Chapter Twenty-One #2
I have never been one to reflect on how my actions affect others—not when I believe they are justified. That waitress from this morning is a perfect example of that.
But now, I wonder if I was a bit too harsh on Rowan. If maybe my reluctance and my fear drove him away, whether I intended for it to or not.
Carrie was right—the answer did come to me once I returned home to Fort Myers. And the answer is that I want to keep him, whether I feel weary or not. Only now it’s too late. Now—
Harsh knocking sounds at my front door. Three sharp bangs. And before I can even register what’s happening, three more rain down. I check the time on my phone—7:25 p.m.
I stand shakily, unwilling to allow my hopes to rise to the same tempo at which my heart is pounding. Could it be him?
The time between when I texted and the arrival of these thudding knocks would pan out with the time it takes to get from his place to mine. But he would have called, right? Or messaged, at least.
Silently, I approach the door. As I peer through the peephole, the loud banging carries on.
There Rowan stands, and through the magnified lens I can see the panic and the fear on his face. His black curls are disarranged, and his hoodie strings are hanging lopsided.
Wild green eyes dart all over the expanse of the door, as if he doesn’t know where I will appear from.
God, he’s just as beautiful as he was when I left him at the airport.
I slide open the door chain and flip the dead bolt. Rowan freezes, and I finally pull away from the peephole. The door opens, and he releases a loud, long breath.
“Elijah,” he says, and it’s almost as if he can’t believe I’m here. At my own apartment.
“Rowan,” I respond, stepping aside for him to come in.
He hesitates only for a moment, then he inches past me and stands awkwardly in the living room.
“I didn’t know—when did you…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, only stares at me, wide-eyed.
“I got home about an hour ago,” I say, and Rowan nods as I take a step towards him. “I went back to Cali for the holiday. To see my family.”
Rowan doesn’t seem surprised by the information; he only blinks a few times before rubbing anxiously at the back of his neck.
“And how was that?” he asks.
I shrug. “Fine. I dressed up as a cop.”
Slowly, a small grin takes shape over the curve of his full lips. “Oh yeah? How cute.”
“Carrie insisted,” I interject quickly, finding myself flushed for some reason.
“The middle sister?” he asks, and, surprised that he remembers such a random detail, I just nod. “She sounds fun.”
We stand in another awkward silence, and when I gather the courage to look at him again, I find him tracing my body with assessing eyes.
When his gaze returns to mine, he speaks. “Marissa has been my only friend since I was a teenager. We met online, and I’ve grown to feel very comfortable with her. She’s like family to me. That’s why I have no issues with her being in my house. It has nothing to do with attraction or romance.”
My skin feels tight and hot as I listen to him, and once again, this nagging feeling returns with a vengeance. I want to cut him open and bleed out all of his secrets.
But what happens if I gut him and there’s nothing to find? When all that’s there is my own paranoia and a handful of brand new, ugly scars?
Rowan continues. “It’s different with you.
I still want you to think highly of me. I care about your opinion and want to show you only the best sides of myself.
Not the things… the things that could turn you away.
” I can feel the honesty in his words, in his voice.
He’s afraid, too. I can feel it. “I don’t distrust you, and I really do like you. Please—believe me.”
I say nothing. I’m not sure how to voice what I’m feeling, or how to explain myself without feeling too vulnerable. I’ve never been the most diligent with words, anyway.
So instead, I will use actions. Isn’t there a saying for that? Do actions always speak louder than words?
It takes two long strides to reach Rowan, and I hear his breath catch as I close the distance in a matter of seconds.
My palms slide over his jaw with a heavy sense of desperation: a pure, unadulterated desire to feel him.
I want him to see me. I want him to crave my skin and my taste as much as I crave his.
It’s so simple. Behind all of the fear and the uncertainty, the confusion and the weariness—I want him.
“Eli,” Rowan starts, his own hands falling hesitantly to rest over my hips. Minimal pressure, as if he’s scared I’ll break beneath the weight of them—the weight of his own affection and desire.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, because it is. I’ve decided everything will be okay now. It was always this easy; I just didn’t know it.
“Yes,” he replies, his lips brushing the words against my forehead as if he’s trying to force them inside of me. As if he’s trying to make me remember, to remind me who he is and what we could have.
