Page 32 of The (Maybe) Murderer Who Knocked Me Up

This is the kind of place people can rent by the hour? I wonder how clean the rooms are.

“Um, how much is it?” I ask.

“Forty for an hour, a hundred-twenty for the night.”

A hundred and twenty dollars? I was hoping I could swing the cost of a night to avoid the embarrassment of renting a room by the hour, but I guess not.

“Just an hour then,” I say, digging in my back pocket for my wallet. I hand him my debit card. The man barely glances at me before taking it. I guess he’s used to this.

He hands me back my card and a key ring with a wooden keychain labeled #3. “Bring this back in an hour, or I’ll have to charge you extra.”

I take it from him and hurry out of the office. That was mortifying. I feel the warmth of Slade’s hand on the small of my back as I we walk down the crumbly sidewalk toward the numbered doors. My skin lights up under his touch, and my embarrassment fades away.

Door number three is a little scuffed, but opens easily enough. The room inside has the same dark paneling and green carpet as the office. Slade pushes the door closed and turns to me. He doesn’t say a word, he just stares at me with hunger in his eyes.

I should be afraid of him. He could snap me in half if he wanted, and he’s killed a man before. Hell, he’s spent half a decade with the most dangerous criminals in Texas. But he slides his fingers through my hair so gently, I remember why I never believed Silver when he insisted that Slade was dangerous all those years ago.

Slade’s words from a few minutes ago echo in my head:I’ve never hit someone who didn’t hit me first, Quin. Not ever.

Fate help me, but I want to believe him.

16

SLADE

Sinking my fingers into Quin’s longer hair is wonderful. I’ve imagined him one way for such a long time, and his hair is proof that this isn’t some fantasy. The Quin in this room with me is real. I trace my thumb over his soft lips, trying to commit the texture of him to memory. My body wants to fuck him fast and hard, but my heart wants to savor every moment with him.

He grabs my shirt and stands up on his toes, tilting his chin up with a silent invitation. I almost bend down to kiss him, but then I stop.

Despite Quin’s desire for me, I’m still a murderer to him. I can’t make love to him the same way I did before.

Instead, I disentangle my fingers from his hair and step back.

“What—”

I sit on the bed and lay down. The mattress feels amazing after years of sleeping on a thin, foam pad at Sciff. Deep relief seeps into my bones.

It’s over. The fear and the cement walls and the constant state of vigilance are behind me now. No matter what happens with Quin, at least I never have to go back.

I hold my arms out on either side of my body and separate my legs, until I’m lying like a starfish. “Here. I’m all yours, Quin. Tie me down if you want to. That way you can know you’re safe.”

Being this vulnerable after years of watching my back is scary, but I know Quin would never hurt me.

He hugs his chest as he looks down at me. “You would let me tie you down?”

“Yes.”

He walks toward the edge of the bed. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you don’t have to. I’ll stay just like this, and you can do anything you want.”

He sits down beside me, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. I forgot how expressive his face is. After spending years with men who guarded their emotions like prisoners, Quin’s expression makes him seem soft. I want to protect his softness from the harsh world.

“What if I want you on top of me?” he asks.

My mouth goes dry. I’m already hard and aching for him. The idea of climbing on top of him and claiming him makes desire pulse through my body.

“Anything you want, Quin. Anything.”

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