This week.
This life.
A low wolf-whistle follows me as I head for the tiny bathroom, and I give the man as jaunty a fuck-you gesture as I can manage under the circumstances.
“That an offer?”
Will it keep you from killing me?
“Sure.” I shrug without making eye contact. “Why the fuck not?”
Footsteps follow behind me, quieter ones, leading me to believe he’s taken off his shoes. I’m under no illusions that he actually wants to fuck me. Probably wants to make sure I don’t run off. While I’m bare-ass naked. I don’t know.
He’s nice looking though. Platinum hair and a sharp jaw. The thoughts I’m having about his mouth are the opposite of respectful. The way his lips are all red and swollen, it looks as if he bites them.
He’s annoying as fuck though. There’s the inconvenient problem of him coming to kill me. He saved me earlier, too, and despite my exhaustion, I’m startled to realize that underneath the anxious buzzing and the “holy shit, I almost died,” is a ton of unspent adrenaline. Utter relief. And horniness.
Because I almost fuckingdied. More than once, if you believe the professional killer.
But I’m still here.
I turn around and confront the guy who supposedly was sent to kill me.
The guy who saved me.
In my experience, nobody does that kind of favor without expecting something in return. Maybe I should go ahead and say thank you.
4
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. My astrologer told me an ex might try to get in touch, so I was busy changing my name and moving to Canada.
Milo
What am I even doing right now? There’s no window in this tiny bathroom. I could watch to make sure Rowan doesn’t leave from the ratty living room sofa. Never mind that if he did try to escape again, I could track him down easier if I’d kept my shoes on.
So, really, I might as well leave. Keep watch from outside in case there’s trouble.
But. But…
Rowan gives me a surprisingly heated look as he climbs into the shower. He dials the water up to full blast, even while leaving the curtain open. I’m looking at miles of freckled skin and copper fur, from the top of his head to the base of a Very Nice™ dick.
Not that I’m a size queen or anything. If I’m salivating more than usual that’s a coincidence.
The guy’s tall enough that he’d need to duck to get his hair wet, so as he stands there staring at me, the water’s pelting him in the back. Right between his shoulder blades.
Hazel eyes find mine as he soaps up, a stare that’s equal parts fury and desire. Probably mirrors my own. If there was any question in my mind about what he’s hinting at here, the soapy hand sliding over his abs and down to his cock fills in most of the blanks.
He’s a sex worker. This is nothing to him. He’s trying to manipulate me.
I shouldn’t be here. I don’t even want to be here. This trip will probably turn out to be a fucking waste of time, but if there’s even a sliver of a chance I might need to finish this contract, then the last thing I want to do is get involved.
My fists clench.Don’t do it, Milo. Go back out there and keep watch. Go now, before you hesitate and lose your fucking mark. Again.
I also can’t look away.
He reaches down to cup his balls, sliding his fingers between his legs and back out again before moving up to take hold of his impressive erection. It’s thick, and it’s long. You don’t always get the twofer. Slick and shiny from the water running over it. Blushing, flared head.
