Page 28 of Misted
My breathing deepens as she closes her eyes, her head tipping back and lips parting in a small ‘O’.
The raging hard-on becomes painful and my grip tightens on the railing.
Fuck it.
I undo the buttons of my jeans with quick, jerky movements and fist my throbbing cock.
My gaze remains on Mist who’s now lying on the bed, the book must’ve been thrown out of view. She sticks a forefinger in her mouth as her other hand works faster beneath her gown.
I strangle my cock and jerk it up and down in angry, harsh strokes. I don’t allow myself to feel the pleasure or to enjoy any of this. I might still want her, she might be the only woman who can get my dick as hard as a rock, but she’s also the same woman who destroyed everything.
I fucking hate her and how much my body never forgot about hers.
Those soft curves beckon me close as her back arches off the bed. She has grown up into a slender, tight figure. My cock twitches with the need to feel her clenching around me instead of her fingers.
My strokes turn faster and harsher as if I’m punishing myself for the mere thought of wanting her. When she stills, her body trembling, I grunt and come all over my hand. A shudder shoots down my spine as I breathe harshly into the night’s cool air.
Instead of relief, pressure tightens my muscles and I throw my head back in a tension-filled groan. Mist remains motionless with one finger in her mouth and the other under her gown.
Who the fuck is she thinking about after her orgasm? The fact that she just masturbated for another man turns my vision fucking black.
Fuck this. I’m done watching from afar, anyway.
I retrieve my rifle, disconnect the detachable magazine and the threaded barrel and place all of them in the case before hiding it back in the wall.
I jump down the stairs three at a time and storm into Le Salon. It’s past one in the morning, so the chaos weaned out. The customers either left or are receiving special service in the rooms upstairs.
Scar trudges down the hall that leads to Mist’s room. She’s wearing tiny black shorts and a pastel yellow T-Shirt on which is written, ‘Bonsoir, Bitches’
“Hawky!” She runs towards me, doing a look over.
Scar and Flame suspect something is wrong with me since I returned from The Pit, but they know better than to ask me about it.
Her hand surrounds my bicep as she whispers so only I can hear her. “Okay, spill. Do you know what happened to Nero?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Mist looked at you like a drama queen about to faint.” She pushes her lips forward. “You’re hiding something.”
“The less you know, the better.” I ruffle Scar’s messy blonde bun.
She swats my hand and sticks out her tongue. “Hey, just because I act like a kid doesn’t mean you can treat me like one!”
I smile despite myself. “You’re not a kid, Scar, you’re fucking crazy.”
“Depending on how you look at it, it’s the same thing!” She grins and it’s one of the fewest times she doesn’t have to put an act to make it genuine. As soon as the smile appears, it drops as she glared behind me. “Molly. Never liked the bitch.”
The girl in question saunters from around the corner, her cheeks hollowed due to sucking from the straw in a huge paper cup while she scrolls through her phone. With her hair and lips dramatically pink, a short denim skirt, fishnet stockings, and boots, she appears right out of the eighties.
Usually, I don’t give a fuck about other assassins — especially the second generation ones. However, Molly caught my interest because she’s become the closest to Mist and her ally of sorts.
It’s not that I dislike her, it’s more that I don’t trust her.
But again, I hardly trust anyone.
Molly pauses slurping her drink and clicks her tongue while checking me up and down. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but you better stop.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”