Scythe & Sparrow: Chapter 15

Rose

I can’t remember the last time I was on a plane. And I know I’ve never been on one with a guy. At least, not a friends-with-benefits guy.

Especially not one who’s got his hand up my skirt and his fingers in my cunt.

I stifle a whimper, but only barely.

“Shh,” Fionn says, pumping his fingers in and out of my entrance with slow strokes. I try not to squirm, but it’s nearly impossible to sit still. “Someone will hear you.”

“As if anyone who’s walked by hasn’t already clocked what we’re doing,” I whisper back. “Your jacket is on my lap and your hand is obviously moving right there.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he purrs.

“Fuck no.”

And I mean that. I definitely do not want him to stop. In fact, I’m pretty fucking surprised that we’re here in this situation. I thought after a couple weeks ago when we finally hooked up that he’d never want to do it again. And sure, he spent a day or two mired in an unnecessary pit of self-loathing, but it only lasted as long as it took for the announcement to hit the local news that the search for Eric Donovan had been called off at Humboldt Lake. I’m not entirely sure if he thought it was a good thing or a bad thing, but it was enough of an excuse for us to fuck on the kitchen counter of his house.

And then Rowan called to ask if we’d come to the opening of his new restaurant. We said yes, and after I modeled a few cute potential dresses from the closet in poor ol’ neglected Dorothy, we gave the creepy corn people of the Prairie Princess Campground a fun soundtrack as I blew him on my RV bed and he screamed my name. And now here we are. On a plane. Heading to Boston. With Fionn’s fingers knuckles-deep in my pussy.

He adds his thumb to my clit and I nearly erupt from my seat.

“Safety first,” Fionn says as he reaches across my hips with his free hand and pulls one end of the belt over his jacket, and then the other. He slides the metal clip into the release and then tightens it with a swift tug of the strap, trapping his other hand against my pussy. “Seat belts should stay on in case of turbulence.”

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss as his fingers stroke deeper. “Who are you?”

“I’m just reciprocating after the blowjob you gave me in the motor home the other day. That’s what friends do. Besides, we’re on a mini holiday from Hartford, technically. And we should celebrate being out of town.”

“By breaking the rules?”

Fionn scoffs, sliding his fingers out to tease my clit with swirls and circles. “We’re not breaking the rules.”

“Doesn’t this count as a ‘public display of affection’?” I ask, breathless.

“Not technically. Besides, I filed an exception when we boarded. As long as I make you come, it doesn’t count.”

He plunges his fingers back inside me, and I turn away and bite down on my fist, pressing my forehead next to the window, where the night sky stretches toward a curved horizon of clouds. There’s a ding of an upcoming announcement from the captain. “We have begun our initial descent into Boston. We’ll be arriving at our destination at 11:17 p.m. The weather in Boston is heavy rain and forty-eight degrees. The flight attendants will be coming through the cabin to collect any remaining items. We wish you a pleasant stay in Boston and thank you for flying with us.”

“Better hurry up, Rose,” Fionn whispers against the shell of my ear as he presses harder to my clit with the edge of his thumb. I stifle a whimper in my fist. “They’re coming through the cabin. You don’t want to get caught with my fingers in your pussy, do you?”

The thrusts come faster. He strokes my inner walls. His thumb works against me, and I close my eyes, every muscle tightening as release unravels in my core. My free hand grips Fionn’s wrist through his jacket, but he keeps going, not stopping until he’s sure I’ve claimed every moment of pleasure from this moment. He withdraws his fingers slowly as though savoring the heat surrounding his touch and the mess that he’s made of me. I can feel the slickness of my arousal between my thighs, the cool dampness of my panties as he shifts them back into place. When he’s straightened my skirt, he takes his jacket back to lay it across his lap just as a flight attendant draws near.

“That was very naughty, especially for an upstanding medical professional such as yourself,” I say with a wicked grin as Fionn lays one of his fingers on his tongue and sucks my arousal from his skin. He shrugs and repeats the motion with his second finger. “We could have gotten caught.”

“That’s what makes it fun.”

“I said it before. Who are you?”

“And I told you before, I was returning the favor. That’s what friends are for.”

“I think there’s a bad man in this good doctor,” I tease. “And I like him.”

Our gazes lock. The teasing glimmer in Fionn’s eyes turns to something molten, burning brighter when it drops to my mouth. I could lean closer. So could he. Maybe he’s thinking about it. Just like I’m wondering what it would be like to taste him, my arousal still lingering on his lips. And goddamn but does he look good with this hint of cockiness that lifts one corner of his lips. I think he’s going to break away, but he doesn’t, and my heart pounds against my chest like it’s trying to push me closer with every beat.

