Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
I shake my head. “You? Never.”
He leans down, and just as I think he’s about to tie his shoe, Rowan scoops some snow with his gloved hands and sends a snowball my way.
I duck, narrowly avoiding the projectile.
“Not fair!” Rowan complains, but I grin, already forming my own snowball.
“How is it not fair? All is fair in love and war.”
“You’re a professional. Of course you’ll always duck on time,” he complains, rushing behind a tree.
“It’s a good skill to learn. We’ll work on your reflexes.” I throw a snowball in his direction when he peeks out from behind a branch.
“You missed!” Rowan laughs, but his voice turns into a squeak when the snow cap from a branch above him, which I aimed at and hit, drops on his head and shoulders.
My smile dies when he falls over. Snow crunches under my feet as I run toward him in panic. “Rowan!” I yell and kneel in the snow to check if he’s okay.
He turns to me, pulls on my scarf and shoves a handful of snow under my collar.
“Noo!” I cry, trying to get it out.
“All is fair in love and war.” He smirks, but this isn’t over.
I grab some snow, hold him by the arm, and slide it under the back of his sweater. He squeals, laughing, and this doesn’t even feel like a fight anymore. I kiss his wet cheek, then his lips, and as he hugs me, I barely even feel the chill of the melting snow on my back.
Chapter 22
Rowan
“This is… so wrong,” I utter, choking on my breath as Saint’s wet, deliciously hot lips polish the length of my cock.
He’s on his knees, with the wolf skull balaclava pulled up to reveal the lower part of his face, and while my instincts warn me the curtain concealing the changing cubicle might be pulled aside at any moment, I can’t bring myself to stop him. The slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue make me tremble and whimper, but when I look down, every single thought comes straight from the gutter.
His hands are the perfect size to cup my ass and pull me close, and as he buries his nose in my pubes and utters a grunt of utter delight, I kind of want to rip the mask off him and tighten my hands in his hair. But I won’t, because seeing him dressed to, literally, kill yet taking a moment to suck cum out of my balls has my brain stewing in its own juices.
Our eyes meet, and I bite my lip to avoid moaning too loudly. He pulls me into these situations with such ease… Then again, maybe it’s not just his charm, but me wanting to fall into his traps every time. On the other hand, can his lips be considered a trap when they envelop my dick with such skill?
“Oh, God… Almost there,” I whimper, clenching my fingers on his shoulders and grasping his black sweater. He’s wearing cashmere even for work.
So smooth. So elegant. And yet, he can be so damn dirty. I love it.
He utters a hum that travels up my prick and resonates in my balls as I cover my mouth, about to blow. And then he’s pulling back, cheeks hollowed around my shaft, gloved fingers moving up my thigh all the way to my ass. I come as he teases the tightened cleft between my buttocks, imagining him somehow fucking me while he sucks me.
I try to muffle my moan with my arm, but if someone’s outside the cubicle, they would hear us anyway.
I can barely keep my eyes open, but I still look down to watch him swallow my load. It feels so wrong to do so when he has the mask on. It’s as if he broke into this changing room while I was dressing just to steal my cum. I might have to ask him to fuck me wearing the mask one day.
My biggest fear is somehow becoming my biggest turn-on when he’s the star in it, and maybe that won’t cure my trauma, but it’s definitely taming it. Some days, I can’t believe he only entered my life two weeks ago, because he’s already turned it upside down. Maybe I’m just fucked up, but I trust him to keep me safe despite witnessing one of his kills. When he’s around, the need to check every lock thrice isn’t as pressing, and when I fall asleep, he’s the guard dog to ward off any and all nightmares.
And while I sometimes don’t feel that I bring enough to the table in exchange, there’s no doubt he needs me as much as I need him.
“You want—” I try, catching my breath.
Saint shakes his head, his hand already on his dick as he kisses the inside of my thigh.
We were snowed in for a week, and while it was far from optimal for our revenge hunt, it helped us get to know each other’s tics and quirks so much better. I worried I’d get cabin fever after day three of not being able to leave, but with Saint, in the beautifully decorated house, I felt as if someone pressed the fast forward button on my life.