Page 61 of Scythe & Sparrow
“Slower.”
“Four …” The pause lengthens and I creep backward toward the door. “Five …” I sneak down the steps and silently slip outside the motor home. “Six,” he says as I close the door.
And then I take off running.
I head past the motor homes and the closed game stands and silent amusement rides, darting toward the left, where I can pause behind a building and watch Dorothy. Sure enough, Fionn comes out far before the count of thirty must be up. His head swivels each way and then he looks down toward his feet. He must pick up enough of my tracks in the dust gathered on the worn path, because he starts walking in my direction. “Fucking cheater,” I whisper through my wicked smile before I back away into the shadows.
There are a handful of workers out and about today, either tightening up rides or restocking games with fresh prizes in preparation for our postponed next show. They hardly pay me any attention as I sneak through the grounds and backtrack so I can align with Fionn as he progresses down one of the aisles between game stands. I follow him for a distance, and when he seems to stall and his attention is caught in the wrong direction, I sneak up from behind and grab his hand.
“What in the Jesus—you scared the shit out of me,” he says, his accent heavier in his moment of surprise. “Does this mean I win?”
“Fuckno.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Toying with you.”
“And what aboutthis,” he says as he raises our interlaced fingers. “You’re breaking some rules here. We’re technically in public. And this is holding hands.”
“Oh is it?” I bat my lashes at him, and he gives me a flat glare in reply. “Are you going to punish me?”
Desire flares in his eyes, a pool of black ink that consumes the vibrant blue. “Yes.”
My smile stretches so wide that my cheeks ache. I give him a pat on the chest. “You’ll have to catch me first.”
Before I’ve even finished my sentence, I’ve ripped my hand from his and pivoted in the direction of the concession stands. I know he’s right on my heels. I can hear his rapid footfalls. I can feel the weight of the hunt on me. The way his gaze lies heavily on my back.
But he doesn’t know this place like I do.
I know every twist and turn. Every hidden door. Every little cubbyhole and safe place to find refuge. So when I gain enough ground in the network of structures, I duck into the storage hatch at the back of the hot dog stand and try to quiet my rapid breathing, clamping a hand across my mouth to stop the laughter that begs to be set free. I hear Fionn run past my hiding place and then I lose all sense of sound except the heartbeat that roars in my ears. When it finally calms, I crawl out of my cramped little cage.
I creep along slowly, crouching low to the ground. Listening. Stopping. Starting again, just a few steps at a time. But no matter how many times I wait and listen, nothing comes. There’s no signof Fionn when I peer between the stands. No clues on the wind, no sounds in the air.
Doubt claws its way into my mind. He probably gave up. Or maybe he’s irritated that yet another one of our rules has been broken. I bet he went back to Dorothy. I can almost see him setting up my treadmill to run a four-minute mile and then plop down on my couch with some trail mix and a disgusting vegetable smoothie while he crochets a runner for my folding table and watches someSurviving Loveon his iPad. I don’t know why I find all of that fucking adorable. Green juice shouldnotbe adorable, considering it tastes like licking the trampled grass of a fairground. Not that I’ve ever done that before when I’ve lost a bet to Baz or anything.
My head swimming with doubts, I take one last spin to assess my silent surroundings, and then I straighten, smoothing a hand over my jeans. I blow a long sigh toward my bangs and then with slow and careful steps, I start walking back in the direction of the games.
I don’t make it more than a dozen strides before a weight barrels into me. A steel band clamps across my waist. A palm traps a startled cry in my mouth. I’m lifted from the ground and in a twist and turn of motion, I’m dragged into the dim light of a closed concession stand.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”
Every exhalation he breathes tickles the hairs at the back of my neck. My heart rate spikes. I whimper, but the sound is lost to the palm that covers my lips. He kicks the door closed behind him, throwing us into shadow.
“So,” Fionn says, that one word hanging in the air with so much sharp and steady certainty that it could cut through it. He sets medown and walks us to the counter to press my hips against it, his erection hard against my ass. My belly clenches, a dull ache of need that demands his touch. “Why don’t you show me what I’ve won?”
His palm is still clamped to my mouth, my unsteady exhalations spilling over the edge of his hand. His lips graze the shell of my ear and my eyes drift closed. His whisper is an intoxicating mix of sweetness and menace when he says, “You said you had a surprise for me if I caught you. I’m dying to know what it is.”
God, I could live in this moment of anticipation forever. This moment when desire burns so bright that it could incinerate every rule and condition, if we just added a splash more gasoline to the fire. In this moment, there is no aftermath, no coming back to our senses. The only way out is to give in. Fuck the consequences.
Fionn takes his time to release each finger before he lifts his palm away. “Show. Me.”
My heart climbs into my throat and lodges there. I toe off my shoes and, with one hand, undo the button of my jeans. I take my time with the zipper, willing myself not to rush. When it’s finally at the last tooth, I slide the jeans and my panties over my hips, stepping out of them when they land at my feet. “Check your pockets,” I whisper before he can figure it out.
Fionn keeps one hand braced on the counter to cage me in, and with the other he pats down his jeans. A lowhmmresonates against my back as he brings a small bottle into view. A low chuckle escapes. “Bone yard snake oil cum lube,” he says as he reads the label. “I have to admit, I like the doctor theme.”
And then he goes still behind me. I bite down on a wicked grin as he sets the bottle on the counter and takes a step back. His hands grip my ass cheeks and separate them.
I twinkle my fingers in jazz hands. “Surprise.”
