"You think you can just walk in here and take what's mine?"
"I already have... and tonight, you're gonna beg for more."
...
The snow fell heavy outside the cabin window, blanketing the woods in white silence. It was Christmas Eve, and the world felt frozen, like time had stopped just to watch. But for me, Jax, it was just another job. I'd been in the shadows for ten years now, a ghost with a knife and a silenced pistol. The mark this time: some rich girl's daughter, holed up in her family's remote lodge. Easy hit. In and out before the turkey cooled.
The contract came through last week. "Eliminate Lena Voss. No traces." Paid half a mil upfront. I didn't ask why. In my line, questions get you killed. I drove up from the city in my beat-up truck, chains rattling on the tires, the heater blasting hot against the chill seeping into my bones. The lodge loomed ahead, all logs and twinkling lights, like a postcard from hell. Smoke curled from the chimney. She was alone, they said. Family off in Europe for the holidays.
I parked a half-mile back, trekked in silent, boots sinking into fresh powder. Black coat blending with the night. Gloves on, hood up. The side door was child's play... a quick jimmy with my tool, and I was inside. Warmth hit me first, then the smell of pine and cinnamon. Candles flickered on the mantel, stockings hung crooked. A tree stood in the corner, ornaments catching the firelight. Cozy. Too cozy for a kill.
Footsteps upstairs. Soft, like she was padding around in socks. I slipped the knife from my belt, blade cold and familiar. Crept up the stairs, heart steady. Muscle memory. One flight, two. Hallway dim, doors cracked. Hers was at the end, light spilling out. I paused at the threshold, listening. Humming , an old Christmas song , low and sweet. "Silent Night." Fitting.
I nudged the door. There she was. Back to me, in front of a mirror, brushing her hair. Long, dark waves down to her waist. She wore a thin red robe, tied loose, the kind that begged to slip off. Curves soft in the glow of the lamp. Twenty-five, maybe. The file said twenty-four. Lena Voss. Innocent face in the photo, but eyes that knew too much. I raised the knife. One step. Two. Neck exposed, pulse jumping under pale skin.
But something twisted in my gut. That humming. The way her shoulders moved. I froze. Flashed back. Ten years ago.
Alley in the rain, me just a dumb kid, sixteen and bleeding out from a gang scrap. Knife in my ribs, world going black. And her... a girl, no more than fourteen, dragging me into a dumpster shadow, pressing her scarf to the wound. "Hold on," she'd whispered. "Don't you dare die on me." Called 911 from a payphone, vanished before the sirens. Saved my ass. Changed everything. I owed her my life.
The knife dropped from my hand. Clattered loud on the wood floor. She spun, eyes wide, but not scared. Not yet. Recognition hit her too.
"Jax?" Her voice cracked, soft like the snow. "The boy from the alley... holy shit."
I backed up a step, hands up.
"Lena." It came out rough, like gravel. No plan for this. Assassins don't get reunions.
"You're... you're her."
She clutched the robe tighter, but it gaped at the front, showing a peek of lace bra, skin flushed pink. "Yeah. And you're... what? Here to rob me? Or..." Her gaze dropped to the knife. Brow furrowed. "Wait. That look. You're not... oh God."
I scooped the blade, sheathed it quick. "Listen. I didn't know. The job... it came blind. They want you gone. Said you're trouble for some deal." Lies half-spun, but truth underneath. I couldn't say it flat. Not to her.
She laughed, bitter and sharp. Crossed her arms, robe slipping more. "Trouble? Yeah. Daddy's rivals think I know too much about their dirty books. Inheritance bullshit." She stepped closer, close enough I smelled her... vanilla and something wild, like forest rain. "But you. The kid I patched up. I thought you died that night."
"I almost did." My voice dropped low. "You saved me. Gave me a second shot. And now..." I rubbed my neck, scar itching under the collar. The one she'd bound. "Fuck. I can't do it."
Her eyes searched mine, green and fierce. "Then don't. Stay. It's Christmas. World's gone mad out there anyway." She nodded to the window, storm picking up. "Blizzard's closing roads. We're stuck."
Stuck. Yeah. But part of me didn't mind. We talked then, slow at first. Downstairs by the fire, her pouring mulled wine from a pot on the stove. Spicy, warm, burning down my throat. She sat cross-legged on the rug, robe hiked up thighs smooth as silk. Told me her side: family empire crumbling, threats piling up. How she'd run here to hide, thinking solitude was safe. I spilled mine too... the streets, the kills, the numbness that kept me breathing.
Hours slipped. Wine loosened tongues. Laughter crept in, real and rusty for me. Her hand brushed my knee once, twice. Electric.
"You grew up good," she said, eyes lingering on my arms, the ink peeking from my sleeves. Tattoos from prison ink, stories etched in black.
"You're trouble yourself," I shot back, smirking. But heat built under my skin. The fire crackled, shadows dancing on her face. She leaned in, hair falling like a curtain. "Prove it," she whispered.
Our lips met soft at first. Testing. Hers full, tasting of wine and want. My hand cupped her jaw, rough thumb on smooth cheek. She sighed into it, body shifting closer. Robe belt came undone easy, fabric pooling at her waist. Underneath: black lace, hugging full breasts, nipples hard peaks begging touch.
I pulled back, breath ragged. "Lena... we shouldn't."
"Why?" Her fingers traced my chest, under shirt, nails light scrapes. "Fate brought you here. Full circle." She tugged my collar down, lips on the scar. Kissed it slow, tongue flicking salt. "Let me save you again."
