Page 34 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“You’re secretly a slob.” He picks up the toothpaste tube and waves it at me accusingly.

I scoff. “I am not a slob. I was in a hurry this morning.” It’s a lie, my bathroom always looks like this, but how dare he accuse me of being a slob. I shudder at the thought.

“Pig,” he taunts, tossing the toothpaste back onto the counter carelessly and smirking at me.

I growl playfully, descending on him and wrapping my arms around him again to playfully nibble on his neck while he laughs and squirms. I release him after a minute, ignoring the throb in my cock tempting me to get on my knees and beg him to help us both compartmentalize what happened tonight the best way we both know how. The heat in his eyes when I let him go tells me his thoughts are on the same page as mine, but he doesn’t order me to strip or command me to kneel, so he must know that a shower and first aid are the priority before we let ourselves get lost in the haze of one another.

I turn towards the shower, opening the door and cranking the water on. I turn the knob as hot as I can typically stand it. Given his enthusiastic response to learning that I have hot water, I’m assuming he’ll appreciate the near boiling temperature as much as I do.

When I turn back around, he’s already undressed, his clothes in a pile on the floor at his feet. My breath catches in my chest. He’s taken me apart twice now, turning my world on its fucking axis and making me come so hard it almost made me believe in some kind of god. But this is the first time I’ve seen him completely undressed. Standing under the harsh bathroom lights, he’s all lean lines and stark ink standing out against his pale skin.

He drags his fingers through the tangle of his hair, pushing it off of his forehead, but only for a few seconds before it flops forward stubbornly again. I devour him greedily with my eyes, from the dusting of light hair on his chest to the tantalizing peaks of his dusty pink nipples, and down to his cock, half hard between his slender thighs. My mouth waters and my insides pulse with eager heat.

“Take your clothes off, Killer,” Sparrow says with a twist of his lips and a tremor of authority in his voice.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he’s sure he wouldn’t rather shower alone, but there’s something about the restrained glint in his eyes that makes me think what he needs right now is to take back control.

If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s kill a man before he has a chance to see it coming and say his prayers. If there are two things I know how to do, giving Sparrow exactly what he asks for is definitely the second.

SPARROW

Xaviaro loosens his tie and pulls the cufflinks out of each one of his sleeves. I lean against the sink, the coolness of the countertop against my ass chasing away some of the heat in my skin and grounding me in the moment as I watch with rapt attention. His expression is stoic, but the playful glint in his eyes draws me in as he undoes his buttons one at a time, his shirt slowly gaping open to expose the thick blanket of dark hair on his chest and the swell of his pecs, tempting me to bury my face there. A few more buttons loosened have the cut of his toned abs on display, begging for my tongue to trace each one while he’s tied down and whimpering for me. He tugs his shirt free from his pants and a little shiver runs through me.

He shrugs this shirt off and sets it aside, not bothering to fold it this time. Apparently all the rules of neatness and perfection are left outside his bathroom door. I don’t know why, but there’s something so endearingly human about Xaviaro needing one space in his life where he doesn’t feel the need for everything to be pristine.

The metallic rattle of his belt buckle as he works it open sends goose bumps skittering over my skin and makes my cock twitch. I wrap my hand around my swelling erection and give myself a few slow strokes while he undoes his pants and steps out of them. His eyes follow the motion of my hand, the barely contained bulge straining in his silky red boxer briefs jerking and visibly thickening.

I groan and my hole flutters, the emptiness in my core making me needy.

I saw the way Xaviaro kept glancing over at me in the car. He’s worried that I’m rattled, that I’m about to fall to pieces over something as silly as facing the specter of my mortality tonight. He was right a few weeks ago when he said my heart still beat faster thinking of my own death. As cavalier as I’ve been since Benny’s death, some part of me still clung to the comforting belief that it wasn’t my time yet. Riff Raff’s hands around my throat tonight reminded me firsthand of Phantom’s number one lesson. Everyone dies.

