Chapter Twelve
Elijah
Rowan’s hand slides past my cheek and grips lightly at the hair on the nape of my neck. Simultaneously, his left hand begins to trail fingers up the sensitive skin of my thigh over my pants.
I can feel the start of a shiver working its way through me, goosebumps appearing along my arms. This does not go unnoticed by Rowan, who smiles softly before dipping his head to run his nose along my neck.
I clench my eyes shut, fists balled tightly. I’m so overwhelmed already, and he’s barely started to touch me.
“Eli,” he mutters, his lips moving over the sensitive skin that covers my pulse point.
“Y-yeah?” In a sudden flash of heat, I feel his tongue lap at the spot—then his teeth sink in gently. “Ugh,” I groan, and he licks tenderly over my pulse once again.
“Your heart is beating so quickly.”
It most certainly is. But how could it not when I have such a fine man sitting in front of me, running his hands and tongue over different erogenous areas of my body?
“Yes,” is all I can manage to say in return, and he chuckles lowly.
Rowan’s fingers tighten their hold on my hair, pulling my head back slightly. As he leans up to look me in the eyes, I notice the vivid green has darkened several shades, and he’s staring at me as if he’s cataloguing every reaction, every little twitch.
“You’re so soft.” His fingers move from my thigh to my stomach, slipping under my sweater as he speaks. “Your skin is so smooth.”
“Thank—ahh,” I moan against him, the combination of his cool fingers brushing my nipples and his tongue licking the shell of my ear sending my senses into overdrive.
Without my consent, my hand shoots out to grip his bicep in an attempt to ground myself.
His hand follows a path to my back, and as his fingers dip into the dimples that sit right above my ass, his head snaps back.
Rowan’s eyes lock onto mine, and for the first time, I see something almost predatorial in them.
“What?” I whisper, and he breathes out a heavy sigh.
“I forgot—I mean, I didn’t realize you had these.” His index and middle fingers dig into one dimple roughly, and I jerk forward just slightly.
I guess it’s true that he didn’t necessarily see my back the first time he had me naked. I’ve never really considered them a focal point or a major attraction, so I didn’t bother mentioning them either.
“Can I… can I see them?” As Rowan asks, he looks almost shy. His lashes dipped over his hesitant eyes, his head bowed slightly.
“Yeah.” I grin at him.
Standing, I turn my back to him, and Rowan wastes no time in grabbing my hips and situating me between his legs. I lift my sweater, my eyes focusing on his knees on either side of me.
Rowan is silent for a moment, and right as I’m starting to get a little self-conscious, I feel the slow drag of his fingertip across my lower back. I shiver beneath it, the cold and the intensity.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and it’s so quiet I almost miss it.
But then I’m choking on my own spit, and I would have fallen over if it weren’t for his hands suddenly taking hold of my hips again.
Rowan has his tongue lapping over one dimple, poking at it, sucking at the skin in torturous intervals. As he moves to the other, a loud, animalistic groan leaves him. One that settles so deeply inside of me that it provokes my own reaction—a whine too similar to a cry falling from my lips.
It feels too good. It’s hot—I’m burning up and growing harder with every pass of his tongue and the force with which his fingers are holding me.
And Rowan doesn’t stop. No—he continues this incredible agony until my legs are shaking and he’s pulling me backward to fall into his lap.
My back hits his chest as his hands spread out over my stomach, and my sweater is still pushed up to my pecs.
If someone could explain to me why that small, insignificant action felt so good, I’d be all ears. I wasn’t aware my lower back was so sensitive—I didn’t know being touched there would feel like claiming.
“Elijah,” Rowan mumbles, his lips inches from my ear as his fingers dance lower and lower. “You’re so beautiful. You taste so fucking sweet it makes me sick with want.”
I’m grinding down against him, my hands reaching behind myself to feel him—any part of him I can reach.
I love the way he talks, the way he seems to worship me with no rhyme or reason. Just pure, unadulterated desire and attraction that’s so strong it’s turned into devotion.
“Touch me,” I demand, dragging his hand over the front of my slacks. Rowan grips me, squeezing roughly. He seems to have no restraint tonight; he is all coiled tension and desire beneath me.
I feel him hardening, rubbing against my ass as he grinds in time with my movements. His lips latch back onto my neck, and I yelp at the sharp pain when he nips over my trapezius muscle.
“Sorry,” he mutters, licking it generously.
“Don’t be. I liked it.” Even I am surprised by my words.
