SKULLDUGGERY
Sloane
Rowan Kane is up to no good.
As usual.
I can tell. I don’t know how I know, but I do. Over the last few days it’s been lurking in his little glances. I’ve seen it in the way he’s looked at his phone and hammered out a message, or the devious little glint in the smile that follows. He might try to hide it, but it’s there. I can sense it. It’s like a faint trace of smoke on the wind. A flash of light on a blade. Whispers in shadows.
He’s scheming.
My eyes narrow as he loads the dishwasher. If he can feel my gaze drilling into the side of his face, he doesn’t let on. When I clear my throat, he doesn’t look up. I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the counter, but he still doesn’t acknowledge that I’m staring right at him. He said once that he always notices me, and it wasn’t a lie. I’m positive this whole oblivious act has to be bullshit.
So I wait until he finishes with the dishwasher and then takes a sip of his coffee before I announce, “I call skullduggery.”
Rowan sputters and coughs. When his watering eyes finally land on me, he’s clearly fucking delighted.
“Skullduggery? Does this mean you’re going to put on a sexy pirate costume and fuck me while you’re wearing an eye patch?”
“No.”
“What about if I wear the eye patch?”
“Still no.”
“What about if I throw in a stuffed parrot?”
“Rowan—”
“Love,” he says with a warm grin that lights his eyes with amusement. He sets the mug down and approaches, grasping my wrists and tugging my arms from their firm hold across my body. “What kind of skullduggery are you worried about?”
“I don’t know,” I reply as he wraps my arms behind his back and lays a kiss on the pulse that surges in my neck. “Why don’t you tell me?”
His lips drag up my skin in the way he knows ignites my ticklish streak. When my body squirms in response, he pushes me back against the counter. “Blackbird, the only shenanigans I’m up to are the kind where I’m in your pants.”
“You mean like, kidnapping me again?”
“Umm, I was thinking more like right now, but that can be arranged.”
Rowan’s grip tightens on my waist and he lifts me onto the counter as he catches my lips in a demanding kiss. With my arms wrapped around the back of his neck, I kiss him back with desire that matches his, reveling in the glide of his tongue over mine and the caress of his calloused hands as they dip beneath the hem of my shirt to warm my bare flesh. But my thoughts? They are still wrapped up in a question.
“What are you up to?” I ask when I pull back just enough to form the words against his lips.
“Making out with my fiancée,” he says, and dives back into the kiss.
I manage to pull back and break the kiss despite his best efforts to keep it going. My eyes narrow with a suspicious glare. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m not.” One of his hands roams to my breast and he toys with my nipple piercing in a way that has my pussy aching for attention. “I answered your question. I’m making out with you and then I’m going to fuck you on this here countertop,” he says as he gives the polished granite a slap. “Pretty direct response.”
“Are you scheming to kill someone?”
“What?”
“You know, murder. That thing we’re good at. Oh my God, you’re going after the Forest Phantom, aren’t you? You’re going to kill him before the annual game.”
“Love—”
“Just tell me. That’s it, isn’t it? I bet you’ve already got him locked away somewhere. You’re probably going to have him up on the statue in Boston Common riding that horse with George Washington by morning—”
“Blackbird,” Rowan says, his palms a sudden warmth on my cheeks. His eyes shift between mine, and though he’s amused, I can tell he’s a little worried too. “Though I find your paranoia adorable and I’m filing that George Washington idea away for later, you’re way off course here.” He presses a kiss to my forehead before pulling away to level me with a serious gaze. He seems to come to some conclusion as a lengthy sigh passes his lips. “Is this about the wedding?”
The wedding.
Every time I think about the wedding, my heart rate spikes. The room seems to close in, as if all the air has been vacuumed out and I’m left with nothing to breathe. It’s not the thought of marrying Rowan that gets me. He’s my best friend. I love him more than anything. It’s the enormity of the task that we’ve barely even started since he proposed six weeks ago, and especially the presence of guests. Two in particular. Do I invite my parents? Would they even bother coming? If I don’t, will it look bad when Rowan knows half the city and probably wants a bunch of his friends to attend? They’ve been nothing but kind to me, but won’t they wonder what’s up when I have Lark and maybe her family but no one else? Won’t that look weird? Won’t I look weird?
