Page 31 of The Convict

With an attitude I don’t think he should have, he glares at me. “Don’t you see, Rax?”

“See what? That you’re thinking about running again?”

“What? No!” He shouts, surging to his feet, hands balled by his sides. “They think you murdered me, Rax! Did you hear what she said? ‘With his track record, it’s not very likely.’ They think I’m dead! They think you’re a murderer!”

With a grin, I say, “Sweet pea, that’s been proven.”

It takes him a moment to understand, then his face falls further. “That’s even more reason for people to think you killed me! They’ll blame you!”

I shrug, motioning for him to sit down and placing his plate back into his hands. “Two more weeks. Just hold tight for two weeks and it’ll be fine.”

“Rax …” he mutters, gripping his fork. “This is bad, right?”

Moving my knotted hair behind my back, I tell him. “It was already bad. I kidnapped you. You’re here against your will.”

“Hardly,” he mutters, putting eggs and sausage into his mouth.

I ignore him. “They think you’re dead and I’m in Florida. How can it get any worse?”

“If they find my body,” he says, looking me square in the eyes with a smirk.

Catching my fingers in my hair when I try to push it back, I shake my head. “I won’t kill you, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

“I’m not. Surprisingly, I trust you. Does that make me a fool?”

“Maybe.” Without another word, I stand up and take our empty plates to the kitchen.

I come back with a brush, toss it in his lap, and sit in front of him. When I’m settled, Finn starts at the ends of my hair, brushing the knots out gently, humming that same song he did the last time.

“What’s that you’re humming?” I ask, closing my eyes at the feel of his gentle hand gliding through my hair, as well as the soft bristles teasing my scalp.

“An old song my father used to hum when we were in the garage. Some song that came out in the eighties or something.”

A smile touches my lips because I was born in the eighties. “I know a lot of songs from the eighties. From my youth,” I quip.

The brush tumbles from his hands and lands on my chest. I glance up at him to see him looking at me wide eyed. “What?” I ask.

“You told a joke.”

“A little one.”

“And you kissed me.” He touches his lips, still looking at me with those wide eyes.

Turning around, I lean back against the coffee table so I can see him better. “Does that bother you?” I’m surprised I even asked that question. With hangarounds, I didn’t care if they liked something or not. I’d fuck or have them suck me and then they’d be off until I wanted them again.

For some strange reason, I want to make sure nothing I do bothers Finn. Why? Can’t answer that. But I know from the way my chest feels tight and my gut clenches that I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Mainly because he’s insufferable when he gives me the silent treatment or has an attitude.

“No,” he answers. “It’s just … have you ever been with a man before?”

Shrugging, I prop an arm on my raised leg. “Can’t say that I have. Have you?”

He gives me a dry look. “You’ve never been with a man before, but you kissed me.”

“I also let you touch my dick and make me come.”

Finn’s pupils blow wide and he peeks his tongue out to lick his bottom lip. My eyes track the movement, wanting to feel that tongue on my cock.

It’s a complete one-eighty, thinking about a man like this, but I resolve to let whatever happens, happen. No more questioning it or trying to figure it out. It is what it is. My last hoorah in the states before I’m flown away to an island paradise to live and do what the fuck I want.

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