Chapter 9
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. Got into it with a big guy who thought he could step on the short girl.
Ended up in a holding cell with an eighty-four-year-old sex worker named Madge.
They made me take a breathalyzer even though I kept assuring them, “I’m not drunk, I’m just like this. ” Upside? Madge had the BEST stories.
Milo
“I’d like to make a deal.”
Rowan’s words send prickles down my neck. Making any kind of deal with him has “bad idea” scrawled across it like lipstick on a mirror. Right now, I’m not in a position to make any promises. Especially not to him.
But like cats the world over, my curiosity will be my downfall. “What’s the deal?”
He licks his lips, and I give in to the urge to follow the path of his tongue with my eyes. Zeroing in on the tip of his tongue and the slick lip left behind.
“You said you only kill people who deserve it. There’s not a single thing I’ve done that would make someone want to kill me.”
“You sure? Plenty of people I’ve met thought a deeply hidden secret would never surface. Or their moral code was fucked. Once I offed a guy who legitimately thought he had a valid excuse for murdering young homeless men. Thought he was saving them.”
“I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t done anything.
” Rowan’s eyes nearly bulge out of his skull.
He tugs a little at his own hair. “Look, I was with my ex for the last four years. We agreed—” He shakes his head.
“He agreed it would be best if we kept things quiet because of his position in the community, blah, blah, et cetera.”
“That sounds…” Manipulative. Gross. I’m guessing Tucker was older, closeted, and in my professional opinion a fucking creep.
Rowan scowls and waves his hand, as if he can wave away what he just told me.
“Believe me, I’m not proud of it. That’s not the point.
The point is, I was basically like Iggy, just in a bigger tank.
I lived in his beach house on Ana Maria Island.
I didn’t work because there weren’t a lot of jobs there, and he didn’t want anyone to find out about us, anyway.
For that same reason, I didn’t really have friends.
I went to a book club once a week at the library.
I spent a lot of time on the beach. I read books and binged Grey’s Anatomy and played video games. ”
He pauses, seeming to study my face. For a reaction? For judgment? I do my best to keep it neutral. Of all the things I might want to do here, judging isn’t one of them.
“I cut ties with everyone, Milo. Including my family. At first, because they didn’t approve of the relationship, and later because I was too embarrassed to go back.
There’s nothing in the world I could’ve done to make anyone want to kill me, unless it’s Mildred Teller, the librarian, who did in fact threaten to strangle me because I spoiled the ending of Me Before You. ”
“What about your ex? Romantic partners are often the first suspect when someone turns up dead.”
Rowan makes a face like he tasted something awful. “No. No way. In the end, Tucker wasn’t even interested in me anymore. I’m not sure whether or not he cared when I left. I did take most of the shit he gave me. Mostly watches and jewelry. Don’t think a tanzanite ring justifies murder.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay. So? Whether you deserve it or not, someone still wants you dead. There was a name and a picture with the job. This wasn’t some accident.”
“Right. Exactly.” Rowan points a finger, nodding enthusiastically as if we’re agreeing on something.
Not so sure about that one. “Hence the deal. You said you’d only kill me if you found out there was a good reason.
I’m telling you for sure there isn’t one.
But someone still wants me dead, so I’m asking you to protect me. ”
“Me.” Honestly, I have to laugh. “You’re asking me, the man assigned to kill you, to keep you safe.”
“You’ve already done it once.”
And that decision’s just the gift that keeps on giving, isn’t it?
“So you want me to keep you in exchange for what?” But I already know, don’t I? He basically said it already. “You’re back to bargaining with your body? Did what I said earlier go in one ear and immediately out the other?”
He shrugs, suddenly rubbing the toe of one sneaker against the floor as if he’s feeling, what, shy? “Sounds bad when you put it that way.”
“How else should I put it? You’re offering to let me fuck you for protection.”
“It’s not so strange. Not around here, at least. If people didn’t trade their bodies as a commodity, I wouldn’t have a job.”
