The Bounty

12. Last Hoorah [M]

[ 12. Last Hoorah ]

The feeling of Hayes's eyes on my face was a lot like walking into a room that was already at full capacity and everyone's heads turning to see who was intruding.

It made me feel unbearably vulnerable. Especially with that look in his eye that he would never let me decipher. "What mood?" he repeated when I didn't say anything right away. He leaned forward with his forearms on the bed.

This almost felt like an in. Like maybe I wasn't the only one who felt a strange electric spark when he touched my wrist to bandage it up. Or like I hadn't completely imagined the dim of his eyes when I'd make an offhand flirtatious comment. That would be crazy though, right? What kind of sexual tension could two people such as us actually conjure up?

I didn't pay much attention in biology, but I was pretty sure the predator didn't end up fucking the prey in the animal kingdom.

"Oh, I see," I said, nodding my head knowingly. "You're playing dumb. Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?"

His eyebrows relaxed for a second and I thought he'd play along. "Spit it out," he spat, his voice a tad more rugged. Like he was holding back something heavy and his fingers were slipping. I tugged at my uninjured wrist and sighed.

"I've got a fantasy that looks just like this. Don't you? I'm tied to the bed, you've got all the power. I'm defenseless against whatever sick and twisted things you'd like to do to my body, no? After all, I've got hours to live," I said, keeping my tone steady. While I could talk a big game a mile a minute, I had no idea how this was going to play out. "Wouldn't you like to know my dying wish?"

"This isn't Make-a-Wish."

"No. And you're not Chris Hemsworth."

Hayes rolled his eyes, but it wasn't from annoyance. I had a sneaking suspicion that he liked our banter. "Out with it then," he said. I heard that southern accent again. It came and went. "What's your dying wish?"

Then I smirked. His eyebrows twitched upward, his expression neutral otherwise. This was going to go one of three ways. Ideally, I'd confess my twisted desires and he'd fuck me sideways. Two, he'd scoff, sit back, and tell me to shut up and the conversation would end there. Or three, he'd expedite my murder and kill me right then and there. Considering everything that's happened, I truly couldn't predict what was going to ensue.

I curled my toes and spoke freely. "It's simple, really. I'd like you to fuck me," I smiled.

The expression on Hayes's face was unreadable. I was almost afraid option three was inevitable when just seconds of silence felt like hours. His eyes stayed on my face until the moment he glanced at my exposed abdomen, then back at my eyes. I felt my heart throbbing in my chest, a dangerous cocktail of dread and anticipation brewing in my veins.

He stood up and exited the room. I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.

Whatever the hell this situation turned into, it wasn't my fault. It was a mix of desperation and delusion and sleep deprivation. He was hot, I was on a time limit, and I didn't know what I was doing. While what I asked was calculated, it wasn't necessarily intentional. Not that I'd back down now.

He didn't say no, but he didn't say yes either. I was in limbo. Other than the fact that he was killing me for compensation, this could be no different than my usual hookups, if I let myself believe it. Like any other guy who fucked me in a bar bathroom or Tinder hookups, I didn't even know his last name. All I did know was that there was clearly some palpable tension between us that didn't deserve to be ignored before my untimely death.