“Sloane? Is that the issue?” Rowan presses, his voice soft.
“No …” I lie, even though I hate the thought of lying to Rowan about how I feel. But I don’t want him to think the wrong thing, that I’m changing my mind. And besides, I am still convinced he’s up to something.
“Do you think the wedding might have something to do with it?”
I shake my head.
“Here’s what I think,” Rowan says as he lowers his hands to the countertop on either side of my hips, caging me in. “I think you’re stressed about planning this thing out. You’re putting too much pressure on yourself. And now you’re seeing trouble where there isn’t any.”
“But you’re always trouble. So maybe I’m seeing pretty clearly.”
Rowan’s grin turns rakish. “I’m delightful trouble. As for skullduggery, like I said, my scheming is pretty straightforward. Fuck my fiancée. Make her come. Send her away on her spa vacation with a couple of hickeys on her pretty tits.”
“Hickeys? Seriously?” I can’t help but giggle as his hands climb beneath my shirt, towing it up my body until he lifts it off and discards it on the floor. Rowan’s eyes stay riveted to my chest as he pulls the cups of black lace down with an appreciative groan.
“Damn straight,” he says as he toys with one of the piercings, tugging gently on the little bar. I bite down on my lip to trap a whimpering moan, and Rowan’s eyes immediately dart to my mouth and hook there. “Hmm now, Blackbird. You’re not keeping your sounds from me, are you?”
I swallow. “Winston will start growling.”
Rowan might laugh, but we both know it’s true. Winston has taken a liking to me and has used that as a convenient excuse to attack Rowan when he thinks I’m in mortal danger.
“I’m willing to risk a few more scars on my arse,” Rowan says before laying a bite to my neck that draws a gasp from my parted lips. “I’ll lock him in the bathroom if I have to. But all those little sounds you try to hide? They belong to me.”
My hands thread into his hair as Rowan kisses his way down my throat and across my chest to lavish my nipple with attention. He swirls his tongue over every curve and angle of the piercing before gripping it between his teeth to give it a delicious tug.
“Goddammit, I really love it when you do that,” I hiss as his fingers toy with the zipper of my jeans. He drags it down with agonizing slowness, as though he can hear every thought in my head that screams at him to move faster.
“When I first saw these piercings through your bra at the gas station, I nearly fucking died,” Rowan says as he plays with one of the little hearts, coaxing my nipple into a firm peak. “I swear I had a hard-on for the rest of the drive to Fionn’s.”
My giggle becomes a gasp when he leans down to suck on my breast. “I know. You kept shifting around in the seat. You looked miserable.”
“I was miserable. I needed to touch you.” He lays a kiss on my neck, presses in on my body. “I needed to know everything about these fucking little hearts. And to think, I didn’t even know about the other decorations.”
I grin as Rowan nips my earlobe. “I thought you might like the nipple piercings. You spent enough time staring at my boobs in the diner. It was kinda cute how hard you tried not to.”
Rowan groans against my neck before he pulls away to look in my eyes. “Blackbird, I have a question.”
“Okay …”
“Did you get the hearts for me?”
Blush crawls beneath my skin, and Rowan’s eyes dart down to my cheeks to soak it in. “Maybe a little bit.”
He swipes a hand down his face before resting his forehead against my shoulder. “I love you so fucking much that it physically hurts me,” he says as I laugh. When he straightens, Rowan tugs me off the counter and sets me on my feet. “I got something for you too. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. Get naked and stay right here.”
“What are you—”
“Just trust me,” he tosses over his shoulder as he heads down the hallway to the bedroom. I start to undress as Winston’s growl precedes the sound of the bathroom door closing. And then a few moments later, Rowan appears from the dimly lit corridor, stalking toward me with a new purple dildo and a bottle of lube in one hand.