Fuck resistance. I hoisted her onto my lap, straddling strong thighs. Hands roamed her back, dipping to ass, squeezing firm flesh. She ground down, heat through my jeans, her core damp lace pressing my bulge. Moan escaped her, low and needy.
"Jax... touch me."
I did. Bra unclasped, tossed aside. Breasts spilled free, heavy and perfect, pink tips aching. Mouth latched on one, sucking hard, tongue swirling the bud while fingers pinched the other. She arched, head thrown back, hair whipping wild. "Yes... God, yes." Her hips rolled, friction building, my cock straining zipper, throbbing for release.
We stripped frantic. Her robe gone, panties yanked down, revealing big curls, slick folds glistening in firelight. I shed shirt, pants kicked off. Naked now, skin on skin. My body's hard lines against her soft curves. She wrapped legs around, pulling me flush. "Inside me," she begged, hand guiding my length... thick, veined, tip weeping pre-cum.
I thrust in slow, inch by inch, her walls clenching velvet tight. Wet heat swallowed me whole, both groaning deep.
"So full," she gasped, nails digging shoulders. I held still a beat, letting her adjust, then rocked gentle. Building. Her breaths came quick, tits bouncing with each push.
Faster now. Hands gripped hips, slamming up as she rode down. Slaps of flesh, wet and rhythmic. Sweat slicked us, fire warming one side, chill air teasing the other. "Harder," she demanded, eyes locked fierce. I flipped us, pinning her to the rug. Legs over shoulders, angle deep. Pounded relentless, balls tight, chasing edge.
Her cries filled the room, echoing off logs. "Jax... don't stop... oh fuck." Fingers in my hair, pulling. I reached between, thumb circling clit swollen and slick. She shattered first, walls pulsing, milking me fierce. Cum gushed hot around my cock, body quaking. That tipped me. Growled low, burying deep, spilling thick ropes inside her. Pulse after pulse, marking her as mine.
We collapsed, tangled and spent. Her head on my chest, fingers tracing tattoos. Snow howled outside, but in here? Warm. Safe. "What now?" she murmured, voice sleepy soft.
I kissed her forehead, arm tight around. "We fight. Together. No more running."
Christmas morning dawned pink through frosted panes. Coffee brewed, pancakes sizzling on the stove... her in my shirt, too big, hanging off one shoulder. We ate slow, planning. Calls to make, allies to pull. But the contract? I'd burn it. She was no mark. She was home.
Word count crept past as days blurred. Blizzard trapped us a week. Mornings lazy, bodies entwined under quilts thick and worn. Afternoons chopping wood, her laughter when I stacked logs wrong. Nights... God, the nights. We'd start innocent: her reading by lamp, me sharpening blades. Then glances turned hungry. She'd crawl over, lips on neck, nipping skin. "Again?" I'd growl, already hard.
One night, after wine and whispers, she led me to the loft. Bed piled with furs, stars peeking through skylight. Candles guttered low. She pushed me down, straddling confident. "My turn." Hands pinned wrists, though I let her. Mouth trailed fire: collarbone, nipples peaked and sensitive, abs clenched tight. Lower. Tongue dipped navel, then lower still. Wrapped around my cock, hot and wet, sucking slow. Hollowed cheeks, eyes up wicked. I bucked, groaning. "Lena... fuck."
She hummed, vibration shooting sparks. Took me deep, throat relaxing, nose to pubes. Saliva dripped, messy and hot. Fingers teased balls, rolling gentle, then one slipped back... circling rim, pressing in knuckle-deep. I cursed, hips jerking. Edge danced close, but she popped off, grinning slick. "Not yet."
Rolled me over, ass up. Her tongue there next... bold, lapping seam, dipping hole. Wet swirls, probing. I buried face in pillow, moans muffled. Never had a woman go there, fearless like that. Fingers joined, two scissoring, stretching while she stroked my length. "Ready?" Voice husky.
Condom from drawer... quick sheath. She mounted reverse, sinking down slow. Ass cheeks spread wide, taking every inch. Bounced then, hard and filthy, skin slapping. I watched over shoulder, hand smacking globe pink. "Ride it," I rasped. She did, grinding circles, clit on base. Climax hit her like thunder, back arching, cries sharp. I followed, gripping thighs, pumping up till spent.
Panting, she collapsed forward. "You're mine now." Laughed soft. "Full circle."
Blizzard broke on New Year's. Roads cleared, but we lingered. Called in favors: my old crew to watch the cabin, her lawyers to bury threats. The hit? I traced it back. Some uncle, greedy fuck. Handled quiet. Knife in dark, like old times. But for her? Cleaner. No ghosts.
Spring came eventual. City lights for us now, penthouse overlooking the bay. Christmas next year? We'd make new traditions. Her in red again, me unwrapping slow. Love snuck in quiet, like snow. But lust? That burned hot, always.
One evening, months later, rain pattering glass. She curled against me on the couch, wine glass dangling. "Remember that first night?" Fingers traced scar again.
"Like yesterday." I pulled her closer, lips brushing ear. "Saved me twice."
She turned, eyes sparkling. "And you saved me." Kiss deepened, hands wandering. Clothes shed lazy. Couch creaked under us, her on back, legs wide. I ate her out thorough: tongue flat laps, sucking clit till she bucked, fingers curled inside hitting spot. "Jax... please." Begged pretty.
Entered slow this time, face to face. Rocked deep, gazes locked. Whispers mixed with moans. "Love you." First time said. Her nails raked back. "Love you too."
We came soft, waves crashing gentle. Held after, hearts syncing. Christmas was just the start. But damn, what?