Chapter 21
AERIN
Enjoy myself.
Falco’s words run around my mind on repeat. I want to enjoy myself, I deserve to after everything I’ve been through, but I want him to enjoy it with me.
Watching him fish was the most peaceful I’ve ever seen him.
The worry lines around his eyes faded, the tight line down his jaw softened, and even his shoulders seemed to relax. I even caught a glimpse of his smile when he hauled me out of that stream.
He’s a real person.
A strange realization to come to, but, at some point between the hiking and the river, Falco stopped being my stoic bodyguard and morphed into a real person before my eyes.
I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was, or if it was something in me that changed, but I no longer want to press his buttons just to get a rise out of him.
I just want…him.
Admitting that is a death sentence. If Dad ever found out, he’d have Falco killed instantly, regardless of everything he’s done to keep me alive.
But out here, Dad doesn’t exist. The mafia is a distant thought.
Even my impending marriage is nothing but a passing cloud because it’s just me and Falco.
After showering quickly to warm myself from the chill of the river and wash away the dirt clinging to me, I stand at the foot of my bed and gaze at the clothes I tipped out of my rucksack.
I didn’t exactly plan on what to bring, which is why I hiked in jeans, but I had enough sense to grab a couple of swimsuits for the hot tub.
Outside, wood scrapes against wood as Falco drags the chopping block out of the shed and brushes it down. He sets the fish out along it one by one and twirls a knife skillfully between his fingers. After wiping his brow, he hunches over slightly and starts cutting.
My heart catches in my throat while watching him through the window.
In the setting sun, his skin becomes a deep bronze and the silver streaks in his hair melt into his dark hairline.
The muscles of his forearms subtly shift and rise as he works with the fish, and I’m struck with the strongest urge to go down there and sink my teeth into his arm to see if his muscles are as firm as they look.
Of course they are.
I’ve been in his arms enough times to know how strong he is.
No one has ever lifted me like he has.
To him, I weigh nothing, and I know for a fact he could throw me around the way I’ve read about in books or seen online.
But what real chance do I have?
He looks at me and sees his job or worse, his oath to my father. I’m off limits and I’m certainly not worth him risking his life.
So why do I want him to? Why do I want him to throw all that to the wind, toss me down, and ravish me until he’s the only touch that lingers on my skin?
It would be a death sentence.
Standing in front of the wooden-framed mirror, I go through each swimsuit three times. One makes my stomach look too large, the other looks too childish with the frills at the crotch but it does give a weak illusion of skinnier thighs.
The third is a smock that covers me up just enough, but the color’s almost the same shade as my skin tone and makes me look like a smooth, plastic Barbie doll. None of these are sexy.
None of these could entice a man.
But they’re all I have.
If I focus on the fact that I have no chance at all in attracting an older man as hot as Falco, then it’s easier to pick a swimsuit. I stick with the smock. It covers my stomach and goes past my hips enough that my ass doesn’t look as large.
Despite those reassurances, my heart pounds like an over-taut drum as I step out onto the back porch and approach the hot tub. Falco glances up as if he’s already aware of my presence, but other than a look to pinpoint where I am he focuses on the fish.
Of course he does.
Cooking fish is clearly more interesting than me.
Turning on the bubbles with the flick of a switch, I slip into the hot tub and momentarily forget about Falco as warmth surrounds me like a blanket and the bubbles massage gently against my aching limbs.
The flare of my smock swimsuit fans out across the top of the water until the fabric is wet enough to sink.
It’s bliss.
My head rests back against one of the cushions and I close my eyes, sinking into heat with the murmur of bubbles and the rhythmic movements of Falco working.
If we were normal people, this would be a romantic getaway. That time he touched me in the shower would be an intimate memory rather than a game. Our kiss wouldn’t have ended in Falco pushing me away. As my heart sinks with the reality of my crush’s future, I crack open one eye and freeze.
Falco’s staring at me.