… A purple vibrator that matches his outfit.
A dragon onesie costume.
“Rowan Kane, what the fuck,” I say as I cackle with disbelief.
“I’m not Rowan. I’m Sol,” he growls as he stalks closer. His ravenous gaze pins me and doesn’t let go. I take a step backward and then another, every laugh that escapes me only feeding the hunger in his eyes. “And I’m going to breed you, little human.”
“You are so weird,” I say on the heels of a shriek as he surges forward and I run around the end of the island, narrowly avoiding his reaching grip.
“Try to escape all you want, my little human. I will still catch you.”
I cackle as I keep the island between us and creep toward the end closest to the corridor in the hopes I can make a break for it toward the bedroom. “Why are you like this?”
“A sentient dragonman knows not why it is a talking dragon. Only that it must make little dragonlings with its two dicks.” Rowan tries not to smile as I giggle maniacally. “Run, human.”
I squeak and take off for the corridor, but I don’t make it more than ten steps before he’s got me. He lifts me from the floor and into his arms as though it’s effortless. “For a dragon, you’re not very scaly, Sol. This will be more like being fucked by a velveteen rabbit.”
Rowan snorts a laugh as he tosses me onto the bed. “A half-boiled rabbit at this rate. This is not breathable fabric.”
“Take it off then, you weirdo.”
“No way. I’m committed to the bit, Blackbird.” He clears his throat and resumes his booming dragon impersonation when he says, “On your hands and knees, little human.”
I do as he says, laughing the entire time as I bend over. But the laughter dissolves into a loud moan as he plunges his cock into my pussy with a single stroke.
“Fuck, Sloane. So fucking wet for me, every single time,” Rowan says as he glides out and thrusts back in again, the soft fabric pressing against my ass cheeks every time he bottoms out.
“You’re really doing it,” I say as I look over my shoulder and grin. His hair is already clinging to his damp forehead beneath the hood where two little orange horns are sewn. “You’re fucking me in a non-breathable velveteen dragon suit.”
“Damn straight I am,” he grits out, not breaking the cadence of his thrusts as he grips my waist with one hand and opens the bottle of lube with the other. I watch as he drizzles the thick liquid onto the crack of my ass. “And I’m going to fill this perfect cunt and then this tight little hole before I pass out from heat exhaustion.”
I snort a laugh and brace my head against my arm, pushing my ass up higher as he slides the toy through the slick lube to press it against the pleated rim. With a deep breath and a little push of the toy, it slips past the resistance.
“Oh my God,” I moan into the sheets as he pushes it in deeper, slowly, inch by inch. Every thrust in my cunt is deep and slow as he guides the vibrator in until I’m filled, until I feel like I couldn’t possibly take more.
Then he turns it on.
We both pause, as though any movement we make will push us over the edge before we’re ready to take a breath and dive. Rowan hisses a string of swears and I try to relax, but it becomes impossible when Rowan starts to resume a pace of slow, languid strokes. His rhythm becomes faster, his thrusts deeper. He turns up the level of vibration on the toy, and then he isn’t just fucking me. He’s claiming me, like no one else ever could. He grips my breast with one hand, my hip with the other, and ruts into me with merciless, carnal need.
“Touch yourself,” he grits out. “Make yourself come. Fucking scream my name, Sloane. Let me hear how I fucking destroy you.”
I do everything he asks.
I bring my fingers to my clit, slick with arousal and lube, and roll my touch over the triangle piercing as I cry out Rowan’s name. An electric surge blankets my flesh, like all the energy of my body is siphoned from my limbs until it explodes in my core. My pussy cinches tight around Rowan’s erection and I fall apart as a growl rips free from his chest. He pulls the toy from my ass and pushes his length in its place as he shudders, emptying the rest of his spend into the tight heat.
