Chapter 6 #3
She hands us towels that have seen better days but are blessedly clean. The cotton is rough and smells like soap and sunshine. “Name’s Muireann. I run this place. You’ll be wanting a room?”
“Please.” Garrett accepts the towel gratefully, using it to wipe water from his face.
“I’ve got one left. Just the one, mind you. The miller’s cousins are visiting and took the other three rooms.” She looks between us, assessing. “That work for you boys?”
“Perfect,” Garrett says without hesitation.
I open my mouth to say we’ll need two rooms but Muireann is already turning away.
She pulls a key from a hook on the wall behind the bar.
The keys hang on wooden pegs, each labeled with a room number.
“Top of the stairs, first door on the right. We have a small malachite crystal to power up the shower. I can have dinner sent up if you’re wanting it. ”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Garrett hands her a few coins and accepts the keys gratefully.
She waves us toward the stairs then pauses, her expression turning more serious. “You’re here about Marcian, aren’t you? About what happened?”
Garrett’s smile fades. “Yes.”
“Poor Eithne. She’s staying with her sister right now because she couldn’t bear to be in that house alone.” Muireann shakes her head. “Marcian never caused trouble. Always paid his tab on time.”
“We’re going to find out what happened,” Garrett says quietly.
“I hope you do, Commander.” She gestures to the stairs again. “Go on, get yourselves dried off.”
Garrett and I follow her directions, leaving puddles on her floor as we go. I feel guilty about it, but Muireann just waves us off when we try to apologize. The hall upstairs is narrow with four doors and a window at the end. It’s simple with no decoration beyond the basic necessities.
Muireann unlocks the first door and hands Garrett the key. “Anything else you need, just holler. I’ll have that dinner up in about an hour.”
“Thank you, Muireann.”
She nods and heads back downstairs, her footsteps fading.
We enter the room.
It’s tiny. Maybe ten feet by twelve, with a single window overlooking the square. There’s a small wardrobe with doors slightly warped from age and one moderately-sized bed, pressed against the far wall.
One bed.
“I’ll take the floor,” I say immediately.
Garrett is already stripping off his wet shirt, not bothering with modesty.
Water streams from the fabric, pooling on the floor.
I very carefully focus my attention on the wall.
On the window. On literally anything except the way water runs down his back, following the line of his spine, disappearing into his waistband.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says while working on his belt buckle. “The bed is big enough for two.”
“I don’t need a bed. I’ll keep watch.” I clear my throat, still not looking at him. Maybe I’ll ask Muireann later if I can sleep in the stables or keep watch in the common room.
“We’re in a village where the biggest threat is waterfowl. You can sleep here.” He pauses at the doorway, glancing back. “Do you want to use the shower first?”
“No. You go.”
He shrugs and disappears into the cramped space. I hear the sound of wet fabric hitting the floor, then water starting to run. The malachite crystal hums faintly, powering the heating mechanism.
I should be checking the room. The window locks, the door, sight lines from the square. That’s my job.
Instead, I’m acutely aware that Garrett is naked ten feet away.
The bathroom door didn’t close all the way.
It’s cracked open, steam already beginning to curl out into the room.
I can see the edge of the small shower stall.
Then Garrett shifts in the shower and I catch a glimpse through the gap.
Just his back, water streaming down the defined muscles, the curve of his spine.
Heat floods through me. My cock stirs.
What the fuck?
I turn away sharply, focusing on the opposite wall. This has never happened before. I’ve had encounters before with the ladies at the Gilded Lily. Several over the years. But I’ve never looked at a guy and felt this.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I force myself back to checking the room. The floorboards are solid, no loose ones for someone to use to sneak up. Garrett’s still in the shower. I can hear him and the sound of water hitting his skin and the tiles.
I’m not thinking about it. I’m checking the thickness of the wall, calculating response times if someone breaks in, planning escape routes—
The water shuts off.
My whole body goes tense. I hear him moving around and the rustle of a towel. He emerges from the bathroom.
Water beads on his chest, trailing down the defined planes of his stomach. His hair is slicked back, darkened to bronze, and those green eyes find mine immediately. The towel is slung low on his hips.
Fuck, he’s beautiful.
I look away fast, but not fast enough. My body has already reacted. I’m half-hard in my leathers and praying to every god that he doesn’t notice.
