Hitman’s target: She either gives him her best, or she dies

Faye swung another knife.

“I’ve got ten sets of knives, plus a few singles!” she shouted, immediately ducking as a bullet whizzed past her. The only sound she heard was a low hum followed by the scrape of the bullet lodging into the wooden kitchen counter behind her.

She knew it was only a matter of time before one of those bullets found her. What chance did a model stand against a professional hitman? All he had to do was wait, the silencer trained behind the counter cluttered with iron appliances—the very reason she was still breathing. The moment she popped up to throw another knife, he’d have her. She tried to throw from a different spot each time, but this tactic wouldn’t work for long.

“I used to throw knives in a magic show,” she bluffed, grasping at straws. “Sure, you’ve got the upper hand. But what if I hit you in the face? Then what? You’re in this business because you need to stay invisible. That’s going to be hard with a nasty scar.”

She moved quietly, clutching a sleek knife made of surgical steel, the handle marked with a Swiss flag. Gripping the blade by the sharp edge, she felt her fingers bleed, but she had to block it out. Survival was the only thing that mattered.

Faye wanted to live—desperately. She loved her life. She was rich, famous, and, at thirty-two, still breathtakingly beautiful. She had everything she’d ever wanted. The wild parties, the drugs, the one-night stands were long behind her. Now, she was truly successful.

With nearly two million followers and a steady stream of brand deals, she was effortlessly pulling in half a million dollars a month.

With the knife in hand, arm outstretched, Faye emerged, only to duck again as a bullet grazed the air where she’d been a fraction of a second before.

“I can’t believe you’ve got an ammo belt around your waist!” she yelled. “What are you going to do when you run out? Having dozens of knives won’t seem so bad for me then, right?”

Again, he said nothing.

She hadn’t had the chance to get a good look at him. All she knew was that he was a man. She had been making tomato soup when the doorbell rang. She’d casually called out that the door was open, and the next thing she knew, there he was. Dressed in all black, gun in hand, forearm steady, he fired three shots at her the second he stepped in. She’d swung the knife she was using to chop tomatoes and ducked behind the kitchen counter while he took cover behind her black leather divan—now full of knife holes.

Since that moment, it had been a deadly game of cat and mouse.

Her iPhone lay closer to the hitman than it did to her. At one point, it even rang. She shouted desperately, “Hey, Siri, answer the phone!” But nothing happened. Instead, a strange male voice answered, “Worth a try, kudos.”

That was the last thing he said. She tried to coax more out of him, but the assassin remained silent.

“I get it, you’re going to kill me,” she finally said. “But here’s the thing—I don’t know how to lose. I never have. But before you finish me off, do me one last favour. Kill my husband. The vile, slimy bastard who sent you here. I’ll accept dying… as long as I know that bastard won’t be alive for much longer.”

It was hard to tell if the assassin was even considering it or if his principles were just that strong. The intruder in her luxurious loft didn’t give any answers either.

“I suppose you saw my picture,” she said, and then with a jerk she pulled out and threw the knife before quickly collapsing to the floor. The bullet missed her by a hair’s breadth, she could hear it whizzing completely through her loose hair, and she could smell the scorch lightly. She let out a quick gasp and continued. “I’m a piece. And not only do I have absolutely no inhibitions about sex, I love crazy things. You’d never forget today. My only prize, my bare life. I’m gonna vaporize and…”

“Lady,” he echoed. His voice was rough, deep and amused. “I get offers like that absolutely, positively every time. Unfortunately for you, I’m not a professional fucker, I’m a professional killer. And I’m not about to change that.”

She couldn’t afford to feel disappointed.

She pulled another knife out of the box she and the others had gotten when she was modelling for a Swiss knife brand. She caressed the sharp tip with her fingertips and gripped it so she was ready to throw the knife.

