Chapter 10
Rowley
God, she’s so flustered. I love this side of her, inexperienced and easily riled up, and it’s with heroic strength that I force myself to keep my hands off her.
But I will persevere. She has to know the worst about me before I make my move.
“Then how do you mean, he taught you the ropes?” Prudy asks after she digests my answer, her forehead lined with a frown.
“Well, not the ropes of killing outside the law,” I amend. “He taught me a certain moral stance, though. I learned that some people don’t deserve to stay alive. The planet has finite resources, and I firmly believe we should eliminate those who waste them to harm others.”
She stares at me, maybe just speechless, maybe appalled. When she regains her voice, it’s filled with disbelief.
“But… But fine, your father only killed criminals sentenced to death for serious crimes. Like, I don’t know, maybe they deserved to die, but you… You killed a man whose only crime was being stupid and greedy.”
“Stupid people are harmful, though. Do you know how many people die in road accidents simply because some idiot driver didn’t think?
Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I have my code, my one rule, and I stick to it.
I only kill people I’m paid to kill, because money is real and tangible, and it always shows the truth.
People can say anything, so if you want to know what they actually value and support, look where their money goes. ”
“So… So you believe that if someone is ready to pay a lot of money to have a person killed, that person deserves to die? That’s crazy.”
I consider her for a moment. She’s shocked but not disgusted. She hasn’t thrown me out of her bed. So far, so good.
“Baby, I never claimed to be sane. And yeah, maybe I am crazy, but I’m also dependable. I don’t break my rules, not ever. You can count on it.”
She snorts. “Yeah? And what if someone paid you to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t take the job,” I say immediately. “Besides, I already told you I’m quitting. It’s time to launder my money, turn it into real wealth, and live a happy, easy life. With you.”
She considers me for a long time, her eyes reflecting the golden glow of the nightlight. I love that she needs one. It means we’ll never fuck in the dark, and I’ll always see her face when I’m inside her.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” she confesses after a long stretch of silence.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. But can I ask you some questions, too?”
“I guess it’s only fair.”
I think for a moment, listening to her breathing. It’s slow and deep, relaxed. She doesn’t mind having me in her bed. She’s not freaking out after what I told her. If I believed in God, I’d thank him on my knees for sending me this beautiful, wonderful woman.
“Why don’t you have heating on most of the day? Are you strapped for money?”
She sighs and looks away, her throat bobbing. I notice at once how her breathing speeds up. Something’s wrong.
“My… When I took care of my grandpa, he got steadily worse over the year. You know, Alzheimer’s.
And he, well, he was always frugal and mindful about wasting resources, but the illness made it so much worse.
He wouldn’t allow me to turn on the heat or go grocery shopping, and he’d say I should just check the pantry, that there’s always something in the pantry… ”
She trails off, her voice sounding hoarse. Her eyes, stubbornly turned away, glisten with gathering tears. The urge to hold her rises in my chest, but I keep myself perfectly still to let her speak.
“Then one day…” She breaks off and clears her throat. The comforter vibrates around us. She’s shaking. “One day, there was just no food in the house. None at all. Not even old, moldy bread. Not even rice or cans. Nothing. He was asleep, and I snuck out to get groceries. When I came back, he…”
A choked sob breaks out of her throat, and I lose the battle with myself.
“Come here, sweetheart. It’s okay. You can cry all you want. I’m here.”
I pull her closer, enveloping her in a whole-body hug, and she shakes in my arms. Her muscles are hard with tension, and I stroke her back and shoulders, my chest filling with sadness and grief for her suffering.
She cries, her wails growing louder and louder, and I have a distinct feeling it’s not just normal pain. It’s something larger, something monstrous that she’d wrestled with for months and finally let out.
It lasts a long time. I hand her tissues from the box on her nightstand and then hold her more tightly until the front of my shirt is soaked with tears. At last, she calms down, her breaths short and shaky, followed by little hiccups. Tension drains out of her, and I know she’s exhausted.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I whisper when silence follows her last sob, and she burrows into me like a scared animal seeking warmth.
“He was dead,” she confesses in a hoarse, emotionless voice.
“I was away for half an hour. He woke up, probably called for me, and when he got no reply, he tried to go downstairs. He was weak and tripped. I found him at the foot of the stairs, neck broken. If I had only listened to him… If I hadn’t gone out… Oh, well. Can’t change the past.”
I stroke her back as little trembles go through her frame. “You think it was your fault and that’s why you’re punishing yourself.” It’s not a question because I know I’m right, and it breaks my heart. “It’s a terrible burden to live with.”
She releases a heavy breath. Her eyes are closed, face swollen. “Can we sleep now?”
I kiss the top of her head and don’t move away, because nothing will make me abandon her now. This girl had no one to comfort her for months, no one to confess her pain to and cry, and I’m more than happy to be that person for her.
“Yes. Sweet dreams, my love.”
She goes out like a light, but I can’t follow.
My body is deeply aware that this soft, warm woman is so close, separated only by easily removable layers of clothing.
I feel a bit guilty for sporting a boner after she cried in my arms, but I’m only human.
At least I’m careful not to poke her with it.
After much effort, counting my breaths, counting sheep, and wrangling my mind into a semblance of calm, I fall asleep. After all, she asked if we could sleep. That means she wants me here, and no force on earth would move me from this bed.
I’m woken by cool winter light falling in through the uncovered window. Prudy stirs sleepily. My thoughts are muddy, stuck somewhere between the dream where I was fucking her senseless and the reality of us being in bed together.
“Rowley?” Her voice is so deliciously hoarse, and it hits me again. Here we are, together in bed. This is real.
I groan happily, my hips moving on their own as I seek friction. I’m still hard, or maybe hard again, and since I’m the big spoon, her delicious ass presses just where I need it.
“Right there,” I mumble, pulling her closer with my arm wrapped around her chest. “Feels good. Yeah. Keep going.”
She doesn’t move, so I slide my hand to her hip and position it for a better angle. It feels natural. Just a moment ago, she begged for my cock in my dream, and who am I to deny my sweetheart what she wants?
“Fuck, you feel good,” I grunt, flexing my hips until my throbbing erection is deliciously snug between our bodies. “Such a sweet girl. Move for me, baby.”
“Um… But Rowley…”
She sounds breathy and needy, but there’s a note of hesitation in her voice. It makes me frown even as I writhe against her, sliding my dick against the curve of her buttock. Our clothes are in the way. I should undress us. Right now.
“Yeah? What is it?”
“You… You should stop.”
Immediately, I do. I freeze, all of my body stuck to her back, and we just breathe, both fast and shallow, both strained.
Enough blood leaves my crotch to turn my brain back on. Cold reality stares me in the face. I fucked up.
“Goddammit,” I hiss under my breath, making her flinch. I bite back another curse. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”
I make to get out of bed when she grabs my hand and gently, hesitantly holds me in place. I only see the side of her face. Her eyes seem to be scrunched shut.
“I don’t hate you.” Her voice is quiet, and there’s that quivering note in it, something innocent and curious that my testosterone-addled brain translates as arousal. “I just… It’s… Stay. But maybe slow down a little. I’ve never…”
She breaks off, and the curve of her cheek is red, her grip on my hand tight. I exhale in a rush, realizing the full meaning of her words while a choir of angels breaks out into song somewhere in the back of my brain.
She wants me.
But she’s a virgin, and she’s afraid.
That’s okay. I’ll be the gentlest, sweetest, most considerate fucking lover she could ever wish for.
“Shh, baby,” I whisper, squeezing her hand back as I relax until our bodies are molded together, the most perfect fit. “It will be okay. I’ll take care of you.”