“Fuck,” he hisses when he catches his breath and slowly withdraws. When he’s slipped away, he keeps his hands on my flesh, separating my ass cheeks so he can watch as the cum drips free. “I thought I could go another round, but I need six bottles of Gatorade first.”
“Maybe we should do the pirate costume next time.”
“You be the pirate, I’ll be the parrot.”
“You are so fucking weird.”
“But you love me,” Rowan says as he shimmies off the bed to take off the dragon costume, his body slick with sweat.
“I do.”
Rowan grins and leans down to kiss my temple before heading to the bathroom to free Winston and return with a damp cloth. Winston hisses and takes a swipe at Rowan’s bare calf in retribution, but Rowan manages to dodge the perpetually disgruntled feline before he climbs back onto the bed to clean my skin with reverential strokes.
“Are you excited to go away for the weekend?” he asks, his gaze trapped on the motion of his hand as he runs the cloth over my inner thigh.
“Yeah, it’ll be fun. I’ll miss you, though.”
Rowan smiles as he casts a fleeting glance up to meet mine. “You’ll just miss my dragon cosplay. Admit it.”
I grin and fold my hand around his nape to draw his lips to mine. The kiss lingers, sweet and slow, until I pull back to admit, “Maybe I’ll miss that too.”
“Knew it,” he says with a grin before he backs away and offers a hand to help me off the bed.
I don’t have much time to shower and get the last of my belongings packed before Lark calls to let me know she’s waiting on the street below. Rowan wraps me in a tight hug and peppers my cheeks with kisses before he’s pushing me out the door with instructions not to get eaten by a shark, despite my protests that it’s early October and I have no intentions of getting in the frigid water at Cape Cod. And then I’m rushing down the stairs of the old brick building, bursting out into the sunshine to be greeted by Lark’s even brighter smile.
Within twenty minutes, we’ve picked up Anna and are heading to the Leytonstone Inn, a boutique spa hotel overlooking Newcomb Hollow Beach. It takes us a little over two hours to reach the inn, and we manage to avoid the Thursday-afternoon rush hour traffic to make it just in time for dinner and a few glasses of wine before we crash out in our rooms. In typical Lark fashion, she’s got an outing planned for first thing in the morning, a scenic sunrise hike along the Sand Cliffs before we’re back at the hotel for lunch and afternoon yoga, which I’m terrible at. Surprisingly, Anna is even worse, and we spend most of the time trying to hold our shit together and not disrupt Lark’s laser focus. We spend the evening eating and drinking and laughing. Laughing so much more than I thought I could.
Saturday is a full-on spa day, much more my speed than the yoga. It starts with a sauna session. Facials. A full-body scrub. And before lunch, a massage session with the girls in a room with a view of the beach.
“You should come back here before the wedding,” Lark says as the masseuse works on my shoulder where the muscles are still tight from the fall at Harvey’s house in Texas. “Get all the kinks worked out.”
Anna snorts. “Work them in during the evening, out during the morning.”
“Dragon onesie,” Lark and I say in unison with a round of giggles.
“Have you settled on a location for the wedding?” Anna asks, her voice muffled where her face is pressed into the hole of the massage table.
“Not yet.”
“This could be a good spot. Nice and chill. Quiet.”
“Your dress fits the vibe too,” Lark chimes in. As soon as I told her that Rowan had proposed, she dragged me to her aunt Ethel’s house to lay claim to what she announced was a “gold-star-tits dress.” And she was right. Ethel’s vintage lace dress had been lovingly stored away in her enormous, museum-like home and was in near-perfect condition. Ethel herself made the minor repairs and adjustments within two days of our visit, but it already fit every curve on my body as if it had been made for me.
“True,” I reply. “You might be on to something. I do really like it here.”
Lark senses the hesitation in the way my voice grows quieter with my final words. “But …?”
“But the guest list is really stressing me out. And like, all the other shit. Flowers and music and blah blah blah. And if my parents come, they’re so particular, you know? I don’t know if it would fit their tastes.”