I’ve never been a hickey kind of guy, and suddenly I’m a biting kind of guy. Rowan’s hand rubs faster, the other moving to my thigh to spread my legs.
I’m sprawled out over him, and with our height difference, he can easily see over my shoulder to take in his masterpiece. I can feel the rapid beat of his heart against my back as he grunts, his hardened dick rubbing relentlessly at my clothed crease.
“Rowan, I have a bed,” I pant. As much as I’m enjoying being touched like this—as if I’m a prize on display just for him—I want us both naked, like, yesterday.
“Are you going to put me on my knees again?” he asks, and my whole body shudders at the question.
“Oh, fuck,” I respond, voice breaking, my chin falling to meet my chest in defeat.
He’s winning this fight for sexual dominance one word at a time.
“I like it, you know,” he adds. “When you’re above me like that. Like I only exist to admire you. To please you.”
“Rowan,” I turn, running my fingers up his jaw as I meet his gaze. “I’m going fucking crazy. I need you inside of me.”
Heat flares in those green eyes, and Rowan suddenly has both of us standing.
“I can fuck you against this wall if you’d like,” he offers. “But as hot as that’d be, I think we’d both enjoy it more if we went to your bedroom and you gave me the honor of riding my dick while I lie beneath you.”
This fucking guy. I kind of want to slap him. If he keeps saying such filthy things without touching me, I’ll start to get angry.
“I’ll ride you for as long as you like, but you have to touch me first.”
Right as I think Rowan will bristle at my attitude, he just grins, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the only other two rooms in the apartment.
“Don't worry, Eli. I’ll touch you plenty,” he promises.
At the end of the hallway, I gesture toward the right, and we enter my bedroom.
Rowan wastes no time ripping his clothes off.
Then he turns to me, gripping the hem of my sweater and pulling it over my head.
As he fumbles with the button of my slacks, his mouth suctions around one of my nipples, and I arch against him.
Yes. This is what I wanted. What I needed.
I purr against him, goosebumps raising once again as my pants hit the floor. Rowan hooks his finger under the waistband of my briefs and yanks those down as well, leaving me bare in front of him.
He pulls away, taking only a moment to drink me in. Most likely for my own benefit. Then, he has me turned around, bending me at the waist to where I’m resting with my palms flat on the bed, propped up by my arms.
His hands run down my spine, and I try not to shake just from this touch alone—from his hot breath hitting my back.
Rowan drags his tongue over my dimples again, only he does not stop there. That tongue drags down and onto my left cheek before he bites into the meat of my ass.
I jerk under his hold, breath hitching. When he does the same on the other side, my arms damn near give out.
But then Rowan is spreading my cheeks, and as I feel his hot breath fan over my hole, my eyes widen.
“Wait. Rowan, I haven’t showered—hey!” His hot tongue passes over my entrance with a quick lick, cutting off my disagreement. My eyes begin to water. “I’m serious! I haven’t—ungh,” I groan, his tongue returning a second and then a third time.
“I really don’t fucking care,” is what Rowan says, but it’s half-muted as his face is still buried in my ass, and I can feel the vibrations of his voice go straight to my balls.
I clench my teeth.
Rowan licks at me like a dog lapping up water. And when he changes tactics to sucking and dragging his teeth over the muscle, my arms do give out, and I land on my elbows against the mattress.
This position only gives Rowan more of me, as he spreads me further and buries his tongue inside of my entrance.
“Oh, fuck!” I yell desperately, fingers gripping my comforter as I try to breathe around the feel of it. The heat and the intensity.
Something is building in my chest alongside the pleasure, and this time around, I’m trying to focus on it harder as his tongue plunges in and out.
What is it? What is this sorrow, and this longing? This deep-rooted fear and affection? Is this what liking someone feels like? Do I really like Rowan?
As Rowan pulls his tongue from me, he leans over my back, panting. I am overwhelmed by the sweet, flowery scent of him once again. It makes me hungry; it makes me feral.
“Do you have lube?” he asks, and I’m unable to speak, so I nod and point to the top drawer of my dresser.
He pulls away from me to grab it, and I feel the loss immediately. I feel it as if I’ve lost a vital piece of myself and now only the unimportant parts are left.
And I’m so overcome by this sadness that I don’t hear the cap snap open, or feel his presence as he returns to stand behind me.
One moment I am mourning the loss of him, and the next, he has two fingers buried deep inside of me.
“Rowan!” I scream, head falling between my shoulders to rest against the bed. My heart is pounding so loudly that I wonder if he can feel it.