Chapter Eleven #2
But Rowan just tilts his head and gives me a confused smile. “No, silly. But there are birds. And across from us, on a tree branch not too far away, sat a beautiful little bluebird.”
Visions of his website flood my mind: beautiful sunsets and soaring bluebirds. Rowan’s eyes seem faraway now, gaze set on a wall behind me.
“You really like birds, huh?” I ask him, and he chuckles.
“Yeah, I do. I like the idea they represent. Being able to fly away, the freedom they have. And bluebirds… they’re protectors. Did you know that?” he asks me.
When his eyes meet mine again, something in them tells me that he feels a connection to that. That he himself is a protector, and maybe he craves a sense of freedom inaccessible to a human.
“No,” I whisper. I’m unable to speak any louder under the weight of his gaze.
“You wouldn’t think so just by looking at them," he continues.
"But they are. And that day, I remember looking at that bird and falling in love with the idea of it. I wanted to capture it, and if not with my hands, then a picture would do. And once I picked up that camera some time later, I never put it down. So I guess that is what inspired me.”
I’m staring. I know I am—but I can’t stop. Rowan looks so relaxed now, so utterly at peace in my space that I want to keep him here forever.
And this, in itself, is new for me. I feel as if I’m vibrating out of my own skin just watching him.
“Do you plan on keeping this career until you retire?” I move on, desperate to break this spell.
“Yeah, I guess so. Unless I find something else I love.”
I scribble in my notebook—bullet points and summaries—before moving on to the last question.
“And beyond birds and nature, is there anything else you’d like to specialize in? As in, something you’d like to start photographing more?”
Rowan goes quiet at my question; I can no longer hear the sound of his breathing. Looking up from my paper, I find him staring straight at me. And the look in his eyes, combined with his parted lips, put me right in front of the lens again.
The sound of the shutter, the sudden burst of light from the flash. The way he stood behind the viewfinder and watched me with such need, as if just seeing me there through the lens was enough to be revolutionary.
“I…” He does not continue. But I know what he wants to say, and I can understand why it’s impossible to put into words.
He’d like to take more photos of me. Something about it touches him—something about giving me that piece of him, or maybe it was taking that piece of me, really seems to dig itself deep.
“Rowan,” I start, and he sits up straight, anticipating either a very difficult conversation or something incredibly intense.
Therefore, impossible to bear. The same way the entirety of Friday night was impossible to bear.
“Yes?” he asks, and his voice is breathless. Startled.
“Did you print that picture you took?”
I can’t miss the small smile that breaks through his nervous exterior as he says, “Developed, but yes.”
I roll my eyes.
“Okay. And did you figure it out?” My own voice drops an octave or two, and just when I think he understands me, those confused eyes find mine again.
“Figure what out?”
I take a deep breath, and then I say, “If I took a piece of you, or if you took a piece of me.”
Rowan’s eyes widen, his mouth falling open and then closed once. And then twice. After a moment, he seems to come to a decision.
“Can it not be both?”
The sudden spike in temperature does not go unnoticed. My body heats, and I can find no way out of this new environment unfolding between us.
Now. Sink your claws in now, something in my brain is screaming.
“That night,” I start again, and Rowan swallows hard. “It was… different. Was it different for you, too?” I know he said it was intense at Tabitha’s Place, but that could mean anything. Rowan nods.
“Yeah. It was different.”
“Do you know why?” I wasn’t planning on asking that question, as I doubt he does.
No one really knows why when it comes to attraction or emotion. But there is still some part of me that is unsure and confused by this sudden onslaught of emotion, and I just want an answer. One that nobody but myself can give.
Rowan says nothing. He stares at me as a deer does when caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
Like he’s about to die.
“I mean,” I continue. “Does it make sense to you? Because it doesn’t make sense to me. And I… I want it to.”
There we go. Honesty is the best policy. Sometimes.
Rowan nods. “I think we could make it make sense.”
Oh shit. Does that mean what I think it does?! Is he flirting? Is he asking to fuck me again?
My mind is racing a mile a minute as I watch him. A blush is creeping up his neck and over his strong jaw, all the way to his smooth cheeks.
“Are you saying,” I begin, and there’s a flirty tilt to my voice, a hopeful drag to each syllable. I scoot toward him just a bit. “That we should try it again?”
Rowan’s eyes flicker to my mouth just briefly, so quickly I could have imagined it. But then a stuttered breath falls from his lips, and he blinks rapidly for a moment. Collecting himself.
“We could,” he offers. Not good enough.
“We could?” I repeat the question. I’m inching even closer.
Rowan adjusts his legs, and it takes everything in me not to let my eyes drop to his pants to see what's happening there.
“We should,” he corrects.
“Very good.” The praise rolls off my tongue so smoothly, so naturally, and Rowan fucking shivers beneath the weight of it.
The sudden realization that I want to see it again—that I want to praise and pet this man far past this one night hits me like a runaway train.
Rowan is the perfect blend of dominance and submission. Perfectly docile until he’s worked up enough, and then he cracks.
And all the while, it seems impossible for him to keep from praising me as well.
I want to get closer; I want to know more. I want to learn the taste of every inch of him and then memorize every thought he has.
What the fuck is happening to me?!
Suddenly, Rowan’s warm palm is sliding over my cheek and resting there. My eyes find his again—having fallen away as I lost myself in my thoughts—and he smiles at me through his blush.
“Let’s try it again," he says. "And when we’re done—and it was just as mind-blowing as the first time—let me say ‘I told you so.’”
Slowly, a grin takes shape over my lips. Rowan watches it unfold with great interest.
“Okay, Rowan. Blow my mind, then."