Page 25 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“Alright, what do we need to do? Roll this guy up in a carpet and take him to the landfill?’ I guess.

“You’ve seen too many movies, Little Sparrow. I’m going to call in a couple of the foot soldiers to deal with it. We’ve got a few other stops to make still.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah? Kidnapping, murder… This is already the best first date I’ve ever been on. If you let me wield the pipe to break the next guy’s kneecaps, it would definitely put this thing over the top.”

“We’ll see,” he says, but I can already tell he’s ready to cave on the issue if I decide to push it.

“Alright then, lead the way.”

Chapter 9

SPARROW

Xaviaro’s hand rests politely on my lower back, reminiscent of a hundred dates that came before leading me out to their luxury cars to paw at me after a boring, overpriced dinner. Except, instead of an hour spent on mind-numbing small talk, picking at tiny portions of overpriced food, we spent the day intimidating lowlifes and cleaning up the city like fucking Batman.

My blood is burning hot in my veins and my cock has been half hard since I threw myself into Xaviaro’s arms this morning, feet away from a dead body. Somehow, this day has felt like a surreal dream and reality in full HD at the same time. And I’m nowhere near ready for it to end.

We reach his car, parked exactly where we left it eight hours earlier without a single parking ticket on the windshield, despite the unpaid meter. He opens the passenger side door for me, but instead of climbing in, I turn to face him.

“I want to drive.”

He looks down at my outstretched hand like he’s expecting there to be the punchline to a joke scrawled across my open palm.

“You might have noticed, I like to keep my things… nice.” He puts his hands into his pockets, jingling his keys without pulling them out.

“You assume I’m a bad driver?” I step closer, my hand still open between us, creating a small amount of distance between our bodies.

“I assume that your captivating temper and adrenaline seeking aren’t limited to inflicting physical harm on scumbags,” he says diplomatically, and I smirk.

“Xaviaro,” I purr his name, dropping my voice a little lower into an unmistakably commanding register. Watching his eyelids droop instantly sends a heady thrill through me. This man’s submission makes murder feel about as exciting as filing my taxes. It’s intoxicating and addictive. If I could bottle the feeling to inject straight into my veins, I would do it in a heartbeat. Or maybe I wouldn’t. After all, half the fun is in earning it over and over. “Give me the keys and get in the car.”

His keys jangle again in his pocket. I assume he’s tightening his hold around them as my command washes over him, making his heart beat faster and his cock swell. He lets out a shaky breath and finally extends the keys to me, dropping them into my palm.

“One scratch on her and I’ll…”

My grin widens as I close my fingers around the keys and lean into him, tilting my head up and rubbing my nose teasingly along his chin.

“You’ll what?” I challenge.

He huffs out a laugh. “Bitch about it and then take her to a body shop.”

I extend my tongue and run it along the coarse stubble on his jaw. “Good boy,” I murmur, and his lips part on a nearly silent moan. “Get in,” I say again, and he finally folds himself into the passenger seat without further argument.

I close the door behind him and swing the keys around my index finger as I round the front of the car to climb in on the other side. I shrug out of my jacket and toss it carelessly into the back seat, then spend a minute fiddling with all the settings to get the seat position and everything else just the way I like it. As soon as I pull out of the spot, Xaviaro grabs the door like he’s expecting me to start whipping donuts in the middle of the busy city street.

“You trust me to put my hands around your throat, to tie you up and fuck your mouth, even to touch your gun when we had barely spoken two words to each other. But you don’t trust me with your car?” Humor dances in my voice at the strange contradiction.

“The thought of you wrecking my car doesn’t get my dick hard,” he explains.

I hum thoughtfully, weaving carefully through traffic towards the exit that will lead us out of the city proper. “Take your dick out.”

He makes a surprised noise in his throat, dragging his hand over the soft bulge between his legs. I take one hand off the wheel to swat his hand away.

“Take your dick out,” I say again, more firmly this time. “I want to see what else makes you hard.”

“Yes, Sir,” he murmurs, making my cock stiffen and swell against my thigh.

The metallic clang of his belt buckle as he undoes it has me gripping the steering wheel tighter. I take the exit and sneak a quick glance over at Xaviaro. It’s getting dark outside, but there’s still plenty of light to enjoy the show as he lifts his hips to push his pants and underwear down several inches, his dark pubic hair exposed first, then the thick root of his mostly flaccid cock. Even without an erection, his cock looks weighty and mouthwatering.

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