bed, surrounded by his scent, and stretched. The cabin was quiet, so Vincent must have gone running.
I reached between my legs and tugged on my morning wood, luxuriating in the feeling of constant arousal I felt with Vincent.
I love you, Daddy. I love you so much… It was what I’d repeated in my head over and over when he’d filled my body last night.
I was in love. Stupid, I knew. He was my bodyguard, and I needed him as a professional, not as a lover. But now he was my everything. As soon as I was back in civilization, with access to the Internet and my assets, I was firing his ass. He wasn’t supposed to be my employee. We were equals. Partners. I wanted to be with him. For real. Forever.
Except the feds have to catch the killer first, don’t they?
I didn’t want to be realistic. Not now, when I could still bask in the traces of Vincent in me and all around me. When he came back from his run, I’d make him breakfast and massage his back. I wanted to take care of him. Show him I loved him when I couldn’t say it.
I teased myself, thinking about him, saying his name, but I didn’t come—my orgasms were only for Vincent. Then I showered. Clean and awake, I made coffee and looked through the window. He was nowhere in sight.
The nervous knot in my belly tightened.
I drank my coffee, growing more and more alert the longer I couldn’t spot him. He should’ve been back by now. The days he went running alone, he usually was back by the pier in half an hour, stretching and doing push-ups or swimming.
When Vincent had been gone for an hour and fifteen minutes, I was hyperventilating. I wasn’t allowed to leave the cabin; I wouldn’t make that same mistake again. I guessed if something happened to him, the rule applied more than ever.
I typed a message to him. No answer. I called, but it went to voicemail.
Fuck. Fuck!
The thought that something might have happened to him was unbearable.
Two hours.
Hugging the toilet, I threw up the coffee.
I paced around the cabin, sweating, trying to breathe regularly, but for the past half an hour, I’d been teetering on the edge of a panic attack.
Desperate, I went to his bedroom and grabbed the pillow he’d slept on. I clutched it to my chest and buried my nose in it, drawing in his scent.
Please, let him be safe. Please, let him be safe. I repeated the same sentence over and over in my head, rocking back and forth, my tears soaking Vincent’s pillow.
After three and a half hours, heavy footsteps clumped outside, and the door opened.
“Vincent!” I burst out of the bedroom. He was a little sweaty, taking off his muddied boots.
“Shit, Vincent.” I exhaled with relief. He was back. And he was smiling. Jesus fucking Christ! My anger rose like a tsunami. I’d cried in his bedroom for the last hour, and he was smiling.
“You’ve been gone for hours,” I exclaimed.
“I did a wider perimeter around the area.” He hung his jacket on the peg on the door. “There was a little gap in the report this morning, and I wanted to check the place out. But we’re fine. No cars, no people. We’re good.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were going out?”
He finally looked at me and froze.
“You were asleep. I left a note.” His gaze roamed my features, no doubt taking in my red eyes and blotched cheeks. Fuck.
“What note, Vincent? Where the fuck is the note?” I yelled. “I was making myself crazy with worry. I tried calling, but it went to voicemail. Do you have any idea how scared I was?”
He took a step toward me. “You’re safe, Michael.”
“I wasn’t scared for me, you idiot. You were gone, your phone unresponsive. I was terrified for you. Fucking hell, Vincent!”
“Hey.” He raised his palms in a placating gesture, then strode to the couch and picked up a piece of paper from the carpet by the coffee table. “Look. It must’ve slipped to the floor. I’m sorry, Mikey. Next time I’ll tell you.”
“Dammit, don’t do this to me.” I was so relieved and so angry at him at the same time. The tears prickled again. He wasn’t supposed to see me cry, dammit.
“Hey, Mikey.” He stepped closer. “I’m so sorry. Come here.”
He tugged me to him, and I braced my arms against his chest, unwilling to accept his embrace. Hugging