“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.
10
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. I went looking for Florida Man and unfortunately I found him
Rowan
I wake up aching and alone.
This rug I’m on was a hell of a lot more comfortable when I was fucked out and satisfied with Milo wrapped around me. When the fire was still going and the cabin hadn’t gone cold.
Forcing myself off the floor, I stretch and gather my clothes, putting them back on for the time being. There’s a note from Milo on the kitchen table.
Running an errand. Be a good whore and stay put. Doors locked.
My gaze shoots to the door. Milo…left? Without waking me up.
There’s a sinking sensation in my stomach that I try to ignore. Nerves, probably. At being left without the guy who agreed to protect me. That’s all.
At least he’s direct.
When Tucker and I were first together, he left notes too.I’ll miss you, sweet boy. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.
I’m trying to decide if this is the same note, basically.
“Sort of seems that way, doesn’t it, Iggy?”
The thought makes my throat ache. Even if it is the same, what choice do I have?
Iggy’s blinking at me from his tank, making cute little movements with his tongue. His way of saying he’s hungry.
As I give him some of the stuff Milo brought him from the pet store, I force myself to think harder about Milo. And about Tucker. This entire situation.
Last night when I showered, I did something I hardly ever do: I looked in the mirror. My reflection sort of took me by surprise.
When I met Tucker, I was an intern at his company. I’d finished my senior year of high school. Taller than a lot of my class, but kind of skinny.
Now I’m bigger. More muscular. When did I get that crease in the middle of my forehead? That cynical look in my eye? No wonder people seem nervous when they meet me. When I wasn’t paying attention, my resting face got a lot bitchier.