It’s subtle with how his head tilts toward me, and he continues to work on the fish, but his golden eyes glint in the remains of the sinking sun.
He’s definitely watching me.
This doesn’t feel like his usual protective, watchful gaze. It’s heavier. Slower. Through the soft blur of my eyelashes, I watch Falco’s tongue sweep out and dart across his lower lip.
Is he imagining what I taste like the same way I imagined what his muscles would feel like against my teeth?
There’s no way I’ve made all of this up in my head.
Falco feels something. He has to. I’ve had bodyguards before in the same situation as Falco and none of them have shown me the same attentiveness as he.
He’s just too good at resisting.
But my inexperience leaves me at a loss about how to coax the lion out of the cage.
I certainly can’t ask Mom. Maybe my brother? What an awkward conversation that would be.
My wandering mind and the soothing lull of the bubbles places me at such peace that I don’t realize the sounds of Falco working have faded until a shadow blocks out the last sliver of sunlight peeking through the tree line. I open my eyes.
Falco stands above me, his eyes slightly narrowed as he stares down at me. “Grilled or fried?”
“Huh?” Sweat discolors the neckline of his shirt. From this angle, the swell of his pecks and rise of his thick, muscular shoulders is mouthwatering. What I would do for the confidence to drag him into the water alongside me.
“Your fish. Grilled or fried?”
“You pick,” I reply. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Falco’s lips part, then he nods once and vanishes into the cabin, but the door remains open.
Closing my eyes, my mind drifts once more. Those lips against my skin would be amazing.
If I focus hard enough, I can imagine how soft they would feel against the contrast of his clipped beard.
Those rough hands would leave lines of tingles all over my skin, and I bet he’d leave bruises. I’d want him to. A touchable memory of our time together.
Either Falco is a magician with food or time passes differently in the hot tub, because it feels like only a few minutes later when Falco’s calling me for dinner.
Climbing out of the hot tub, I wrap myself in the nearest fluffy robe just as Falco exits the cabin with two plates of fish steaming and sizzling within tinfoil pockets. The smell hits me instantly and my stomach growls loudly.
“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” I gasp, my hands flying to my cheeks to hide the sudden rush of heat.
“Don’t apologize,” Falco says while setting the two plates down on the hand-carved table next to the bench. “You haven’t eaten all day. And we hiked. And you haven’t been eating much these past few days, so if this is what it takes to make you hungry, then I’ll take it.”
My embarrassment eases. Taking a seat, I pick up one of the plates and set it in my lap. The grilled fish inside is scalding hot and very fluffy, carefully picked apart with all the bones and guts removed. Even the head is gone, which I appreciate despite not asking.
“You should come to the woods more often,” I say, gently stabbing at my fish.
“Why?”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve spoken to me more here than anywhere else.”
Falco, seated next to me, furrows his brow. “We talk all the time.”
“No, we discuss life. Danger. Everything, but we don’t talk. You’re Mr. one-word answers and grunts, telling me what I can and can’t do. But today I learned you can fish and you like it. You can debone and gut. You can cook. I’ve finally learned something about you.”
Falco remains silent, watching me as I pop a bite of the hot fish into my mouth. An explosion of flavors darts across my tongue. Lemon, rosemary, garlic, and a few others I can’t quite place.
“Oh my god, this tastes amazing!”
“I can cook,” Falco says and his lips twitch. “It’s not in my job description to talk.”
“Sure. But I want to get to know you.”
“Why?”
Another bite. How do I tell him that I want to see if my attraction to him is purely physical or if there’s a real connection there?
As soon as he found out, he’d shut me down for sure, so I shrug.
“Dad usually cycles guards out by now. For some reason he likes you, and I do too, so why shouldn’t we get to know each other? ”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“There’s no way you’re that one-dimensional.”
“It’s true.”
“Bullshit. Favorite animal?”
“Really?”
“What?” I laugh between bites. “Everyone starts somewhere.”
“Not at animals.”
“Answer the question.”
“Fine. Squirrel.”