“I know you can see my poster to your left. I’m getting out of the water there, my breasts covered in water droplets. People magazine called it the sexiest photo of the century. You can fondle those breasts, you can have me. I’m not really gonna try anything, I’m actually a little horny and I’d like to get laid. I’m gonna fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.”

This time he answered.

“Honey, I have no idea what your problem is with the old man, but it’s a pretty safe guess that you don’t listen much to what others tell you.”

She kept talking.

“I had a vaginoplasty a month ago. My pussy is absolutely perfect, firm, supple. I don’t display it anywhere, you can only see it in person. Right now. Whether you’ve got a small cock or a big cock, I’ve got it made to fit. It hugs the entire volume of your dick like I’m taking it in my mouth. Better than in your mouth, my vagina will envelope the entire length of it.”

He didn’t answer, so she continued.

“I know you think money buys you everything, even the most beautiful women. But have you ever made love to one like it cost her her life? Not yet, from what you’ve said. Believe me, if you ever try it, it’ll be with me. I’m good. Hell, I’m great. I’m a good learner, and most importantly, I love sex.”

She looked down at the knife in her hand and added.

“If you don’t go for it, we’ll be here for hours. And even if you think you’ve got my schedule handled, what do you want to bet on the chance someone shows up and you don’t dare kill them and have to disappear? Then I’ll disappear and your contract is over.”

There was a sigh.

“You did gymnastics, didn’t you?”

Surprised by the question, she wondered if there was a hidden catch somewhere.

“Yes,” she finally said.

“Here’s the thing.”

He paused.

“Go on,” she said.

“You really are a beautiful woman, I won’t deny that. And there’s one position I’ve always wanted to try. But if you think you’re going to escape me, forget it. Try, and you’ll die—slowly and disfigured.”

“No escape, got it.”

“Drop the knife, and step out. I want to see all of you—naked.”

“Hold your horses,” she echoed. “I’m black-haired; try this line on a blonde. You drop the gun first, let me hear it hit the floor. Then I want to see you, hands visible. Turn around so I know what you’re hiding.”

He chuckled.

Then, a clink echoed as the gun hit the floor.

She peeked out. He stood there in black jeans, a black sweatshirt, and a turtleneck covering his face. Slowly, he pulled it down, revealing a handsome face—stubbled, with grey eyes and a confident smile. He could’ve been her age.

“Your turn,” he said, grinning.

She stood, gripping the knife by its handle, and took a few steps toward him. She was wearing only white cotton panties and a loose white shirt with no bra, her large, firm breasts outlined beneath the fabric. She saw him devouring her with his eyes.

She took another step toward him, her hands still gripping the knife. He grinned, an impish look that said, Come on. He clearly thought he could handle her—he wasn’t wrong.

Then she did something unexpected.

She turned the knife on herself.

Their eyes locked. His were bright, but dark with cold curiosity. He didn’t flinch, just watched her, waiting.

The tip of the knife touched her throat, but she slid it lower, under the fabric of her T-shirt. Slowly, she dragged the blade down. The sound of ripping fabric filled the room as the shirt parted, revealing the curves beneath.

A smile tugged at his lips. He said nothing, didn’t move—just watched her every action.

Her T-shirt was nearly sliced in half, the cut stopping at the hem. She tilted her head down, but her eyes remained locked on his, looking both sensual and dangerous.

Then she dropped the knife. It hit the floor with a sharp clink. With a barefoot, she pushed it aside, the screech of metal against tile filling the air until the knife came to rest against the kitchen counter.

Faye grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and with one firm yank, ripped the shirt open, revealing her beautiful full breasts. She was tanned and her naturally tan skin was supple and soft. Her nipples were large and dark.

“Your turn,” she said.

He grinned.

He peeled off his sweatshirt first, then tugged his T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion. His bare, hairy chest rippled with muscle as he tossed both aside, watching her with a smirk, his confidence palpable. He kept his eyes on her, watching her symmetrical face, the one that won her applause on the catwalks and on the covers of prestigious magazines. Those magazines, however, rarely featured her magnificent breasts. As if reading his mind, she took them in her hands and began to wash them.