“And if people didn’t make stupid decisions, neither would I.”
Rowan takes a step back, peeling a threadbare T-shirt off as he goes. He lit a fire in the fireplace while I was gone, and the warm oranges and golds glint off his ginger chest hair, making my mouth water in a way I wish it didn’t.
“Look, whatever you charge, I know I can’t afford you. But I know how much people are willing to pay for time with me. Tell me what you want me to do and it’s yours. How’s that for a deal?”
Fuck. Me. “Nobody with half a brain would take that deal.” I cross my arms over my chest, even as my cock throbs in my pants.
“Please, Milo.” Now his eyes are liquid, which gets under my skin in a way the flirting doesn’t.
That’s when I know I’m screwed.
“We start fucking, it’ll create a mess.”
“It’s already messy. We already fucked.”
“And if either of us thinks doubling down on that won’t make things worse, we’re lying to ourselves and each other.”
We stare each other down, neither one wanting to admit to being wrong. The truth is, we both are.
Another shrug from Rowan. “Doesn’t seem like things can get much worse. You know, unless I’m dead.”
“Then my answer is no. I’m not interested in fucking someone who’s not into it. That’s not my thing.”
Rowan steps forward, wetting his lips again. “I liked what we did before. I don’t think that’s something we need to worry about.” He glances up at the ceiling. “What about a trial basis, huh? A probationary period. Like when you start a new job. We see if it’s a good fit.”
This is by far the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever entertained. “And if it isn’t?”
“Hopefully by then we will have figured out who’s trying to kill me.”
No. Absolutely not.
That’s what I should say. Absolutely.
Definitely.
Say the words, Milo.
I can almost hear myself over the blood rushing in my ears. The angry pulse between my legs.
Say no. Two letters. Easy.
I see the moment when he questions himself. When he breaks eye contact, glancing nervously anywhere but my face. The fireplace, that damn lizard tank. The floor.
When he looks up at me again, it’s from under a fringe of wet lashes that send a sharp pain through the middle of my chest. We’re not in the shower now.
This feels like finding out my restaurant coworker got a head injury from her boyfriend, with the added wrinkle of also being goddamn furious. Furious with Rowan for manipulating me. Furious with me for letting it happen.
“You want to whore yourself out? Fine,” I growl, clenching my fists to hide the way my hands are shaking. “You’ve got a deal. Get naked and get on the floor.”
He stumbles backward, toeing his shoes off as he goes. His bottoms follow. There’s a faux fur rug in front of the fireplace, and the way he doesn’t hesitate to get on his hands and knees in front of it does nothing but make my blood heat.
Fuck it. I grab condoms and lube from the bedroom, losing my clothes in a trail as I return to him. There’s something about the shivers erupting across his body, the fiery glow on his freckled back, that makes the beast inside me salivate.
“Forehead on the floor,” I say. “Ass up.”
Then, for good measure, I land a heavy slap on his hip. Because I can. And because my handprint looks sexy as fuck on his skin.
If I can threaten to choke him while I’m riding his dick, something like a little spanking shouldn’t make him flinch.
If it does, this will never work. Except it isn’t a flinch or a sound of protest I get.
It’s Rowan moaning loud and long with his face pressed into the rug. “Oh fuck. Please do that again.”
Well, since he asked politely…
Another slap, this one I land on the left side of his ass. Then the right. Each one elicits more delicious noises from him, and each time, I up the stakes. I cup my hand to make it sting more. I pry his cheeks apart and land a smack right over his asshole. His balls.
Rowan responds so beautifully, groaning and thrusting his ass back for more. Whether it’s the heat of the fire or just what’s going on here, a beat of sweat rolls down my back.
“Look at you,” I murmur. “Practically begging for it. You asking for me to fuck you, whore?”
This time, it’s a guttural sound. Almost pained. He tips his ass up, though, presenting himself so perfectly.
“Yeah, you love that, don’t you? You love it when I call you a whore.” I smooth my hand over his heated flesh. Lick a stripe across one cheek for good measure. “You hate it, but you love it. Tell me I’m right.”