I nearly choke. “Are you serious?”
“If you’re going to mock my answers—”
“No, no!” Barely able to smother my giggles, I shake my head. “I thought you’d say bear or something.”
“Why?”
“Look at you! You’re huge and as manly as a man could be. A bear would fit you.”
“That’s like me looking at you and saying your favorite animal is a sugar glider.”
For a single, horrifying second I fear the worst. That Falco would say something like others have said in the past like pig or elephant, but the word that leaves his lips has me stunned. “A…sugar glider?”
Falco nods, his expression twisting as if his animal choice for me is the most obvious thing in the world.
“You have these big, beautiful eyes. And when the sun hits your hair just right, there are darker red streaks that shine through like sugar glider stripes. Couple that with the number of times you’ve fallen in one way or another, intentional or not, I think it’s a pretty good fit. ”
I can’t speak. Emotion wells inside me like a balloon and traps my words in my throat. Never in my life has someone even hinted that they’ve noticed things about me beyond my weight. Falco talks like he’s describing the most obvious aspects of me.
Does he really see me that way?
“Do you not like sugar gliders?” Falco asks as my silence drags on.
I swallow hard, shoving back the strange urge to cry and smile. “I love them.” They’re now my favorite animal.
“Dang,” Falco sighs. “Maybe I should reevaluate bears.”
Dinner continues much the same. Other than typical answers to generic questions like color and favorite holiday destinations, Falco doesn’t reveal much about himself other than his preference for mountains over beaches.
Too much sand pisses him off.
The world is dark and quiet by the time we’ve eaten our fill and exhaustion sweeps in to remind me that my bed is calling.
“Goodnight,” I call to Falco as he ushers me away from the washing up.
“Goodnight,” he replies, and I hold the tone of his voice in my mind all the way back to my room and under the covers.
A sugar glider.
Never would that have crossed my mind. Nestled amidst the pillows and wrapped in countless blankets for comfort, I close my eyes and begin replaying every interaction with Falco.
From the first time he rescued me at the dinner party all the way through to him sweeping me out of the river and carrying me back to shore.
What a man.
Over and over, I replay those moments of his arms around me, his lips so close that my own ache, the warmth of his touch, and the thump of his heart against my ear when he’s held me.
I replay them all until I’m back on when he pinned me with a look in the shower and fingered me to a drunken orgasm.
Had I known then what I know now, I would have dragged him into the shower with me.
There’s no way this is just a crush fueled by how hot he is. It has to be something deeper.
So deep that I eventually roll onto my stomach as heat beads between my legs and as I shove my face into my pillow, my own fingers become his in my mind. My mind flips like a yo-yo.
Would he fuck me hard or soft? Fast or slow? Would he pin me down and make me take every inch of his cock or would he hold me close and ease himself inside me, savoring every second it takes to get fully sheathed inside me?
One fantasy is exactly that.
His arms around me and his face close to mine, his eyes rolling as he slips deeper and deeper inside me while whispering in my ear about how he can’t believe he’s finally getting a chance to feel how hot I am, how tight I am.
I imagine his hands on my breasts, tweaking my nipples while he kisses my neck, then I imagine him utterly losing himself and burying his face in my breasts while moaning that I’m the best he’s ever had.
My fingers work quickly, thrusting inside myself while the heel of my hand presses against my clit. From this angle, I brace on my knees and grind my hips into my hand as pleasure coils and grows inside me.
The closer I get to orgasm, the more frantic my fantasy becomes. Falco stops being slow and pins my wrists to the bed, fucking into me with wild abandon as if his very life depends on it.
Sinful words pour from his lips as I imagine him fucking me like a blur, then his hand on my throat and his other pawing at my breast.
He’s got stamina.
He’d fuck me from behind. Upside down. Against the wall. Against a tree, in the hot tub, on the kitchen counter, over the porch banister and—
I come hard over my fingers, squealing into my pillow as strong waves of pleasure pulse through my core and send warmth to every corner of my body.
Fuck.