Assassin's Haiku (2 page)

“And who are you to speak for h—”

Diego removed his shades, and the ebony man stopped talking. His eyes, genetically enhanced to better see in the dark, warned others of who he was. “I’m not someone you want to fuck with.”

“You can fuck with me, Ty.” Beth pacified the man, caressing his dark chest with her tanned hands. The other two men now lay around her, limp and spent. “Right here, right now, darling. See, my pussy is begging for it.” She lowered herself onto her back and spread her legs wide, displaying pussy lips wet with moisture.

“I’ll give it to you, sweetheart.” The losing man from the knife fight did more than volunteer. He had his cock out, ready for action.

“Fuck off. She’s mine,” the ebony man barked, positioning himself between Beth and the encroacher. Big fists clenched, he had his feet braced apart as he readied for a fight.

Diego placed his free hand on the hilt of his favorite knife. He had zero tolerance for bloodshed around Haiku, and if the scuffle grew violent, he’d take both men out. Neither of them were a match for his skills.

“Give us a half hour, hon.” The blonde pacified the newcomer. “It is only a half hour, and I’ll make it worth your wait. I promise.” She playfully winked at the newcomer before turning her attention to the first man in line. “I’m waiting, Ty.” She wiggled impatiently, her large breasts bouncing. She didn’t wait for long, as the man filled her with one long, hard thrust, his balls smacking against her ass.

Haiku’s friend loved sex, and she’d have most of the men in the club by the end of the night, Diego being the exception. He kept his arm around Haiku’s chair and watched as her eyelashes lowered, then fluttered upon her skin. Her mouth parted, and her face softened even more. Only one woman interested him, and she was focused on the words filling the room.

Chapter Two

Haiku closed her eyes, allowing the words to lovingly wash over her, carrying away the chaos of her day, leaving behind orderly revelations in their wake. Poetry was passion constrained to bite-size rhythms, emotion sliced into stanzas.

Diego shifted beside her, his arm brushing against her neck, and once again, her thoughts were scattered by the force of her desire. His delicious warmth against her nape wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She wanted,
needed
Diego to touch her lips, her breasts, her everywhere. But Beth, having a better understanding of men, said he wouldn’t, not without some encouragement from her.

The words popped in the air like bubbles, signaling an end to her reverie. Blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the harsh stageside lighting, Haiku reluctantly removed her hand from Diego’s thigh to clap her appreciation for the poet’s efforts. Diego didn’t remove his arm from the back of her chair. Although Beth’s gorgeous body writhed naked on the table in front of them, Diego watched
her
. He always watched her, his vigilance making Haiku feel safe and protected and loved.

She gave him a small smile, and those black-as-night eyes shone. They were a reminder that he wasn’t 100 percent human. Haiku didn’t care, as most days, she didn’t feel 100 percent human either.

Smiling wouldn’t earn Haiku the physical contact she craved. She should talk to him, except she wasn’t comfortable talking to anyone over the age of ten. What could they talk about? Not his day, as Diego spent his killing, which was why the other men in the club feared him. Not her day, as talking about wiping runny noses wouldn’t lead to any hot kisses.

Haiku stared ahead, watching the scene unfold in front of her as she ran through possible conversations in her head. Beth inserted a huge dildo into the lubricated butt hole of a redheaded giant while she enthusiastically rode yet another man. The men grunted, her friend screamed with unabashed happiness, and Haiku ground her teeth in envy and sexual frustration. If only she had Beth’s way with the opposite sex. Beth never had to worry about things to say. Men seemed to know what she wanted.

A new poet took the stage, dressed in leather and carrying a whip, and inspiration hit Haiku. Diego wasn’t in the poetry-sex bar for the sex, having never participated in any of the table orgies, so he must be attending for the poetry. “Do you write?” Haiku waved a hand toward the stage.
Do you want to fuck me?

“No.” Diego’s one-word answer was low and deep and reached down into the depths of her soul. He didn’t talk much, and Haiku liked that, as their shared silences allowed her to think.

Haiku swallowed hard, her lust for him ratcheting up to unbearable levels. “I write.”
I’d like to fuck you.