The plane drops and lurches suddenly as we descend into the clouds and we both sit back, gripping our armrests, Fionn’s hand clasped over mine. “Just like the Zipper ride, isn’t it? It’s my favorite at Silveria. I always like to give it a test run every time we set it up,” I say with an untroubled smile as turbulence rocks the cabin. A few noises of surprise rise from other passengers. Fionn meets my eyes and blinks as though coming out of a fog. And then his hand lifts from mine.

“Yeah,” he replies, but his smile is missing its earlier lightness. “Definitely feels like when you’re on a ride and your stomach drops.”

The plane jostles a few more times in the heavy cloud, but we both settle with our hands in our laps. Maybe I’ve been wrong in thinking I’m the only one wondering what happens when my cast comes off and life can go back to normal. Maybe we both needed this reminder—that our usual lives still exist, even if we’re here outside our normal rhythm. And if the lines blur so much we can’t see them, it’s going to be that much harder when we slip back into ourselves.

For the rest of the flight, it’s like we’re both aware we’re treading too close to boundaries that shouldn’t be broken. Though he helps me every step of the way when we deplane and navigate the airport, we don’t talk much, keeping everything light.

At least, I’m quiet until we reach the baggage claim and my suitcase doesn’t appear. After that, I don’t think I shut up for more than a minute. Not as we head to the service desk to get it tracked down, not as we fill out paperwork to get it delivered the next day to our hotel, not even as we finally get into a car and make our way into the city through the heavy downpour. I’m so annoyed that I barely even touch the bag of Cheetos that Fionn tries to appease me with.

“What in the absolute fuck,” I say for the thirtieth time, waving a Cheeto around as our Uber slows on Franklin Street in downtown Boston. “Our bags were literally loaded at the same time. How does mine end up in Florida while yours is here?”

“Mysteries of aviation,” Fionn replies.

“All of my clothes were in there. Literally all of them.”

“We can get you something new tomorrow, it’s no problem. And they said your luggage should arrive by the afternoon.”

“My toothbrush.”

“I have a toothbrush.”

“Good for you. Rub it in, Doc.”

“I mean, you can borrow mine. But I’m sure the hotel will have some at the reception desk.” He watches me as I finally crunch down on the processed orange stick. “You’re pretty upset.”

“Damn straight, Dr. Observation.” I sigh, realizing I’m way too snappy, though Fionn seems unruffled. “Sorry. It’s just that my tarot deck is in that suitcase and I’m worried about it.”

Fionn’s brow furrows as his gaze travels across my face. “You didn’t take it with you?” I shake my head. “How come?”

“I did a reading before we left and had a weirdly strong feeling to pack it in my suitcase. When Gransie tells me something, I’ve learned the hard way not to ignore her, even though sometimes I try,” I say as I gesture down to my cast. “Doesn’t usually work out so well to disregard her direct messages.”

“You named your deck Gransie?”

“No. It was my grandmother’s deck. Gran died on it. Literally. Boom.” I clap my hands and Fionn startles. “Smack down on the deck, God rest her soul. Now she’s like … attached to it.”

“O … kay. I … I’m sorry for your grandmother’s passing,” he says, though it sounds a bit like a question.

“Don’t be. She’s living her best afterlife.” I pop another Cheeto in my mouth. We slow to a stop across the street from the Langham Hotel, an impressive-looking granite building, the blood-red awnings giving it an air of sophistication in the ambient light of the city night. While Fionn gets the bags out of the car, I head to the corner of the street to wait for him. The rain has tapered off to a refreshing mist and I turn my face to the sky, closing my eyes.

That makes it extra shocking when I’m hit full force with a blast of cold water.

It’s on my face. In my hair. Soaking my clothes. It trickles down my legs, into my cast and my boot. I look over in time to see the car drive away, probably totally unaware that it just splashed the fuck out of me when it sped through the giant puddle at the corner of the road.

“Oh, my Christ,” Fionn says, his accent stronger with worry and surprise. “Are you okay?”

“Dandy,” I say, wiping my eyes with the heels of my hands, which accomplishes nothing. “I get it now.”

“Get what?”

I gesture to my open jacket. Even the interior pocket is drenched, hit with the full force of water. The pocket where I always keep my deck. “This is why Gran wanted a vacation to Florida.”

Fionn gives me a sympathetic smile and slides his coat off, waiting as I peel mine from my body so he can settle it on my shoulders. When I glance up, he’s annoyingly even more handsome than usual with the dusting of mist on his face and hair. “Let’s get inside.”

