Chapter 4
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. My astrologer told me an ex might try to get in touch, so I was busy changing my name and moving to Canada.
Milo
What am I even doing right now? There’s no window in this tiny bathroom. I could watch to make sure Rowan doesn’t leave from the ratty living room sofa. Never mind that if he did try to escape again, I could track him down easier if I’d kept my shoes on.
So, really, I might as well leave. Keep watch from outside in case there’s trouble.
But. But…
Rowan gives me a surprisingly heated look as he climbs into the shower. He dials the water up to full blast, even while leaving the curtain open. I’m looking at miles of freckled skin and copper fur, from the top of his head to the base of a Very Nice? dick.
Not that I’m a size queen or anything. If I’m salivating more than usual that’s a coincidence.
The guy’s tall enough that he’d need to duck to get his hair wet, so as he stands there staring at me, the water’s pelting him in the back. Right between his shoulder blades.
Hazel eyes find mine as he soaps up, a stare that’s equal parts fury and desire. Probably mirrors my own. If there was any question in my mind about what he’s hinting at here, the soapy hand sliding over his abs and down to his cock fills in most of the blanks.
He’s a sex worker. This is nothing to him. He’s trying to manipulate me.
I shouldn’t be here. I don’t even want to be here. This trip will probably turn out to be a fucking waste of time, but if there’s even a sliver of a chance I might need to finish this contract, then the last thing I want to do is get involved.
My fists clench. Don’t do it, Milo. Go back out there and keep watch. Go now, before you hesitate and lose your fucking mark. Again.
I also can’t look away.
He reaches down to cup his balls, sliding his fingers between his legs and back out again before moving up to take hold of his impressive erection. It’s thick, and it’s long. You don’t always get the twofer. Slick and shiny from the water running over it. Blushing, flared head.
The word ruddy comes to mind. I blame Great-Aunt Ethel and all those romance novels she used to read.
When I drag my gaze back up to his face, his lips are set in a smug-looking smirk. The way his lids fall to half-mast tells me what he’s thinking even before he says, “You going to join me or what?”
What’s his game, though? Is he hoping to distract me? Disarm me? Butter me up so I won’t shoot him?
“This is fucking stupid, you know that?” Look, nobody ever accused me of being a romantic.
He raises one fiery eyebrow. “Why’s that, Milo? Is it dangerous jerking off in front of a hit man? If you’re going to shoot me, you might as well do it. I’ve had a shitty night. I’m exhausted. Either get in here or close the curtain on your way out.”
“Fuck’s sake.” I meant it when I said this was stupid.
What I need to be doing is watching the door in case anyone else tries to get in. When he drops his head back against the tile, wet ginger lashes fluttering shut while he strokes himself, I tell myself I can listen for intruders from the shower.
In a matter of seconds, I’ve placed my gun on the small vanity at my hip and shucked my clothes. He wants to play? Fine.
Stepping into the shower, I pull the curtain behind me. There’s hardly enough room for two people in here, but I know how to work around that.
His eyes fly wide open as I close the distance between our bodies, my hard cock brushing his before I grab him by the shoulders and turn him to face the wall.
“Hey, what—”
“This is what you wanted, right?” He’s taller than me, but I’m the perfect height to press my chin into his shoulder. He hisses when I use it to press down, while digging my fingers into his arms to hold him still.
He doesn’t answer me with words, but with a low moan and labored breathing. The sound burrows straight into my core.
“Tell me something.” My right hand finds his hard cock, and I give it a squeeze. “What’s happening right now? You hoping to talk me out of killing you?”
I’d bet my entire gun collection on the answer being yes, but I want to hear it from him.
“You’re not—aaah.” Another stroke of my hand and his words dissolve into a strained “Oh, God” followed by a raspy “You’re not going to kill me.”
Riding the cleft of his ass with my erection, I say, “You sound awfully sure.” There’s a part of me that wants to shoot him simply for thinking I won’t. I don’t like to be a foregone conclusion.
“Before—oh, shit—God. Harder. Give me more. I can take more.”
Oh, hell, this is too good.
Can he? Okay. I snake one arm around his neck. Not enough to steal his breath, not entirely. Enough to create some pressure. Enough to hold him still.
With the other hand, I grip him harder, stroking faster as I use his bubble butt to get myself off.
“This what you do, baby? You use your body to get what you want, like the pretty whore you are?”
A strangled noise comes out of him, followed by a subtle shake of his head, then a nod.
“Which is it, huh? Yes or no?”
“I’m not—” He draws a shaky breath. His hips stutter, thrusting into my fist. “Not like this. Not like—fuck. But before…” A gasp of air turns into sputtering when water gets into his mouth.
“Before what, baby?”
“At the hotel. That guy. You killed him.”
“Mm. He was hurting you.” Dammit. I’m riding high as my orgasm builds. As soon as the admission leaves my mouth, I’d like to beat my head on the tile.
Rowans needy moan echoes off the slick shower walls, making my balls tighten. Fuck, this is good. So fucking good. Too long since my last hookup, probably.
“Oh, Jesus, fuck, that feels good. Y-you came to kill me. But you killed him. Because he hurt me. And you let me go. I wanted to—”
Several states away, my handler is laughing at me. Because letting Rowan go is exactly what I did and it’s a damn idiotic move. The moment I slipped into that room with my stolen keycard and saw Rowan uselessly fighting to get away from that man’s knife, the nutty Bible thumper was already dead.