Garrett sighs, running a hand through his damp hair. “You’ll be useless tomorrow if you don’t rest.”
He’s right, but I don’t want to admit it. “I’m fine.”
“Stand watch. Glower at the window. Do whatever makes you feel better. But at least change into dry clothes before you catch your death.” He pulls on a dry shirt from his pack and I risk a glance back.
The shirt clings to his still-damp skin. I can see the outline of his chest through the thin fabric.
I turn away sharply, facing the window. My cock throbs. This is getting worse. Every second I stay in this room with him half-dressed, it gets harder to control.
I need that shower. Now.
“I’ll clean up,” I mutter, grabbing my pack.
The bathroom is barely large enough to turn around in. I strip off my wet boots first, then peel the soaked leathers from my skin. They hit the floor with a wet slap. The mask comes off last.
The malachite crystal embedded in the wall pulses with soft green light, already warming the water Garrett used. I step under the spray. Garrett stood here. He was naked with water running down his body the same way it’s running down mine now.
My cock is fully hard now, aching. I wrap my hand around it, then stop.
What the fuck am I doing?
This is wrong. I’ve never—I don’t get hard for guys. What the fuck am I doing jerking off to thoughts of another male?
But Garrett isn’t just any guy.
He’s fucking beautiful. A masterpiece. Those eyes, that body, the way he moves with lethal grace hidden under noble polish.
My hand moves in slow strokes. I bite my lip to stay quiet. The water covers any small sounds, but I can’t risk Garrett hearing. I imagine touching him. My teeth on his neck, his nipple. Pushing him against this very wall, feeling his hard body against mine.
The image shifts. Garrett fighting back, outmaneuvering me with that infuriating smirk. His hands catches my wrists. I imagine he uses the belt I just unbuckled to tie my hands behind my back.
He shoves me under the shower spray. His boot kicking my knee, forcing my thighs apart. I hiss, fighting the moan rising to my throat. His hand wraps around my cock, stroking once, twice then—he is inside me.
I come hard, my mouth falling open. Garrett’s name tries to escape and I barely swallow it back. The thought of him taking me, rough and demanding, sends pleasure shooting up my spine.
I brace against the wall, panting. Water washes away the evidence.
What the hell just happened?
The thought of being taken like that should repulse me. I’m a dominant fighter. I’ve always been in control. But the image of Garrett overpowering me, claiming me...
I came harder than I had in years.
Fuck.
I finish washing quickly, shame burning in my chest. When I step out, I’m grateful for the mask I pull back on. It hides the flush I can feel heating my face.
I wrap the towel around my waist. My hands shake slightly as I reach for my pack.
Please let him not have heard anything, I pray to Aelfheim’s seventy-seven gods.
When I emerge, Garrett is fully dressed. White long-sleeve shirt, black pants. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a small menu card that must have been left by Muireann.
Thank the gods he’s covered up.
His eyes lift to me. He smiles, easy and warm.
My stomach drops. Can he tell? Does he know what I just did in there?
“Feel better?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Shit. I sound like I’ve been running.
He couldn’t have heard anything. The water was running and the walls are thick enough.
Right?
I move to my pack, acutely aware of his eyes tracking me. I pull on a spare shirt, feeling his gaze on the burn marks scattered across my shoulder. The knife wounds across my ribs from contracts gone wrong.
I angle my body, hoping he can’t see the brand at the back of my neck. The guild’s mark burned into my skin. Property, not person.
My clothes are in worse shape than his. Cheaper material, more worn. But dry is dry.
When I look up, he’s still watching me. Something soft in his expression.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“For what? Pushing you into a pond?”
“For jumping in after me.” He looks up, and his expression is serious now. No trace of the laughter from before. “Even though I was faking. You thought I was drowning and you just... jumped.”
I don’t know what to say to that. I can’t fucking tell him that the thought of him dying nearly made my heart stop?
“It’s my mission,” I say instead. “Your father paid the guild to keep you alive.”
He stands, moving to the window. The light catches in his hair, turns it gold again as it dries. “If you say so.”
There’s something in his voice. Something that suggests he doesn’t believe my answer, that he can see right through the excuse.
I move to the window as well, but I take the wooden chair beside it. It’s simple, sturdy, probably handmade by someone in the village. I settle in for a long night.