“I know.” Diego sipped his water, his stern mouth bending with the rim of his glass. He never drank alcohol, only water, and although he doled out underground justice with a quick hand and a sharp knife, she’d never seen him lose his temper. He was the most controlled man Haiku had ever met.

This dangerous man knew her secrets. Diego knew she wrote. A thrill shimmered over Haiku’s skin. “How do you know?” She had never performed at the club, and she had never been published. Her poetry was private and real, and she didn’t share it with anyone.

Diego caught her fidgeting wrist, his hand callused and rough. As he watched her face, he slowly, carefully, rolled up her sleeve, exposing her skin inch by inch.

“I know.” He brushed his thumb over the words written in marker upon her arm.

What else did he know? Had he read the desire in her face, in the way her nipples pebbled when he touched her, in the heat rising from her body? Unable to witness that confirmation, Haiku glanced down.

A glass of water…

A stolen kiss from Diego

Quench his lover’s thirst

Her cheeks heated. There was no need to read her body language. How she felt for him was written on her skin.

“Drink.” Diego slid his glass to her, the water sloshing against the side of the tumbler.

He didn’t offer her the stolen kiss; instead he offered her the glass of water. Stung by the subtle rejection, Haiku sampled the pricey beverage, savoring the taste in her mouth before swallowing.

“Haiku.”

His rough fingers caught her chin, turning her face toward him. She looked up, and in those normally flat eyes, she saw the swirl of stark emotion. Her breath caught. As she held his gaze, the swirl grew and grew, until his eyes were stormy with desire. Diego wanted her too. Hope and passion and need unfurled in her stomach.

Diego bent his dark head and brushed his lips against hers in a gentle caress. Haiku followed the arc of his mouth, not allowing his withdrawal. She had waited for his kiss for months, and he wouldn’t get away from her so quickly.

Diego groaned, the sound heartfelt and raw, like an animal in great pain. Before Haiku could react, his retreat turned instantly into an attack. He branded her mouth, sealing his lips over hers in a primitive declaration that she was his and his alone. She didn’t fight his ownership, merely leaned into the warmth of his body, placed her hands on his chest. His tongue probed, demanding entry, and she sighed her surrender, opening to allow him in. He sucked on her tongue. He explored her mouth. He possessed her senses. His right hand grasped her nape, holding her to him, while she hung on to his shoulders.

When the kiss broke, they both breathed heavily, their chests heaving. As Haiku returned to reality, Diego lazily stroked her cheek with a featherlight touch.

“Not the same thing,” he said, his voice husky with passion.

It wasn’t the same thing at all, as his kiss didn’t quench any need. It fed the fire inside her, making her nipples tight and her pussy wet. “Diego.” Haiku slid her hand along his thigh. She needed more. She needed his rough palms on her back, his muscular chest against her breasts.

She felt the long, stiff ridge of his arousal through his pants, and he inhaled sharply as she brazenly stroked along his shaft. He was large, larger than any of her previous lovers. His cockhead was broad, his shaft was thick, and his balls stretched the leather. She licked her lips. He would fill her like she’d never been filled before, ruining her for other men.

Although Diego didn’t move, the muscles in his body tightened until all of him was as hard as his cock. He breathed deeply, and Haiku suppressed a smile. His control was frayed. She touched him, stroked him, subtly pushed him toward his breaking point. When he snapped, would he kiss her again, or would he do more, much more? Would he unzip those leather pants and take her right there on the table?

That was a fantasy of hers. Diego would strip her naked, rip off her clothes, unwilling to wait for buttons to be unbuttoned and zippers to be unzipped. He’d force her down on her hands and knees and spread her legs so everyone in the poetry-sex bar could see her glistening wet pussy. They’d want to fuck her, all the men with their hard cocks in their hands, but they wouldn’t approach her. They wouldn’t dare, because she was with Diego, the fiercest warrior in a room filled with fierce warriors.

Diego would slap her bare ass with his flat palm to get her full attention. He’d be wearing his gloves, and the black leather would sting, the impact making her pale flesh red and her wet pussy even wetter. He wouldn’t waste time with kisses or foreplay. He’d take that big cock she was stroking and ram it right into her, his size tearing a scream from her lips, his aggression making her nipples tighten to the point of pain. He’d pound into her again and again, battering her pussy into submission, and her body would sway with his assault. But he wouldn’t relent, because he wanted her. He wanted this fucking too much to be gentle. Her pussy would hum and throb, and she’d beg shamelessly for more, for Diego to fuck her faster, harder.

