Chapter Nine
Elijah
His mouth tasted so sweet; his skin smelled of chrysanthemums. Those are the first things I noticed as he touched me last night.
I didn’t intend on following him home.
When I invited him out for a drink, I had ulterior motives: to get my interview questions answered and to satisfy my curiosity. I hadn’t intended on becoming familiar with the feeling of his hands tugging at the curls of my hair or his heart beating so quickly against my own.
I don’t understand it. Sure—I understand how I got there. How I made it from the bar to his house outside of town. I can wrap my head around how I ended up on the receiving end of his fancy camera and how my tongue managed to find its way into his mouth.
Rowan is quite handsome, after all. It is no secret that I wanted to see him naked. To test drive his body at least once.
What I don’t understand are the things that accompanied our moment in the dark. There were so many things inside of last night, in that never-ending desire, that made no sense to me yet felt routine all the same.
And I fell into each moment so seamlessly. I was swallowed up, and so carelessly did I give myself over to him.
As if we’d been there before, as if he’d always known how to touch me. And my body… God, it was as if my body knew his. Lighting up at his touch, shivering at the feel of his breath, anticipating and begging for anything, anything else he’d give me.
More, more, more.
I responded to him in the way you respond to a lover you’d trust your soul with.
And it was terrifying and beautiful and so fucking confusing. Rowan took one night and turned it into an entire lifetime of loving each other.
He put his tongue in my mouth and stripped me naked; his hands conquered every inch of me. Just when I thought I’d had the upper hand, he pulled me apart piece by piece. As I laid sprawled out on his bed that smelled so flowery and sweet, he devoured me.
And when those intense, calculating green eyes locked onto mine, they seemed to tell me, “Yes, baby, we’ve been here before. Welcome home. I’ve missed you so much.”
Rowan’s body moved so perfectly in sync with mine; he tasted like home. Even now, like an addict, I want to taste him again. I want to feel his skin against my own.
And as he sank into me fully, connected us to our very cores, those demanding, dominating eyes began to cry.
“Do you remember me now?” he appeared to be saying with each snap of his hips.
Drip by drip, his tears fell onto me, falling into my mouth and mixing in with my own as they slid down my cheeks. He seemed overwhelmed, maybe even a bit mournful. His hands held me as if they’d been patiently waiting to do just that for so many years—centuries even.
His voice was so soft, so scared and possibly even confused when he leaned down and, right against my mouth, as he thrust into me as if he were trying to memorize each sensation as he went, said:
“I… Let me worship you. Even if it’s just for tonight.”
He sounded so broken, so desperate for it. There was no part of me, especially with his sensual, slow thrusts building a heat inside of me, that wanted to deny him.
And Rowan did. He kissed and licked and touched; he insisted on becoming familiar with all parts of my body.
With every moment he fell apart, I fell alongside him. As if my body, and whatever lingers inside of it, had been anticipating not only this moment—but him: Rowan and his gaze that told me exactly what he thought of me; that he thinks I am worth much more than I am.
And he became greedy from behind this notion. I came over and over again—so much pleasure at his hands as he stared down at me with so much longing, so much fear and uncertainty to match.
And after so many hours, or maybe not many—time became a warped thing in our never-ending desire, this endless night—he finally let himself come. So deep inside of me, he was so deep inside of me. I can feel him even now, so many hours later—I can feel him even now.
And I wept for a long time after he finished, but he held me then, too. He held me and shushed me, kissing away tears that wouldn’t go away, not really; not when his own were building onto mine, and neither of us was able to stop this onslaught of emotion.
Why? Why were we like that? What was that hot, horrible, desperate emotion coursing through me as I was wrapped in Rowan’s arms, as I felt him still settled so deeply into my core?
It doesn’t compare to the sorrow and the lust I have been feeling.
In fact, if I had thought I was finally feeling before last night, I was wrong.
I’m surprised I didn’t go into shock with the overload of emotion I was gifted, with the hurricane of pleasure, pain, and desperation that was vibrating my entire body.
And now, the very next day, as I sit in Tabitha’s Place, it feels as if every moment he is not touching me, I am committing a grave sin.
I don’t know how to make sense of what happened in that bedroom. And now here I am, staring out this window, replaying every time he’d hold me as close as he possibly could—replaying the moment he’d said:
“Just looking at you makes me feel weak. So pure, so brilliant to look at. I don’t think I deserve even this much.”
