“That depends. Have you done some horrible thing?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Something crosses his face. A memory, I bet. Whether he’s done anything to justify calling a hit, on some level he’s got something to atone for. Or he thinks he does.
“Nah.” I sit up. “If you had, you’d know. Trust me. There would be that one thing you’re absolutely terrified of anyone at all finding out. There’d be something you revisit only when you’re alone, late at night, with guilt in your heart. Unless you’re some kind of psychopath, anyway.”
“Well. I guess you’d know better than me. Being the expert on death and psychopaths and all.” His tone is a mix of snarky and cold, but those eyelids? They’re at half-mast and looking as bedroom-y as anything.
Folding forward, I press myself against him, front to front. I trail my nose over his chest and throat, drinking in the scent of clean skin and something earthy from his bodywash. When I get up to his chin, I flick my tongue across it for the joy of seeing his lips part and his own tongue slip out to seek mine.
I’m literally holding him captive, but he still wants to kiss me.
“I’m not psychic or anything,” I say against his open mouth. “Just have a lot of practice with how people suck.”
He licks his lips, and mine at the same time. “That’s all it takes? I’ve got experience with people sucking too.”
“No shit.” I’m not saying he wouldn’t have wound up in this business otherwise, but the statistical odds aren’t exactly in his favor.
Had a job at a legal brothel in Switzerland once. There was a woman there who was basically only coming in a few afternoons a week because she was bored and her husband worked a lot. She wanted to get laid. Hubby wasn’t doing the job. Why not make money? It can be that simple.
From what I’ve seen, though? It’s not like that here. Not usually.
I trace my tongue along Rowan’s lower lip. He opens more for me, groaning when I lick inside. When I pull back to get a look at his face, I see determination mixed with desire.
He doesn’t just want to fuck me. He thinks he has to.
“Jesus. You think if I fuck you then I won’t kill you. Is that it?”
“That’s not it.” His gaze cuts away.
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying.” Is that a sigh or a groan coming out of Rowan right now? A bit of both. “I don’t know. Am I hoping so? Of course I am. I don’t know you well enough to know what you’ll do.”
“Hedging your bets, then?”
His suddenly wet gaze pricks at my skin. “What would you do if you were me?”
The same thing. Exactly the same thing.
“Is that really all this is about? You’re willing to get your dick out for a guy who might put a bullet in your head?” At this point, the chances of me fulfilling the contract are dwindling. And the ragged breathing, the needy whine as he thrusts up against me? Fuck, that’s too good. I shouldn’t like it this much, but I shouldn’t do a lot of the things I’ve done.
“I guess also…” He whines and grinds against me harder. “What we did before… Things with my ex got…stale.”
I follow the trail of my fingers through his sparse chest hair. “They got boring.”
“So fucking boring.” Another whine. Didn’t know such a big guy could make a sound so needy and high. “At first it was sexy and exciting. I loved how he was more experienced, but…”
“But?” I make a circle with my hips, teasing his hard dick with mine.
A quiet sigh. “He liked things the way he liked them. Never wanted to try different things.” Rowan shakes his head. Shaking the memory away.
“Different things like jerking your dick in the shower while calling you a whore?”
“Or fucking me hard. Pulling my hair… Hey.” He lets out a pained hiss when I tangle my fingers in his hair at his nape and tug. Doesn’t ask me to quit though. “Look, there is one thing. Whatever you do to me, Iggy’s all I’ve got. He needs heat, light, and darkness at night. And h-he likes mealworms and crickets and vegetables and also sometimes as a treat I give him a blueberry but only occasionally because too many aren’t good for him.”
Suddenly winded, I freeze mid-grind.
For fucks sake, he doesn’t still think I might kill him. He expects me to.