Haiku stroked his leather-covered cock in time with her fantasy fucking, swept up in her erotic imaginings. Diego groaned, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

“Not here.”

He stopped her playing and placed her hand back on the table. But he didn’t release her like she expected him to. He continued to hold her hand, his coarse thumb moving in slow circles over her skin. Warmth and happiness spread from his touch.

His hand on hers told her they had progressed past two strangers sitting at a table, listening to poetry together. They were together, they were a couple, and they would eventually consummate their union with wild fucking. Haiku wanted him, desperately, wantonly, but she was willing to wait for the right time, the right place.

The next poet took the stage, unaware that Haiku’s world had changed. The bearded midget wore a neon green tutu and a black mesh tank top, and the words coming from his mouth were equally colorful. Light and smooth, they floated through the air, but Haiku couldn’t catch them. All she grasped was the wisp of Diego’s skin against hers, the glimmer of his black eyes, and the heat of his body. He was her anchor, her only connection to the world.

They sat in silence, while around them men and women lustily moaned and groaned their sexual fulfillment. Yet Haiku doubted any of those participants could be as satisfied as she felt at that moment. If she could freeze time, she’d make the minutes last forever, a never-ending poem filled with endless rhyme.

She couldn’t freeze time, and as with all great poems, the moment ended too soon. Diego straightened and removed his hand from hers, taking away his heat and the pretense of safety. He tapped his ear with his fingers, his head tilting to the side, his expression grave and concerned.

“They’ve breached the perimeter.” Diego stood, casting a shadow over her, his broad body blocking the overhead lighting. “They’re coming.” His voice was flat and emotionless.

Haiku scrambled to her feet, not needing to ask who
they
were. The Agency, their enemy, had found the bar. “I’ll warn Beth.” The two of them were known to the Agency, and if they were captured, there’d be no mercy. They’d be tortured or killed or worse, and it was the worse that truly frightened Haiku. Some of the children had told her horrendous stories of mysterious men in white and their cruel experiments.

“Hurry.”

Diego opened his jacket, revealing an assortment of weapons, and heads turned their way, with the more observant of the club patrons disentangling from their partners. When a professional killer moved quickly, prudent soldiers noticed.

“Beth.” Haiku pulled her friend’s hand away from the cock she was gripping. In her panic, she was too rough, and the man yelped in pain. “We have to go. They’re here.”

Beth pushed another man off her, ignoring his protests. Even with her blonde hair in disarray and her golden body covered with perspiration and cum, she was gorgeous.

“How do you—”

“I know.” Diego’s deep voice rumbled from behind Haiku. “Are you coming with us?”

He said us
. Haiku’s heart squeezed, joy cutting through the fear as she placed her hand in his. He had his leather gloves on. Jaw clenched, he stood with his legs braced apart. Her warrior lover-to-be was prepared for battle, and this time she would be by his side. The thought should frighten her, not thrill her.

“Beth is coming home with us,” a pair of dark-haired men chimed in unison. The twins were regulars and two of Beth’s favorites. They were also resistance soldiers, well able to protect themselves and others; the Bazooka Brothers carried guns that could stop armored trucks.

“I am, darlings?” Beth threw a flirtatious gaze over her shoulder, and they grinned back at her. “I guess I am.” She shrugged, the graceful movement making her bare breasts bounce. “Though our party won’t be the same without you, Haiku.”

“You’ll manage.” Haiku had long suspected that Beth’s claim of her presence heightening her sexual satisfaction was her friend’s way of not making her feel like a third or, in this case, fourth wheel. “But be careful.” She hugged Beth tightly. “And send me a message that you’re safe.” The encoded message would be deliberately vague, in case the Agency intercepted it, but at least it would allay some of her fears.

“We must go.” A grim-faced Diego tugged her away, hustling her through the side door.

Haiku looked back over her shoulder, her face heating with embarrassment and anticipation as Beth gave her the thumbs-up, her smile wide. She was going home with Diego.