11
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. I got chased by a gator, and did you know they can run really fucking fast? Anyway, I tripped and fell into traffic. Got hit by a car. Fractured my tibia.
Milo
It’s late when I get back to the cabin. Part of me expects Rowan to be gone.
Part of me wants him to be.
Because I want an excuse to chase him down? Because leaving him passed out and debauched on a faux fur rug took more effort than it should have? I’m not sure. Either way, I’m surprised when I enter slowly to find the lights on and a quiet hum coming from the kitchen.
More surprising? The smell of cooking food.
“Hey, you’re back.”
The counter is a mess of dishes. Steam rises from a pot on the stove. The scent reminds me I haven’t eaten all day. My stomach’s urgent growl is followed quickly by a sinking sense of dread.
“You…cooked?” Not that it’s an unfamiliar concept, but I hadn’t given the idea much thought.
I’m not used to worrying about another person.
I figured I’d grab something after I checked in here, but now I’m realizing I didn’t actually know if there was food here when I left, and I probably should have.
I definitely should have. Coming home to a warm kitchen and a cooked meal is the sort of thing that gets too comfortable, too fast.
Rowan’s shy smile is alarmingly endearing on a guy his size.
“Tried to, anyway. It’s pretty simple. I don’t cook much.
” A hint of sadness crosses his expression before a more thoughtful one takes its place.
“I realized I didn’t know what you like and there weren’t a lot of options here.
But I made rice. Well, I burned the first batch, but the second one seems like it came out okay.
And I found some canned beans and some canned vegetables.
I remembered how to make baked beans, which my mom mostly prepared by adding brown sugar, ketchup, and paprika to canned beans.
I don’t believe that’s the proper method for making them but that’s what she did.
Anyway, I couldn’t find paprika, so…” He shrugs as if unsure what to say next.
The way he looks at me. As if he’s seeking approval. There’s tension in every line of his body. If I pissed on his parade right now, it would wreck him. Even if he thinks it wouldn’t.
It’s too much.
There’s a sweet ache building in my chest that I cannot handle. If you asked when someone last cooked for me who wasn’t getting paid to do it, I’d be at a loss.
My lips on his is the only way I can think of to make it all stop. My hands tug at his hair as he grips my hips. There’s a frantic flapping in my chest I haven’t experienced in ages. I’ve done and seen too much to get rattled anymore.
Our tongues tangle as I press him backward, reminding us both who’s in control. Or who’s supposed to be.
For all my earlier fucking around, I really do need to pull myself back, keep this thing in familiar territory. Rowan and I, it’s a business transaction. A service exchanged for a service. Nothing more.
A fucking business transaction.
Nothing. More.
And if I say it enough times, it’ll be true. “Get in the bedroom.”
Rowan’s eyes go wide. “Oh, sure, I guess we could eat later. Or did you already—”
“Go, Rowan.”
He swallows and nods. As he stumbles backward over his own feet, I almost feel bad.
Most people, when they first meet me, think I’m a nice guy.
That’s intentional. When I’m traveling for work, nobody thinks of the friendly guy who bumped into them at the train station and says, “I bet that guy’s a killer,” and that’s the point.
Rowan scrambles all my circuits. Besides, he offered me fucking in exchange for his safety. There was no mention of a limit, so I might as well get my money’s worth.
When he lands on his back on the bed, he’s got a tent in his pants, so maybe I don’t have to feel so bad after all. “Get naked.”
He rushes to comply while I root around in my pack for that tie I found on the floor of his hotel room. I hand it to him as I rush to pull my own clothes off.
“Gonna fuck you again.” The sooner I can get inside him, the sooner I can chase away the warm feelings that metastasized in my chest when I walked in to find out Rowan had made us dinner.
“Here.” I hand over the tie. “Put it around your head. Make sure you can’t see.”
If I don’t look into those earnest eyes of his, this will all be easier.
“Okay, it’s on. I can’t see, I swear.” There’s a tremor of nerves in his voice.
“Keep it on. And keep your hands on the bed. If you take the blindfold off, I stop. Understood?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “I fucking get it, Milo.”
Asshole. “And maybe if you’re going to keep being a pain in my ass, I’ll go ahead and shoot you now so I can get some peace, got it?”
There’s an audible swallow as he nods. “Fine. Got it.”
Fuck, the way his lower lip trembles. Is this what drugs feel like? The kind all the glittery kids at the club take? I’ve never hooked up with someone who knows what I really do for a living. The way he’s both turned on and afraid of me makes my blood fucking sing.