He took off his jeans and without thinking, threw off his black boxers as well and was now standing there naked with a partial erection.

“I see you need some help,” she said. She took a step towards him and stopped. He reached out and took her hand and pulled her to him.

She shivered. Her body was warm and soft, supple and responsive under his touch. He took one breast in his hand and squeezed hard, and she hissed in pain but didn’t resist. With his other hand he cupped her firm ass and even now he squeezed harder than she was comfortable with, but she only let out a sob, looking straight into his eyes.

She aimed her hand at his crotch in a languid motion, but he grabbed her wrist with a deft jerk and pressed her hand to his chest.

“I just wanted to help,” she whispered.

“No need,” he said. His voice grew rough.

Then he kissed her.

Faye returned the kiss. His lips were soft and just moist enough, parting her lips to penetrate them with his tongue. She let him. She realized she was being kissed by a man who had been paid to kill her. What she did in the next few minutes would decide if she would ever see her son again. Her parents.

These may be the last moments of her life. Is this really how she imagined them?

He pulled down her panties and his hand easily found its way to her lap. He felt her engorged clit in his palms, his fingers wet in her moist pussy. Still kissing her, she closed her eyes and surrendered to him.

She felt the growing pressure of his unyielding erection against her belly and noted that it was not only hard, but big and fat.

“Sit on the floor and lift your legs,” he ordered.

This surprised her, but she obeyed. She lay down on her back, her large breasts flaring a little, her belly dropping and her slender waist highlighted. She lifted her long slender legs and he immediately grabbed her thighs and pulled her whole body up. He grabbed her below the knees and ordered her to bend over, her hands behind her head and those hands on the floor.

She was completely helpless in this position, giving him an awesome view of both her breasts falling to the floor towards her face, and her pussy, which she had praised so much.

He pushed her knees apart and took in the sight, her ass against his thighs, his hard cock hanging in the air just above her lap, ready to plunge in.

“You’ve got a really nice one,” he complimented her. “I’d love to taste it on another occasion.”

“Are you going to talk or are you going to fuck?”

She echoed, her head almost to the ground. She wouldn’t last long in this contorted position, but he held her tight.

She felt the tip of his cock brush against the entrance to her pussy as he teased her clit and then pulled back and finally slid in. It was really big, hard and wide, and for a small moment it made her ache.

She moaned.

Not only could she not run away in this position, defend herself in case he wanted to kill her after all, but she couldn’t even see him. She just felt him come, subduing her with mechanical, practiced movements, and her vagina relaxed, finally turning the initial pain into pleasure.

She moaned again. Different.

He noticed the difference and chuckled in amusement.

And slowed down. He was moving very lazily now, but it wasn’t from lack of stamina. He was enjoying it. He was savouring every inch of her moist, perfect hole, and she just hoped he wouldn’t let go, intentionally or unintentionally, when she had orgasmic spasms, because it would be a stupid irony if he broke her neck.

She closed her eyes and felt him slide inside her, fearing for her life, the subsequent release and now the sex made this act the best fucking she had ever experienced. If she survived, she must send her dear husband a thank you card. Wrapped in semtex, of course.

After a moment, the man’s grunts turned to wheezes, and he put her on the floor, knelt beside her, turned her around, and shoved his cock up her arse. It hurt, but as aroused as she was, she accepted it and was surprised to find that her pleasure escalated immediately.

She moaned in a heady orgasm and he joined in. With several powerful thrusts, accompanied by grunts, he spurted into her.

Then he rolled off. He wiped his dewy forehead with the back of his hand and finally smiled.

“You have exactly seven minutes,” he told her. “That’s how long it usually takes me to shower. You better be far away by then, because, and trust me, you won’t get another chance.”

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