He moans and presses his face to the floor, but a whispered “Yes” slips out.
My fingers brush over his hole. “Does this whore need to be filled up?”
“Oh God. Please, Milo.”
“Tell me you want it.”
“I want it. I want it.” A shudder passes through him. The things that does to my ego, I swear.
My thumb slides down his cleft. “How much?”
“A-a lot. So much. God.” His answer is desperate and broken.
A better man wouldn’t like the way that sounds.
Pulling him open again, I swipe my tongue over his sweat-slicked skin. He’s salty and clean. The dampness of his hair when he came in tells me he showered again after we fucked, and there’s a hint of leather and woodsy spice that honestly makes my dick surge.
“This entire situation has been frustrating as fuck. You gonna let me take out my frustrations on your ass, whore?”
He’s got his head cradled on his forearms now, nodding frantically. “Do it. I don’t care.”
Does he really not? Again, I tell myself a better man wouldn’t fuck him. Would probably toss some platitudes his way about being worth more.
Fuck it. This was his idea.
I line myself up at his entrance. “I won’t ask again.”
“Stop asking and—aahhh!”
I push inside, letting the heat and pressure suck me in. Fuck, that’s good. As much as I loved that big tool of his nailing my prostate earlier, the pressure and the heat of him make my eyeballs roll back in my head.
Then I pull out and thrust in again. Hard.
Fast. Just a taste. I tease him with slow strokes, dragging across his prostate, listening for his moans to increase in pitch and frequency.
Then I push home to the hilt, stuffing him full until he can’t seem to take it anymore and starts to squirm and beg.
“You should see this,” I murmur. “My cock sliding into your ass. The way it opens for me so nicely. Your hole is clenching around me like it’s got something to prove. So damn sexy.”
“God, please.”
“God’s not here, baby.” I thrust again. Hard. Steady. Working to keep my breathing under control, my body under control. I’d planned on edging us both for a little while, but already his moaning and begging and all that goddamn squeezing have me desperate.
I’m thrusting hard and fast, letting the tide pull me under. If this were a hookup I might be more careful. This time my anger has me erratic and careless.
“Milo, please. I need to come. Please.”
If his begging, his broken cries, and his wet mouth moaning my name make me see stars, I’ll admit it to nobody. Despite our deal, there are no promises here.
But I’m already too keyed up. Too close. Apparently, so is he. “You need to come?”
“Please. Please, Milo.” God, the way his head thrashes back and forth.
“Come for me, whore.”
As I give the command, I release the hold I’ve been keeping on myself.
I lose myself to the tight heat of his body, the noises that sound so much like sobs coming from the man beneath me.
I ride the wave of my orgasm, determined not to let any other thought push into our little bubble of pleasure. For this moment, at least.
After I pull out, he rolls over with a satisfied groan. “Fuck, that was good. But you didn’t choke me that time.”
Mark that down as the oddest thing anyone’s said to me after sex. “Disappointed?”
I’m unprepared for my reaction to his sleepy, playful grin. “I liked it when you did. Might surprise you, but actually there’s a lot I haven’t done. Can’t wait to find out what else there is. Don’t worry; I’m a quick learner.”
He’s sprawled on the rug with his eyes drifting shut. Am I still in charge here? Because I’m not entirely sure. I’d half thought that fucking him hard might make him rethink his “deal.” Instead, it seems as if I’ve created a monster. I’m a serial killer recruiting an accomplice.
When I collapse halfway on top of him after throwing away the condom, listening to his light snores, I tell myself none of this matters. Deal or not, I’m a killer, not a bodyguard. I can’t promise to keep him safe. I can’t promise his death won’t come at my hands.
I can’t like the feeling of him against me too much. Best-case scenario, I keep Rowan alive. I find out who wants him dead and I kill the motherfucker for lying to me.
Then I’m on a plane to fuck knows where, and we never see each other again.