“Good. Good whore.” Somehow, the word I started using to remind us both of reality comes out too warm. Too soft.
To make up for it, I give each nipple a hard flick.
Rowan’s chest jerks with the force of his gasp. Damn, that’s tasty.
I put one knee on the bed, determined to start at the bottom and work my way up. The other thing I pull from my pack is a lock pick set. I pull out one of the metal hooks and drag it over his skin. Not hard enough to cut him, but enough that his pale skin shows a pretty red mark.
“Oh, that’s…” He trails off with a gasp, his foot twitching.
I can’t seem to stop myself from pressing a kiss to the red line I’ve left on his skin. Then I do the same a little higher, pressing another kiss before moving on. Slow and steady, I make a path up one leg and then the other. Over his hip. Across the sensitive skin of his abdomen. Over his chest.
Along the column of his throat.
“Oh fuck. Fuck, this is fucking crazy. What are you doing?”
My hip brushes his hard length, causing him to buck furiously in search of more friction.
“Be patient,” I murmur as I pull away. The high, needy whine that comes out of him when he fucks up again and only meets air…I swear it makes me harder.
The soft lace of my boxers is torture right now. I’m achy and overly sensitive.
I’m ignoring it though, too focused on the blush crawling up Rowan’s neck. The twitches and moans that come with each scrape and flick. I’ve always loved pain when it’s mixed with pleasure. Right now, if I’m doing it right, he’s feeling both.
“It’s too bad I don’t have any sounding wands,” I tease as I scrape the metal in my hand gently over the sensitive crown of his erection. Another kiss.
Just being an attentive lover. I’d do that for anyone.
His head moves as he tries to find the direction of my voice. “I-I don’t know what those are.”
“Probably for the best. They’re not for the faint of heart.”
He presses his lips together. Swallows hard. “Whatever it is, I can take it. I said you could do anything to me.”
Fuck that. Standing quickly, I land a firm slap to his cheek. “Don’t say that to anyone ever again. You have no idea how dangerous that is.”
He licks his lips, still moving his hips, inching his legs over, trying to touch me. “When we met you had a gun pointed at me. What’s more dangerous than that?”
Right now, I don’t have a good comeback. With my pulse climbing, I return to the bed.
Again, I pull away when he thrusts into the air. “Nuh-uh. Not yet.”
“God, you’re driving me fucking crazy. Can’t I at least touch you? Please?”
“No.”
Definitely not. First he makes me dinner, and now he wants to get touchy? At least I’ve cut off eye contact.
Right, and you’re doing an excellent job of staying impersonal. You just scraped your initials onto his stomach.
No, I didn—fuck. I did. Amid the cross-cross of marks along his body is a clear MT right above his navel.
A chill passes through me. The kind I got when a bullet whizzed past my head last month in Prague. Might as well step in front of one if I’m dumb enough to try and play house in the middle of the job.
I cover the mark with my hand, telling myself it doesn’t mean anything. It’ll be gone by morning.
“Behave yourself.” I give a teasing lick up his length . Putting the lock pick aside, I push his legs apart and reach for the condoms and lube. There’s a flinch when I slide the drawer shut.
Honestly, I’m tempted to simply sit here and watch him.
Let the rapid rise and fall of his chest get faster.
Feel the shallow puffs of air from his mouth when anticipation and nerves mix with his arousal.
Drink in the way he’s looking from side to side wildly, trying to determine what’s about to happen from sound alone.
I open the condom right next to his ear.
“Oh, thank God. You’re going to fuck me. Right? You’re going to fuck me again?”
“Mmm. Probably. You think you’ve earned it?”
His fingers dig into the mattress. “My hands are on the bed. The blindfold is on. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
“Told you not to say that again.” To make my point, I pinch the skin on his hip until he winces.
Whatever you want, I’ll do it. He’s talking about this. He’s talking about getting me to fuck him. I don’t like the way the words swirl in my chest.
What the hell am I going to do with this guy? What happens when we part ways and he says those words to the wrong person? I don’t claim to have many scruples, but I have a few. Thinking of someone else with him—someone who could do true harm—makes my throat tight.
I clear my throat. “You can move your hands. I want you to pull your legs back. Show me that pretty hole, whore.”
Rowan puffs out a startled breath. When he lifts his hands, he doesn’t simply reach down and grab hold. His hands slide from the edges of the bed to his abdomen, then down his thighs. It’s a slow, sensual slide until he reaches his knees and hooks his hands under them, exposing himself to me.