As if I am something he’s not worthy enough to lay his hands upon. As if I am just that beautiful, that pure.
I want to cry again. I want to be what Rowan sees when he looks at me.
“Hey.”
My eyes are drawn from the window, turning in my chair to him there behind me. I’d recognize that voice anywhere. I will never be able to get it out of my skin.
“You’re so beautiful. Fuck—you’re so beautiful. I’d do anything, anything you asked. Anything for you. On my knees, I’d beg you for a single touch.”
“Hey.” I shove the memories away, focusing on his present attention, not the way he gave himself to me just last night.
Rowan stares at me for a moment, calculating and calm. As if he’s already wrestled with and understood the events of the night before. All dominance and sincerity.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I woke up, and you were gone, and things were a bit intense after we… you know.” He’s referencing the crying, the desire, the comfort, and the misery. None of which were applicable or comprehensible, yet felt so right.
“Right,” I draw nervously. “I’m okay. Thank you for asking… and you? Are you okay?”
He shrugs, then blushes. “I’m fine.”
I give him a nod, then say, “Okay.”
“Alright.”
We stare at each other. Some kind of electric current is shooting back and forth between us; I can feel it, almost taste it.
His eyes are on fire, so fucking hot—it feels as if he’s asking me for something. Pleading, almost.
And again, I can’t help but think, do you remember me now?
“I—”
“Well, have a good day then,” Rowan interrupts, spinning on his heel and leaving the diner.
My chest hurts so badly. So badly that when I lift my hand, I can feel the hot tears that are slipping down my cheeks, and I am not shocked.
What is happening to me? I cannot seem to stop crying. After spending my entire life feeling almost nothing, to feeling everything at the hands of a man I’ve just met, yet feels far too familiar, I think I’m being crushed under the weight of this emotional whiplash.
But one thing I do know: I want Rowan to come back. I want him to wrap me up in his arms and tell me to cry for as long as I feel the need. I need to see this same sorrow reflected back at me, mirrored in his own eyes.
And since that will not be happening, I turn my attention back to the window, swallowing the burning emotion as I watch the blue birds settle into their nest on the tree branch outside. So peaceful, so simple.
Rowan would love to capture this moment.
Fuck… I’m screwed.
I want him to touch me again.
I want him on his knees.
But I don’t know what last night meant, or how to stomach it. My body may be begging to crawl back to him, and my heart may be desperate to beat within his reach, but my mind is twisted and so fucking confused.
“What was that about?” Bennett’s voice is loud in my ear, and his fingertips brush my shoulder as he finds his seat in the booth across from me. On his way, he sets my chicken salad sandwich and fries on the table.
“Huh?” I mumble, picking up a fry and shoving it into my mouth. I haven’t eaten since dinner after work yesterday, and it’s lunch time.
I spent all morning in my car, stressing out and reliving every moment of last night.
“Rowan. I haven’t seen him in here in… well, I don’t know when I’ve ever seen him in here. And there seemed to be some tension. Everything okay?” Bennett has his charm turned up to ten, and he’s watching me with clear interest.
But I can also sense the slight annoyance in the way his eyes are darting to the window, in the direction Rowan went, and the tapping of his fingers against the table in rapid succession.
I’m not sure why I feel the need to lie to him, but I do.
“Everything’s fine. We had drinks yesterday since we’re doing the interview.” Not technically a lie, just withholding of the truth.
Bennett raises a brow. “He actually agreed to that?”
I shrug. “Yeah, it only took me showing up uninvited three times and cornering him at the grocery store.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Bennett does not laugh.
He’s watching me intently, and as I catch his eyes tracing my neck, I realize he suspects the truth anyway.
But Rowan left no visible marks—I checked in my car’s mirror this morning. Bennett must have killer intuition—or it’s written all over my expression.
“I’m just shocked, that’s all. He isn’t someone who can be persuaded.” Those fingers tap harder, faster. “Now that your questions are answered, you shouldn’t have to go out there anymore, right?”
Shit. I never got my questions answered! We went straight into photos, which led straight into sex!
“Ah, actually…” I scratch my wrist, a nervous tic, and look out the window. “I still need to ask him some questions.”