“Does it fit yours?”
Yeah, it really does. The thought of something intimate and small at a comfortable, boutique beach inn sounds perfect. But every time I remember how Rowan shone as bright as a star at the Best of Boston gala, surrounded by friends and acquaintances, the doubts creep in. Maybe he would prefer something big, something grand. Maybe he wouldn’t want something small and intimate at all.
I don’t answer Lark as these thoughts tumble through my mind.
“I’ll be right back, girls,” Anna says after we slip into a long silence. “Need a quick bathroom break.”
“Ooh, me too, I’ll come with,” Lark says.
I don’t move as they leave and the door closes behind them with a quiet snick, too absorbed in the feeling of tight muscles finally releasing beneath the masseuse’s expert touch.
“I’m just going to get more oil,” she says after a few moments of silently working my left shoulder. I mutter a relaxed thank-you, and after some rustling and rummaging behind me, she returns to resume work on my back.
“How’s the pressure?” a voice says.
A familiar voice. One that is definitely not my masseuse.
I shriek and roll off the table, the towel clutched to my body as I come face-to-face with my not-masseuse.
Rowan Kane.
“What in the ever-loving fuck.”
“Hey, Blackbird.”
I stare at him, mouth agape, before I dart a wary glance around the room. The massage therapists are gone. My friends are clearly in on whatever the fuck this is. It’s just me and the smirking Irishman, looking hot as fuck in a leather jacket, a motorcycle helmet laying on the table where Lark was a few moments ago.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask.
Rowan hops up onto the table next to his helmet as he rubs the stubble on his chin. He casts his gaze to the windows, trying and failing to conceal the delight in his eyes. A nonplussed shrug is his first response as he keeps his attention trained to the sea.
“I dunno, I just thought maybe you’d like to get married this weekend. Kinda seemed like a nice spot.”
Words refuse to make it from my brain to my tongue. Only one is able to make it out alive. “What …?”
“You know, that ceremony where we say some vows and exchange rings and you look smoking hot in a beautiful dress and I look pretty dapper in a fancy suit. Then we eat cake, have a little dance, a bit of a craic, take bets on whether Lark and Lachlan will hook up, go back to our room to have some mind-blowing post-wedding sex, and then you’re stuck with me forever. That kind of thing.”
“… What …?” A sudden ache chokes up my throat as pieces start snapping into place. He arranged this whole spa thing with Lark as an engagement present. When I asked him about his work schedule for the weekend, he seemed to skirt around the details, though I didn’t think much of it at the time. Then there was that whole lingering sense that he was scheming. “Skullduggery.”
“Maybe a little bit.”
“But you said I was way off course.”
“You were.”
“You said you were only scheming to get into my pants.”
“No lies spoken.”
“Then what the fuck is this?”
“Clearly, additional skullduggery. Minus the parrot.”
I have so many questions that they seem to short-circuit my brain entirely. All I can manage is to shake my head and try to swallow the burning fist that closes around my throat. And Rowan can see it. His eyes soften as they flow across my face.
He slides off the table and approaches as though closing in on a wild creature, moving with careful and slow steps until he’s able to grasp my elbows as I keep the towel clutched to my chest. “Love,” he says with a faint smile. “I know you’re freaking out a bit about the whole planning part. So, I thought if we just did it, right here and now, we won’t have to overcomplicate things. We do it the way we want, with our close friends and family and that’s it. Nobody else. Just small. Everything is here if you want it. And if you don’t, that is fine too.”
My voice sounds small when I ask, “The dress is here?”
“Yep.”
“What about Fionn, and Lachlan, and—”
“And Rose, and auntie Ethel, someone for hair and makeup, and everything else we need, it’s all here.”
“But who—”
“Conor can do the ceremony. Lachlan can walk you down the aisle. He said he’d be honored to escort the spider lady.”
My eyes well with tears. I bite down on my lip to keep it from wobbling, but it’s impossible when Rowan traces it with his thumb, tugging it free from the grip of my teeth.