A few moments later, we’re entering the austere lobby of the Langham Hotel. “We have a reservation for Fionn Kane,” Fionn says when he places a credit card and his driver’s license on the pristine white counter of the reception desk. The woman on the other side has a perfect manicure, a perfect smile, perfectly obedient hair that’s swept back in an impeccably sleek bun. Me? I look like I’ve been dragged through the apocalypse, fought some zombies, and narrowly escaped with some horror stories and a bag of wet Cheetos. And I would rock the apocalypse, I really would. I’m a circus girl, we’re built to survive the end of the world. But I’m not sure I’m cut out for the fanciness of the Langham with its brushed gold and cool gray and muted blue decor. It even smells expensive. Decidedly not like Cheetos.

Doc, on the other hand, looks completely at ease as he watches the woman type in his details and pass his license back. At least, he looks at ease until she opens her mouth.

“Welcome to the Langham, Mr. Kane. I have you checked in for four nights with a king bed.”

Fionn blinks, his cheeks crimson. “I reserved a room with two queen beds, actually,” he says as he leans closer to the counter, his eyes darting to me.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” she says. Her brows lower as she stares into her computer monitor and clicks the mouse repeatedly. “I apologize for this mishap, but it seems we only have that king premier room left from our standard rooms. There’s a jazz festival going on in the city. It’s quite booked.”

I smile at her, though her focus is still on the screen. I’m about to open my mouth to tell Fionn and the receptionist that it’s fine, when Fionn leans against the counter, a look of dismay in his eyes.

“Do you not have an executive suite? Something with a pullout sofa bed? I’ll pay the difference,” he says.

The receptionist subdues a subtle cringe of doubt as she taps her mouse. “If we have one available, I can offer you a fifty percent discount, which would bring it down to about eight hundred and ninety-six dollars per night.”

“Doc—” I groan.

The woman behind the desk lets out a sigh. “I’m so sorry. There’s really nothing else available, sir. Would you still like to proceed with the premier room?”

The disappointment in his voice is obvious when Fionn agrees. She processes his card and passes over the room keys and then we’re heading through the lobby, me already a couple of steps ahead. “It’s not a big deal, Fionn.”

“You used my name,” he says, and I dart a questioning glance over my shoulder. “You usually call me Doc. Or McSpicy. Are you pissed off?”

“Frankly? A little bit, because I know I look like a Cheetos apocalypse horror show—”

“What?”

“But the room is fine. I can just sleep on a cot.” I toss an eye roll at him as we head to the elevators. “I’m, like, half your size.”

Fionn scoffs. “If anyone is sleeping on a cot, trust me, it will not be you. That’s the last thing I want.”

“I’ve literally slept in the Berry Go Round. You know, the strawberries that spin round with the flat wheel thing in the middle? Yeah. I can sleep anywhere. I don’t mind.”

“I mind.”

“I can see that,” I say, a little flare of irritation licking at my restraint. “You’d rather pay nearly a thousand dollars a night to not sleep in the same bed as me.”

“No,” he says, stopping us both with a hand on my wrist. We block more of the corridor than we should, him with his suitcase and me with my unsteady crutches and black cast. But Fionn doesn’t seem to care about anyone or anything else. He looks at me with a kind of ferocity that I sometimes feel in him, but rarely see. “No, that’s not it, Rose. It was one of your rules. And I don’t want to break it.”

“I gathered that.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

I level him with a flat glare. “Oh, right, I get it. Well, don’t worry, I heard you the first time. You don’t want a relationship. What makes you think that I do?” Fionn doesn’t answer, just stares down at me as though he can’t work me out, even though my words are perfectly clear. “I’m a big girl,” I say as I pat him once on the chest before I grip my crutches and pull away from his loosening hold on my wrist. “I think I can handle sharing a bed.”

I make it all the way to the elevator and press the button before I turn enough to look at him. Fionn is still standing where I left him, his brow creased, the ghost of a thoughtful frown lingering at the corners of his lips. The call button dings, and the doors slide open and he still hasn’t moved.

“Just because you finger fucked me on a plane doesn’t mean I want to get married, Dr. Kane,” I say as two women exit the elevator arm in arm.

“You tell him, badass bitch,” one of them says as the other gives me a high five when they pass by. Fionn looks like he’s wishing the floor would open up and absorb him, and though the women give him a brutal side-eye, he doesn’t tear his attention from me.

The elevator doors bang against the crutch I hold out to stop them, sliding open once more. I roll my eyes. “Are you coming or what?”

Finally, he moves, though it’s like he’s wading against a current. It takes him longer to get to me than it should.

