfolded a large fluffy towel, wrapped the white cloth around him, and swathed herself in a second towel. She smiled. They matched. They were a couple. He protected her, and she took care of him. She led him into the bedroom and pulled back the covers.

Diego fell into the bed like a crumbling brick wall, the mattress squeaking a protest at his weight, and he lay facedown for one long, anguish-filled minute.

“Come, Haiku.” He rolled onto his back. His big arms spread. “I want to touch you.” His towel tented as his cock hardened, but he avoided her gaze, looking down at his flat stomach, his lips flat and white.

It was the same sheepish expression her kids made when they had done something bad and believed they deserved punishment. “Do you want to touch me?” She dropped her towel, revealing her naked body. He hesitated slightly before nodding. “Do you deserve to touch me?”

Diego’s eyes rose, and in that blackness, she saw his pain and guilt and torment. Haiku wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him she loved him, but that wasn’t what he needed from her right now.

“No,” he whispered.

She thought so. Haiku opened a drawer, removed a fresh pair of black leather gloves, and slammed the drawer closed, rocking the dresser. “And why don’t you deserve to touch me?” She flipped the gloves over her thighs, his gaze tracking her movement.

“Because I’ve killed men, many, many men,” he confessed, lifting his square chin.

“No.” Using all the strength in her slight body, Haiku slapped the leather across his stomach. He grimaced but made no sound, accepting his punishment, and within seconds, the red welt disappeared. “Open your towel, Diego.” He did as she commanded, unveiling his erect cock. “I’ll ask you again. Why don’t you deserve to touch me?”

There was a pause as he considered his answer. “Because I killed a friend.” His voice wavered. “He was an Agency operative, but he was once a friend, and I killed him.”

Shit
. He’d killed a friend today. Haiku’s heart twisted as she felt his anguish. “Wrong.” She whipped his upper thighs with the gloves, and his stomach muscles contracted. “Killing Agency operatives to keep me safe
is
your job. You didn’t disobey me that way. You went to work, and I gave you permission to go to work, didn’t I? I told you go, work…safely.” She got off the mattress and padded around the foot of the bed, her bare feet slapping on the tile as she moved to the other side. “So for the third time, why don’t you deserve to touch me?” She brushed the gloves over his cockhead, and beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. “Answer me, Diego.”

“Because I didn’t keep myself safe.” He gave her the words she wanted, his tone communicating that he didn’t think they could possibly be the right answer.

“Exactly,” Haiku purred, leaning over him, stroking his cheek with her index finger. “I said to do your job safely, and you came back injured, didn’t you?” She threw her left leg over his body to straddle his stomach. When Diego put his hands on her waist, she slapped him hard, the leather curling around his forearm. “No. You don’t deserve to touch me. You know that.” He yanked his hands away. “Put your hands above your head and cross your wrists.” He’d shown her last night how stimulating that position was.

She waited until he complied, his muscles stretched and strained. “Your body is no longer your own, Diego.” She bent so that her nipples rubbed against his chest. “It belongs to me.” Her lips were a breath away from his. “If I want to lick it.” She licked along his neck. “If I want to suck it.” She swirled her tongue around his flat male nipple before sucking it into her mouth. She wasn’t gentle, marking him as he had previously marked her. “If I want to bite it.” She bit down on that moist flesh. A whimper escaped his lips. “I’ll do it. You belong to me, understand?”

“Yes.”

Haiku felt the muscles underneath her soften, reaffirming her conviction that he needed to share some of his control over life and death decisions. “Good,” she cooed, stroking his cheek again. “Because I’m going to take what I want”—she wiggled back until his cock nestled between her ass cheeks—“what I need, from you.” She tilted back and forth, brushing her nipples over his chest, grinding her ass against his cock. “And you’ll give it to me, selflessly, coming only when I tell you to come, understand?” When he didn’t answer quickly enough, she slapped his thighs with the leather gloves.

His groan vibrated her skin. “I understand.”

Diego was tired and emotionally empty, and he wouldn’t last long. That was fine, as her pussy had been primed and ready since she scrubbed his naked body clean in the shower.

“What I want, what I need, is to fuck you now.” Haiku rose up, positioning him at her entrance, and slowly sank down on his thick shaft, relishing his size and strength. Once impaled upon his cock, she squeezed and released him in an erotic massage, until he pulsed in time with her rhythm. “Do you feel that, Diego?” She rocked on him. “That is what I need, and you won’t be able to give it to me if you get yourself killed. Would you die and leave this pussy empty?”

“Fuck no.” A muscle ticked in his clenched jaw, and his hands folded into fists.

“Kill who you need to kill to do your job.” It was a horrible job, but they were in a war, and horrible jobs were necessary. “But don’t ever hurt yourself again.” Haiku assigned him that impossible task, knowing he needed the challenge of an impossible task. “Because next time, I won’t be as kind.” She increased the pace, panting with effort, slamming down on his cock, her pussy tightening.

“Haiku, please…” he begged.

“Not yet.” Sensing he needed more pain, more punishment, she raked her fingernails over his exposed underarms, leaving red marks. Diego moaned, straining against his self-imposed bonds, thrusting up with his hips, and she rode him, holding on to him with her thighs, resisting his frantic attempts to dislodge her.