The fear on Rowan’s face, and the fight in him, captivated me. His heaving chest and eyes the size of dinner plates. I couldn’t look away.
And at that moment, I didn’t want him to die. I don’t know what that means exactly. Ray always said I was too emotional for this line of work. I’ve always told him to go fuck himself.
And I hate that he might be right.
Right now I’m pissed as hell about the way this job’s gone sideways. I meant what I said before. This situation is a mess now. And I can’t stand mess.
My frustration has me jerking him harder. Faster. If I’m expecting him to complain or pull away, I’m mistaken. He moans louder. Thrusts harder. The wet cheeks of his ass flex with every movement, hugging my hard dick with every stroke. Teasing it. Teasing me.
One hand reaches back to grip my ass, pulling me closer while the other hand slaps the shower tile like it insulted his mother.
“I just wanted to—mmmph!”
I’m rubbing off on him harder, tightening my hold around his neck, thrusting with the singular purpose getting myself off, when a realization hits me.
What he was about to say. This isn’t a game; it’s a transaction.
He’s a whore. I saved his life. This is my payment.
The awareness burns through me. My body goes still, but I don’t notice I’ve stopped moving until Rowan’s moans turn into a needy whimper, and then a noise of confusion. Fuck this. Fuck all of it. No reason I can’t take him up on his offer, is there?
So many reasons, actually. This is dumb as hell.
Maybe this’ll make things cleaner. Clearer. He’s not a pretty face I went soft for at the wrong time. He’s a business arrangement.
“Fuck yes, you did,” I growl low against the back of his neck. “You wanted to thank me with your body. Because that’s what whores do, isn’t it?”
A better man wouldn’t get off on using that word, wouldn’t think it was hot as fuck the way he’s offering himself up to me as payment, but I’m so twisted and depraved I can’t ignore the way it makes my blood surge. He thinks he owes me. He doesn’t, but I’m not above taking what he’s offering.
When his thrusts get sloppy and his cock swells in my hand, I ask him, “Where do you want my cum, baby?”
With a loud groan, he tips his head back, spilling into my hand. I’m not expecting it when seconds after the shudders of his release pass, he turns and drops to his knees and takes me into his mouth.
“Jesus.”
And boy, does he fucking go for it.
Hands gripping my ass, practically forcing me to fuck that deep, wet cavern behind his lips. I’m about to lose it.
My fingers tangle with his ginger hair. “Holy shit, I don’t know when I last had a blow job this good. What a perfectly soft mouth. You’re sucking me just right.”
“Mmm.” It’s a deep rumble that vibrates through my entire body. Pained, almost.
The noises he makes. I could come from those alone.
As much as I’d like to savor the moment, it’s only seconds more before I shoot, unloading in bursts that border on painful.
“Fuck,” I murmur. “God, that’s something else. It’s been too fucking long.”
I’m rewarded with something I suspect people don’t get to see too often. Rowan’s hooded eyes and secret smile after he swallows me down.
“It was good, then?”
His need for approval thrills the monster inside of me. It triggers something else too. Something that makes it a little hard to swallow.
Reaching down with my thumb, I swipe a stray drop of me off his bottom lip. “It was better than good. But.” I reach over to turn off the water. “We need to leave now. It’s too easy for someone else to find you here.”
“Told you I’m not going. It’s not your job to look out for me.” His smile disappears, leaving a grumpy scowl in its place.
“Wrong again. I have a reputation in this business. People out there think they can lie to me; I need to set that straight. Whoever wanted you dead lied to get me to do the job and they did it badly. That’s a problem that goes beyond you and your contract.
Until I know what’s going on, you’re staying where I can see you. ”
Does that explanation sound as ridiculous to him as it does to me? Because it could easily be argued that Rowan is right. I saved his life, which I definitely didn’t have to do. I sure as hell don’t have any obligation to stick around.
But-but-buuuut… there’s still a chance he’s lying. If he is, I’ll need to kill him. If I leave him on his own, he could disappear, making that job harder. Never mind that if I fail to complete a job? That means my life is the one at risk.
Mind you, if you searched up “wide-eyed, red-haired, gentle giant” on the interwebs, you’d get exactly Rowan Rangecroft’s picture. Can’t go taking that risk though, can I?
The price of being wrong is too high.
“Come on.” I pull a towel from a hook on the wall and hold it out to him. “Get enough clothing for a couple of days. Any medication you might need. Hopefully we won’t need to be gone much longer than that.”
I grab a towel and dry myself off as well, but when I turn back to face him, he’s got the towel loosely tied around his waist and his arms crossed over his naked chest like a stubborn toddler.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says again.
“You’re going if I have to beat you over the head and drag you down the stairs with your thick skull hitting every single step. And I promise I’ll pack you nothing but one pair of shorts and some mismatched socks, so get. Your. Shit. Together.”
I grab the gun on the vanity. Less of a threat and more of a reminder about what’s at stake here. It can be a threat, though, if it needs to be.
He sighs, and for a moment I think I’ve got him. But then his jaw firms again. “I’m not going anywhere without Iggy.”
“Who the fuck is Iggy?”