16
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. Car died in a town where they all turn into vampires after dark. Debated letting one who looked like Assad Zaman turn me. It took a LOT of self-control (and garlic) to escape.
Rowan
It’s early morning, I think, when Milo returns to our room. Hard to tell for sure since there are no windows in here, but it’s been hours.
“Is everything okay?” I ask on a yawn.
What I want to say is, “I’m sorry you had to do that” and “Are you okay?” Even though the question is usually a common courtesy, it feels too personal. Especially the way Milo already seemed to distance himself when he left.
Ditto the way my body wants his warmth. I want to wrap my arms around him, thanking him in every way possible for saving my life. Without asking, I know it would be too much.
He flat-out refused to let me come with him, hitting me with an infuriating “I know what’s best” as he armored up and marched out the door. I told myself maybe that was how he needed to act before he went to kill someone.
Kill someone. Jesus. I suppress a shudder. Not because I’m shocked, but because this has all become too normal, too fast.
“It’s done,” he says. Which doesn’t exactly tell me he’s all right, but he looks unharmed, as far as I can tell. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Sort of.” Not really. After he left, I wandered the club, curious about all the flesh on display and the classy, refined-looking customers.
I come from a pretty middle-class family, so the opulence, the clothes, and all the glittering jewelry were almost as eye-opening as the toys and positions I’d never even heard of.
But it wasn’t nearly as interesting seeing it all by myself, and I couldn’t stop worrying about Milo. I returned here and tried to sleep, lying awake for what felt like hours. I’d finally been drifting off when he returned.
Now I’m not tired. Too many questions.
Milo tosses a passport onto the table beside the bed. “Oskar Hansen. Anyone you know?”
I reach out but stop short of touching the thing that belonged to a dead man. The thought makes me shiver. “No. It doesn’t sound familiar at all.”
“Probably fake.” Milo flips it open to show the photo of a very average looking older white male with a bad haircut and those spidery-looking capillaries around his nose that suggest a drinking problem.
I shake my head. “He doesn’t look familiar either.”
Milo’s quick and efficient while he rids himself of his weapons. There are so many things I don’t know how to ask. I’m not sure I want the answers, but also I do.
Milo frowns for a moment but then shakes his head. “Ray confirmed all contracts are terminated either on the death of the target or the death of the requestor.”
The word target sends my pulse sky high. I wasn’t a person. I was a target.
The room seems to slide sideways. Thank fuck I’m already sitting down.
“Thanks. For letting me know. And for…” I make a hand gesture that he seems to accept because he nods.
“Between Ray and the hacker, we’re certain this Oskar person was the one who paid for the contracts. There’s nothing else out there for you or for me. You’re safe now.”
You’re safe now. I sag back into the bed.
“Thank you.” Two little words that sound so inadequate when someone’s saved your life. More than once.
Right now I’d pay a lot of money to return to a few nights ago, to when my biggest problem was a customer slapping me in bed or spilling gin on my only suit. I’m not sorry about Milo, but the rest? I’d pass if I could.
In the silence between us, I try to come up with something else to say. Something to delay the inevitable. I can’t think of anything.
“Then…I guess it’s time for me to go home.”
Milo looks as hesitant as I feel. “Right. And time for me to leave town. I’ve already been here too long. It’s a good idea to keep moving in my line of work.”
Right. “Wait, so you don’t have a home at all?”
“I own a few houses. Canada, Alaska, New York, and a small island off the coast of Brazil. I stay in one of them when I have downtime.”
He owns a few houses. He stays when he has downtime. But that’s not living, is it?
“An island?”
Milo shrugs, but then he stiffens, giving me his back as he returns to packing away his guns. “They’re not all that expensive. Mine’s only a couple of acres. You’d spend more on a condo in a big city, probably.”
That makes me snort. “Sure. I wouldn’t know.” Tucker had a lot of money, but I was the youngest of four kids. And now that I’m on my own? “I think my definition of expensive and yours are different. I still cringe when I have to pay for dry cleaning.”
He laughs, but I see his profile and honestly he looks pretty sad. Or is that my imagination? This room’s dark, and a bedside lamp only shows so much.
“But a house isn’t the same as a home, is it?” As soon as I ask, I wish I hadn’t.
Milo looks as if I’ve punched him. Before I can open my mouth to apologize though, he’s wiped his expression clean.
He shrugs. “Depends on who’s there, I guess.” He stands, his hand going to the fly of his black cargo pants. “Speaking of homes, I need a little sleep, and then we can get you back to yours.”
“Wait.” I reach out, putting one hand on his. “Before you take those off, could you, uh, you know? What talked about earlier?”
I pull back the covers to show I have nothing on
He drops his hands with a smile. “You want me to fuck you with my clothes on, whore?”
My breath stutters. “Would you? Do you—” Gulp. “—want to? Do that?”
The uncertainty leaking out of me makes me want to hide my face under a pillow. When this all started, I was too busy in flight mode to truly be afraid. Then I was sort of numb. Now?
Now, I don’t want this to be the last time I see Milo. He probably doesn’t feel the same. The more I try to hide my feelings, the more I feel like they’re on display. At least we can be together one more time. I’ll take that, if it’s all I can have.