There is no time. It’s as inevitable as breathing and it can happen just as easily before the next sunrise as it can on my hundredth birthday. That realization might bring some men to their knees. It might send them spiraling, scrambling to make a deal with any devil they can find for just a little more time. But for me, it’s freeing. All I have is each moment, one at a time with no promise of the next. All I have is a clawing hunger for the man standing in front of me and a blessedly hot shower that will wash away the memory of the biker’s touch.

I push off the sink and close the space between us in two steps, hooking my fingers into the waist of his underwear and tugging them down as I tilt my face up to wordlessly ask for his mouth on mine. He gives me exactly what I’m looking for, ducking his head and parting his lips. I sweep my tongue into his mouth, catching his and coaxing it to stroke and tangle with mine.

He feeds me a muffled moan and I swallow it greedily. I push myself up onto the tips of my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my body against his. The heavy weight of his cock drags against mine as I rock my hips, finding the same rhythm in our kiss as steam starts to fill the bathroom and wrap around us like a comforting blanket.

Xaviaro groans again, his hands finding their way to my ass to grab and knead my cheeks. As much fun as it is to have him bound and at my mercy, I can’t deny the benefits of his wandering hands, dipping into my crease to ghost over my hole as he walks us backward towards the shower. I stumble after him, nipping at his bottom lip and deepening the kiss until our height difference frustrates me enough to growl around his tongue.

He chuckles, stooping just enough to wrap his hands around my thighs and haul me into his arms. I gasp and hook my legs around him, breaking the kiss to throw my head back and pant as I brace my hands on his shoulders and grind my aching cock against the ridges of his abs.

I’m not sure how he manages it—magic, perhaps—but he gets the shower door open without letting go of me. I make another pornographic sound as soon as the blazing hot water touches my skin, scalding away the echo of Riff Raff’s touch, and a dozen other ugly memories I didn’t know were still clinging to my skin until they’re washed down the drain.

Xaviaro brushes his lips to the hollow of my throat, holding me under the water without complaint, waiting for my next instructions. Another hot tremble of electricity skitters along my spine.

“I wish you had two extra hands so you could wash me without putting me down,” I say, tilting my head back just a little farther to let the stream run over my face for a few seconds.

“I can’t do anything about the hands, but we might be able to make it work.” He nods towards a bottle of soap on the nearby ledge. “Grab that.” I meet his demand with a flat look and he gives me an adorably sheepish smile that has no business being on such a deadly man’s face. Except for the fact that the contrast is literally everything. The world can have him cold, controlled, and dangerous. I want to be the only one who gets sheepish smiles and soft touches. “Grab that, please, Sir,” he amends, and I pick up the bottle.

Xaviaro turns to press me up against the shower wall. I gasp at the momentary shock of the cool tile against my heated, slippery back. He loosens his grip on my thighs and I tighten my legs around him, keeping my balance between the wall and his body. When he’s confident that I’m not going to slip, he plucks the bodywash from my hands and pours a generous amount into his palms, lathering them together and filling the space with the same woodsy scent that always clings to his skin.

I sigh, letting my eyelids flutter closed as his strong hands start to work the rich suds into my skin, replacing the phantom of every touch that came before until I can’t remember anyone but Xaviaro. He massages tense knots out of my shoulders and takes his time soaping every nick and cut that still needs to be properly cleaned. His lathered palms glide over my sensitive nipples and down the length of my belly until he reaches my cock.

He wraps a hand around me and I arch my back, letting a groan slip past my lips. But he doesn’t linger like I expect. He washes my shaft with a few efficient strokes before moving on. My eyes pop open and I pin him with a disapproving look.

“Did you want something… Sir?” he teases. Or maybe it’s less of a tease and more his way of letting me know that he needs to give up control as much as I need to be the one to take it.

I squeeze my legs tighter around his hips again, thrusting my cock against his stomach, the friction nowhere near enough to satisfy, just enough to make me desperate for more.

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