Perspiration dripped down his face, and veins rose over his muscles, but still she rocked upon Diego, pushing him closer and closer to his breaking point as she also neared hers. Haiku dangled over the edge of her own abyss, clinging to sanity, ruthlessly ignoring her body’s demands, to give him what he needed. Her pussy vibrated, and her heart pounded, yet she held out, held out, held out, until she couldn’t take it an additional moment more, and he’d had enough.

“Now, Diego.” As he bellowed her name, pulsing into her, her pussy convulsed, sucking the hot cum into her greedy womb. Haiku arched upward, her arms and head flung back, waves of passion sweeping her body. She was power and woman, seated on her dark warrior, and no one and nothing could ever come between them.

Drained and light-headed, she collapsed on top of him, nuzzling into the curve of his shoulder, feeling his satisfaction and his peace. Their game ended, Diego’s arm circled her, his hand resting over her heart, his thumb caressing her bare skin. They lay in silence. His breathing deepened, leveling to an even rasp upon her neck, and his stroking slowed until he stilled. Haiku sighed contentedly. Her assassin slept.

Chapter Nine

Diego stared down at his sleeping Haiku. Her angel-white hair rested upon the pillow, her mouth was slightly open, as if begging for a kiss, and her small, firm breasts rose and fell with her breaths. Her porcelain white skin was covered with his love bruises and bites and the black ink of her poems, but he didn’t see that. In his eyes, she was perfect.

He was not perfect, and Haiku knew he wasn’t, because she knew everything about him. Diego clenched his left hand. The wound had healed, as it always did, not leaving a scar, and if he had waited to return to her, there would have been no proof of what he had done to himself, what he had purposely done to himself, but he suspected she would have known, as she had known what he needed to take away some of that pain.

She saw his imperfections, his failings, and his pain, yet she had still slept beside him last night, wrapped in his arms, and that meant only one thing. Diego sat on the edge of the mattress. She loved him. It was almost impossible to believe, but everything she said and did reinforced that love. Diego rubbed the back of his neck. He would try his best to be worthy of that emotion.

He outlined her cheek with his finger, and her closed eyelids fluttered. He leaned over to kiss them. As he kissed the tip of her nose and the corner of her mouth, his tongue darted out to taste her. Blue eyes, softened with sleep, opened.

She smiled and reached up to cup his face. “I love you, Diego.” She said it effortlessly, as though it was the most natural thing in the world to love a killer such as himself.

He covered her with his body, kissing her chest and under her jaw and down her neck. She moaned, tilting her head back, offering more of that white skin to him. He dragged his mouth over her collarbone and buried his face in the hollow of her neck. He rested there for a moment, inhaling her sweet scent, before exploring the gentle valley between her breasts.

Her nipples puckered in anticipation of his touch, and he rewarded that responsiveness by sucking first one and then the other into his mouth, licking and flicking them with his tongue before drawing them deeper. He suckled noisily, hungry for her taste, her love. She clutched his head to her breast, her fingers threading through his hair.

She nourished him, giving him her love freely, expecting nothing in return. Her cries of passion were generous as he shamelessly took from her, hurting her slightly with his fervor, but he couldn’t stop. He needed her, and he needed this, to be bound to her, to no longer be alone.

They were a couple, and they could be a family. Diego caressed Haiku’s flat stomach, circling her belly button. Did their child grow there already? He pressed his lips to her soft skin. He would protect their baby. He would protect that baby’s mother.

He stroked lower, to where her fine hair was a golden blonde, the richer color reflecting the warmth rising from her. Diego parted that hair, dipped into her wet heat. She was ready for him. She was always ready for him. He played, exploring her body, learning her curves, and delving into her depths.

Previous encounters had been fast and furious, with Diego balancing pain and pleasure to bring Haiku to a flashpoint moment of ecstasy. His touches now spoke of a lifelong pledge of reverence, of gratitude, of devotion. He built her rising desire upon a solid foundation of feeling, nurturing her slow burn, and only when she radiated heat would he release the full fury of his harsh, unfettered passion.

“Diego,” Haiku said, gasping his name.

He looked up. Her face was flushed, and her eyes were unfocused. Diego smiled. He did that to her.

He’d do much more. He parted her legs, exposing all of her to his perusal, and even there she was dainty, a delicate pink. He licked her glistening folds, sampling her fresh cream, while she panted, lifting her hips off the mattress.

Diego cupped her round white ass and feasted upon her pussy, nibbling her skin, licking up her moisture. She tasted pure and clean and womanly, and he fed upon her passion, devouring her love for him. Haiku moaned sweet encouragement as she clutched his shoulders.

Her thighs cradled his head, and her flavor danced upon his tongue. Diego breathed deeply, inhaling her musky essence, while she twisted and wiggled, trembling.

With the tip of his tongue, he gently pushed back the skin around her clit. Here was the essence of her womanhood, and he would polish that precious pearl until it shone. His responsive lover cried out with the first lick, her hips thrusting toward him. He threw his arm over her stomach, securing her, the restraint exciting Haiku even more. He lapped up her flowing pussy juices. Her legs shook, vibrating against his body. He teased her clit, making her squirm.