“Fuck yes.” He rummages in his ever-present backpack, pulling out a condom and some lube. “Spread out, whore. Show me that sexy hole.”
I’ve given up on analyzing how much I like it when he calls me that. After the way Tucker treated me, always insinuating I was dumb and calling me his “sweet boy,” I didn’t think I would enjoy degrading talk, but this feels different.
Milo feels different.
I’m not convinced my ex ever would’ve protected me the way Milo has. He wouldn’t have known how. He probably would’ve yelled “Do you know who I am?” at an attacker and assumed that’d do the trick.
“I should warn you, I’m pretty amped up after a kill. Usually I jerk off and crash hard. It’s gonna be hard and fast. Can you handle that?”
Doubts fly through my head. Can I? We’ve done it sort of rough before, but maybe not like this. The shadows and light on his face make him look intense and scary, and somehow this moment more than any other reminds me exactly who Milo is.
Still, I won’t say no. I can’t. I don’t want to. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.” I nod a little too enthusiastically. “Use me. Jerk off with my ass.”
Did that…did that sound as fucked up as I think it did?
I think I’ve officially gone off the deep end. At this point, I’m practically launching myself over it.
Milo laughs and pulls me forward on the bed, manipulating me into position as if I weigh nothing. He wastes no time slicking his fingers and pushing them inside me, stroking my sensitive spot so perfectly I whine.
He’s not being gentle. My body aches and burns, but he’s also making my nerve endings sing. The pleasure’s so overwhelming my body jolts off the bed.
“Oh God, that’s good,” I moan. “That’s literally the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
He chuckles again, low and deep, as he pushes inside. Each thrust in, each slide out, drags over my prostate and sets my body on fire.
“Fuck, I lied. That’s even better.”
After a few slow pumps, he speeds up, one firm hand wrapped around each of my ankles. “Hang on tight, Rowan.”
My eyes fly open, meeting his. That’s the first time he’s said my name during sex. From the look on his face, I wonder if he’s realized the same thing.
He seems to shake it off, fucking me harder and faster, his balls slapping my ass, his grip tight enough to leave a bruise. I clench around him, enjoying the ache. It’ll give me something to remember him by after he’s gone.
“You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?” he murmurs as he fucks me.
“Such a pretty whore. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?
You’re going to shoot all over that pretty, pale skin of yours.
So fucking sexy. Look at that gigantic body naked and spread out for me.
You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?
God, I’d love to fill you up. I’d love to use more of my toys on you. I’d love to…”
I force myself to focus on the ache in my ass. Because yeah, I’d love it too.
Whatever he was going to say gets lost when his thrusts turn punishing. I’m writhing under him, dying for the orgasm that’s rushing toward me and dreading it at the same time. It’s too fast. Too soon. I wanted to drag this out. Make it last.
He told me it needed to be hard and quick, and I lied when I said it was okay. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to let Milo go.
He strokes hard and fast. He shudders again and throws his head back with his mouth open wide. “Oh Jesus. Oh fuck, that’s so fucking good.”
I’m gripping the sheets, my moans mixing with his, body shuddering as I cry out, spilling all over my stomach. Jesus, I never even stroked myself. “Oh God.”
I’m so lost in a sea of pleasure, I almost don’t wonder what he was about to say before his orgasm hit.
Almost.
The awkward part is after, when he’s kissing me, his sweaty forehead pressed against mine, and I let myself forget that wrapping my arms around him and murmuring how right that felt isn’t exactly the way to act with someone who was only fucking you because you promised it as payment for keeping you alive.
He stiffens and pulls his face away from mine, planting a weird-as-fuck kiss on the tip of my nose. “We’d better get cleaned up.”
“Right. You’re right.” When he pulls out a little too fast, I try not to care.
Even though we showered together previously, back at my place before we knew each other as well, by some unspoken agreement we don’t do that here. He goes first, and then I follow after into the small, attached bathroom. By the time I’m done, he’s sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep.
Guess killing people makes you tired? I don’t know. He seemed okay before. Maybe it adds up. Or maybe he…
No.
Entertaining the notion that he’s worn out because he took his time or got extra brutal with the guy on my account is not only wrong as hell, but plain old stupid. I’m can’t think I’m special. Not to him.
Not to anyone. Now that I think of it, it’ll be good to get home. See my folks, even if they hate me. It’ll be good to get back to, well, normal-ish.
I glance over at Iggy’s tank, sitting on the room’s small dresser. He’s sleeping again, snuggled next to his favorite rock. Must be nice to find comfort so easily with something so hard.
Even though I shouldn’t, I slip my fingers through Milo’s hair, letting the silky blond strands caress my skin one more time. Maybe I have a problem. I glommed onto Tucker the first time we met, and now I’m sitting here wishing Milo could be more to me than he is. That he could stay.
Would it matter at all if I told him I didn’t want to say goodbye?
Which I know I can’t say. I spent four years living with someone—at least, sort of. What if what I’m feeling is simply fear of being alone? Some sort of screwed-up rebound? Even if Milo doesn’t mind that I’m a sex worker, he’s already made it clear he won’t be sticking around.
It wouldn’t work. No matter how much I wish it could.
I’m allowed to wish for it though. As impractical and ill-advised as it might be.
As I slide into bed next to him, snuggling close like Iggy with his rock, I decide to give myself that much.