The word ruddy comes to mind. I blame Great-Aunt Ethel and all those romance novels she used to read.
When I drag my gaze back up to his face, his lips are set in a smug-looking smirk. The way his lids fall to half-mast tells me what he’s thinking even before he says, “You going to join me or what?”
What’s his game, though? Is he hoping to distract me? Disarm me? Butter me up so I won’t shoot him?
“This is fucking stupid, you know that?” Look, nobody ever accused me of being a romantic.
He raises one fiery eyebrow. “Why’s that, Milo? Is it dangerous jerking off in front of a hit man? If you’re going to shoot me, you might as well do it. I’ve had a shitty night. I’m exhausted. Either get in here or close the curtain on your way out.”
“Fuck’s sake.” I meant it when I said this was stupid.
What I need to be doing is watching the door in case anyone else tries to get in. When he drops his head back against the tile,wet ginger lashes fluttering shut while he strokes himself, I tell myself I can listen for intruders from the shower.
In a matter of seconds, I’ve placed my gun on the small vanity at my hip and shucked my clothes. He wants to play? Fine.
Stepping into the shower, I pull the curtain behind me. There’s hardly enough room for two people in here, but I know how to work around that.
His eyes fly wide open as I close the distance between our bodies, my hard cock brushing his before I grab him by the shoulders and turn him to face the wall.
“Hey, what—”
“This is what you wanted, right?” He’s taller than me, but I’m the perfect height to press my chin into his shoulder. He hisses when I use it to press down, while digging my fingers into his arms to hold him still.
He doesn’t answer me with words, but with a low moan and labored breathing. The sound burrows straight into my core.
“Tell me something.” My right hand finds his hard cock, and I give it a squeeze. “What’s happening right now? You hoping to talk me out of killing you?”
I’d bet my entire gun collection on the answer being yes, but I want to hear it from him.
“You’re not—aaah.” Another stroke of my hand and his words dissolve into a strained “Oh, God” followed by a raspy “You’re not going to kill me.”
Riding the cleft of his ass with my erection, I say, “You sound awfully sure.” There’s a part of me that wants to shoot him simply for thinking I won’t. I don’t like to be a foregone conclusion.
“Before—oh, shit—God. Harder. Give me more. I can take more.”
Oh, hell, this is too good.
Can he? Okay. I snake one arm around his neck. Not enough to steal his breath, not entirely. Enough to create some pressure. Enough to hold him still.
With the other hand, I grip him harder, stroking faster as I use his bubble butt to get myself off.
“This what you do, baby? You use your body to get what you want, like the pretty whore you are?”
A strangled noise comes out of him, followed by a subtle shake of his head, then a nod.
“Which is it, huh? Yes or no?”
“I’m not—” He draws a shaky breath. His hips stutter, thrusting into my fist. “Not like this. Not like—fuck. But before…” A gasp of air turns into sputtering when water gets into his mouth.
“Before what, baby?”
“At the hotel. That guy. You killed him.”
“Mm. He was hurting you.” Dammit. I’m riding high as my orgasm builds. As soon as the admission leaves my mouth, I’d like to beat my head on the tile.
Rowans needy moan echoes off the slick shower walls, making my balls tighten. Fuck, this is good. So fucking good. Too long since my last hookup, probably.
“Oh, Jesus, fuck, that feels good. Y-you came to kill me. But you killed him. Because he hurt me. And you let me go. I wanted to—”