I haven’t even been in an elevator that many times, as weird as it might sound. But this ride to the fourth floor is one of the most memorable for sheer awkwardness. Only one of us has luggage. One of us is pissed off. And I think both of us are probably realizing this is harder than we thought it would be.

We get to the floor and trudge to the room, the wheels of Fionn’s bag bumping along the carpet in a sad melody to accompany our tense silence. When we step inside, the room is much like the rest of the hotel—elegant, luxurious, but in a way that feels calming with its blues and grays and soft whites. I already feel like I’ve made it messy just by entering.

“I need a shower,” I say as I take a few steps into the room and peel his jacket off, setting it on the back of a chair.

“That’s not what I meant,” Fionn says. I turn and look at him over my shoulder, that same perplexed expression from down by the elevators still fixed to his face.

“Huh?”

“When I said I don’t want to hurt you.”

I blink a few times, facing him fully as I replay the conversation, but I still come up confused. “What, do you have night terrors or something?”

“No—”

“Are you one of those people who kicks when they’re falling asleep?”

“I don’t think—”

“Do you have a sleep demon who’s going to possess me?”

“What? No.” Fionn takes a step closer, shaking his head as though trying to get his bearings. I raise my brows, waiting for some life-changing confession. “No. I just … don’t know if I’m safe for you to be around.”

I tilt my head, trying to figure him out. “What do you mean?”

He runs a hand through his hair, grasping the back of his neck as he says, “The thing at the Blood Brothers barn. I snapped. I fucked that guy up.”

“Yeah.” I try not to smile, though I quickly fail. “You did. That was pretty hot.”

“Hot?” he repeats, though despite the attempt to sound incredulous, he can’t hide the spark in his eyes. “Beating a guy unconscious during a moment of blind rage is kind of the antithesis of my profession. It was pretty bad.”

“Meh. You could have ripped his spine out through his throat,” I say with a shrug. “That would have been pretty bad. Yet even hotter.”

Fionn sighs and drops his head, running his fingers over his temples. “Rose, the point is, I do not want you to inadvertently get caught up in my shit if something like that happens again. I wasn’t in control. I would never forgive myself if you were hurt because of me.”

“What do you really mean? Like, you’re worried about hurting me physically? On purpose?”

“No.” He shakes his head, his eyes haunted. “Never on purpose. Never you.” His gaze falls from mine as though he can’t quite bear to look at me.

“Never me,” I agree. “Because you’ve seen it and lived it too, haven’t you? You’ve lived in the shadow of a monster.”

My heart cracks a little for Fionn as he nods, though I see a sliver of relief in his eyes when he meets my gaze. “I might not be a monster like my father, Rose,” he says. “But I’ve done things I shouldn’t be proud of. And I’m not like you.”

“What, you mean you’re not total chaos and mayhem?”

Fionn gives me a faint smile, but it quickly fades. “I never embraced that part of me that feels no remorse for the sins I’ve committed. I never got to know that side of myself. I spent a lot of time and effort to forget it ever existed, and now that makes it unpredictable.”

“Fionn,” I say, coming closer until I’m standing right in front of him. I balance on my crutches and grasp both of his arms, waiting until he meets my eyes before I continue. “You think I haven’t figured that you might have seen and done some things you aren’t proud of? Or that you were more acquainted with darkness than you let on? Sorry, but even Rowan and Sloane were a bit of a giveaway. And I’ve seen the worst in people. I know what they can do to one another. But I trust you. Maybe you should trust yourself too.” I reach up and place a kiss on Fionn’s cheek, parting with a gentle smile. “It’s okay to love your darkness and still love yourself. It doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you a whole one.”

I leave Fionn standing in the center of the room and head to the shower. He doesn’t join me like I thought he might. When I exit the bathroom in my robe a while later, he’s sitting in contemplative silence. But when he looks up at me, it feels like the air is a little lighter in the room. And though his smile is faint, there’s an ease to it, as though he can breathe for the first time.

He gives me a T-shirt and a pair of boxers, and I get changed, climbing into bed as he takes his turn in the washroom. I stick to one side of the mattress. But when Fionn comes back into the room and turns off the lights, sliding beneath the covers, he gently lays an arm over my stomach. I turn over and he gathers me to his side. I rest my head on his chest, his skin smooth and warm. His heart drums a melody into my ear. I’ve touched him before, of course. Run my hands over his muscle and bone. But this time feels different. It feels like home.

Fionn presses a kiss to my hair. “Goodnight, Mayhem.”

“That’s not a nickname, is it?”

“I filed an exception. Didn’t you get it?”

I smile in the dark.

And then I fall asleep.