“The weather is supposed to be perfect. We can do it at sunrise, if you want. Right out at the water. Or we can do it another day. Plan it another way. I just thought …” Rowan’s gaze drops from mine, as though he can’t hold the connection between us. He shuffles his feet. Crinkles his nose. When he meets my gaze, his eyes shine. “I just want to marry you. I want to do it without you torturing yourself over what anybody else wants. I just care about you and me.”
This man. Sometimes it feels as if he’ll never stop cracking my heart to fit more of himself inside.
His features grow hazy beyond the watery film that covers the world when I blink. “For real?”
The first thread of hope and relief weaves into Rowan’s expression. “Yeah, Blackbird. For real. Only if you really want to.”
I don’t even let him finish his sentence before I’ve caught Rowan in a desperate hug. “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I really want to.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” he says as he lays his chin on my shoulder and wraps me in his arms. “I was having another ring-in-the-eye-socket moment of doubt there. You’re sure?”
I nod my head against his chest.
“Extra sure?”
“Rowan—”
“Okay, great, well, on that note, gotta go.”
In a flash of movement, Rowan has released me to grab his motorcycle helmet and stride toward the door.
“What the fuck?” I ask.
“Bad luck the day before the wedding,” he says as he tosses me a cheeky smile when he pauses on the threshold. “Love you, Peaches. See you tomorrow.”
The door is shut before I’ve even managed to move from my place in the center of the room, but I still call out after him. “I’ll cut you.”
“Empty threats,” he calls back as his footfalls stride away down the hall.
By the time Anna and Lark return with champagne and giddy smiles and laughter, I feel as if I’ve been struck by a hurricane.
And that feeling sticks with me all the way through the rest of the day and into the night and straight through to the next morning. Like I’m caught in a storm. And it’s frightening, but maybe exciting too. Like I can’t wait to see what it looks like on the other side, how the world might change in its wake. Maybe I’ll be swept away by the winds and land someplace new, somewhere I never expected to be.
As the minutes tick down, and my hair and makeup is done and the dress is on, that storm concentrates in the depths of my heart, and it lives there in every beat as I take Lachlan’s offered arm and wait by his side for the doors to open. Once they do, we’ll walk out to the deck that’s bathed in the morning light. We’ll take the stone path to where Rowan waits on the sand cliffs overlooking the sea, and then I’ll marry my best friend. The love of my life.
Lachlan keeps my hand pressed tight to his side in a way that makes my heart ache as he jerks a nod toward the doors ahead. “You sure you want to marry that eejit? There’s no escaping him if you do.”
“There was never any escaping Rowan Kane. I didn’t want there to be,” I say as I turn my smile to Lachlan.
Lachlan lets out a low and thoughtful hum. His dark blue eyes seem a little lighter than usual. A little softer. “You’re kind of all right, Spider Lady.”
“You’re not so bad either. Most of the time, anyway,” I reply as I turn my attention ahead. “Kind of a dick to my best friend, though.”
“Feckin’ Christ. I helped her move. Have you seen the size of her couch? You said she didn’t have much stuff—”
“Still a dick. Sort it out.”
Lachlan grunts and shuffles his feet. “For a methodical, reclusive serial killer, you’re pretty feckin’ brazen.”
“It’s my wedding day. What if I just embrace it? Boss around my brothers-in-law, marry the Boston Butcher, eat some cake. Sounds pretty great, actually. So, yeah. You need to dance with Lark. Bride’s orders.”
“Then I hope you enjoy watching me hate every minute of it.”
“Lachlan Kane, you’re just like your brother,” I say as I turn a beaming, lethal grin toward him. “Always threatening me with a good time.”
Lachlan scoffs but turns his gaze away too slowly to hide the little glint of delight in his eyes. “Yeah, Spider Lady … You’re kind of all right.”
The music starts up. The doors open. Lachlan’s other hand lays over mine.
I take one breath.
And then I walk from the shadows and into the sun.