“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.”