Those large hands of his trace up my sides and to my back, finding their way under my t-shirt. I shiver against him, soaking in the feel of his skin against mine.
So good, so right. Home, home, home.
“Rowan,” I whisper, pulling my forehead from his mouth and staring into those lovely green eyes. “I’m scared.”
The confession leaves me before I can grab hold of it; it escapes before I can tear it apart and digest it, keeping it fully hidden from the light of day. From him.
Rowan’s expression softens.
“I’ve got you, baby. Come here.” He tightens his hold on my body, pulling me flush against his. I can feel the pounding of his heart through his hoodie, and I can hear the unsteady way his breathing is stuttering out of him.
I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he can smell it on me—what it is I’m so scared of. If he understands that it’s him who terrifies me.
“What do you want? What can I do for you?” Rowan leans down, never pulling his arms from where they’re wrapped around me as he shoves his face into my neck.
I believe I’m comforting him just as much as he’s comforting me, and I’m not even lifting a finger.
“Show me,” I say, running a hand through the silky texture of his curls. “Show me how much you’ve missed me. Make me cry.”
Rowan groans into me, the wet heat of his exhale raising goosebumps all over my skin. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to think I’m only here for—”
“I don’t. I want… I need to feel connected to you.” My voice is small, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard myself sound so dependent on another.
Rowan leans back up to his full height, and he removes a hand from where it’s wrapped around me to cup my jaw.
Then, he brings his mouth to mine.
Pure euphoria shoots throughout my entire body; I can feel him everywhere. My skin begins to sing for him, vibrating in his hold as I drown in his touch. I’m not able to anticipate his next movement; I’m unable to focus beyond this current pleasure.
So when his tongue slips into my mouth and rubs along mine, I jolt in his hold, a loud whine escaping from my throat and forcing its way down his.
Rowan eats it up, the way he’s done every time before. And it feels familiar, it feels as it should. I’m startled to think that I ever could have imagined a future in which I did not have this. In which I did not have him.
I think that if I were to see him in the arms of another, I would surely grow violent.
“Sweet, sweet angel,” Rowan murmurs against my lips. “You taste so good. Tell me—has anyone else tasted you since you left me?”
We are on the same page, it seems.
“No, of course not,” I say it as if it’s obvious that I’ve always been his. Like he should have known from the moment we locked eyes that no one else would ever touch me again.
“Not even Bennett?”
I freeze in his hold, but my eyes stay clenched shut. Bennett? What happened there?
“Not even Bennett,” I confirm, because he has not touched me.
And although I might have let him at one point, he will not succeed in doing so now.
Rowan sighs in what sounds like relief, the hand still wrapped around my back finding its way to where my dimples sit. His fingers sink into them without hesitation, causing my hips to jerk forward and into his.
“Good boy, Elijah,” Rowan praises, and although I normally prefer to be on the giving end of that role, I find myself purring at his words. I tuck myself tighter against him.
Some part of me wants to tell him I’m not nearly as sweet as he thinks I am, but I’m scared of ruining the moment. Of him leaving. So I say nothing.
Rowan’s lips move to my jaw, where they press slow, leisurely kisses along the length of it. His hot mouth is teasing and gentle in the most torturous way, and I soon find myself wiggling against him.
“Rowan,” I groan, and he chuckles lightly.
“Shh, let me enjoy you,” he says, and I do my best to hold still. “I missed you so much. I’ve only known you for a short period of time, but you were gone, and I didn’t know when you’d come home. And fuck, Eli, I wanted to hold you so badly.”
“I wanted… I wanted to hold you too,” I tell him, and I can feel my skin flushing further at the admission. At the intimacy and the embarrassment of acknowledging my weakness.
“I want you in so many ways,” Rowan mumbles, brushing over my comment easily.
“I want to shove you against this wall and fuck into you without any prep, that’s how desperate I am.
I want to lie you on your bed and sink my fingers into you slowly, all night, just so I can feel you constantly. That’s how obsessed I am.”
I’m moaning into his neck, hiding myself there. His words feel as good as his touch, and every spoken desire is a promise I want to hold him to.