Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
ROWAN
I shouldn’t have said yes. I should have reminded Hayden of our agreement. Of the rules. Of the boundaries I’ve insisted we keep in place.
But when his voice lost that teasing edge and turned quiet and vulnerable, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t deny him.
Or maybe I couldn’t deny myself.
His mouth finds mine again as he guides me down the hallway, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the heat blowing through the vents and the soft brush of our feet against the hardwood floor.
We cross the threshold into his bedroom, and he kicks the door closed behind us, the sound echoing around us.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes tracing over my face, slow and deliberate.
It unnerves me.
This was easier when it was reckless.
When we fucked like horny teenagers who didn’t know better.
When we were just bodies colliding.
When it didn’t mean anything.
But Hayden doesn’t look at me like I mean nothing to him tonight.
He looks at me like I matter.
Like he loves me.
The thought petrifies me.
But not enough to leave.
Not when this man is a drug. And not the recreational kind. The slow, intoxicating kind that seeps into your bloodstream and rewires you from the inside out. Even though I know the eventual withdrawal will destroy me, I take the hit anyway.
He runs a hand along the curve of my face, his thumb settling on my lower lip. “You are so beautiful.”
A shaky exhale leaves me before I can stop it. It’s not just his words that undo me. It’s the way he says them. Like he can’t go another second without sharing this with me.
“And I’m not talking about your body,” he murmurs, his lips brushing mine. “But your soul. Your spirit.” He slides his hand over my collarbone until his palm rests over my scar. “And your heart. You have the most beautiful heart I’ve ever known.”
He presses his mouth fully against mine, coaxing my lips to part.
It takes everything in me not to blurt out the truth. That the heart he admires so much once belonged to his late wife. But I can’t stomach the idea of never feeling him again.
So I selfishly keep my secret to myself and let him guide me toward the bed. When the back of my legs hit the mattress, he releases me, but keeps his eyes trained on me.
He shrugs off his jacket, loosening his tie and tossing it onto the floor before slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
I’ve seen this man naked dozens of times. Touched every inch of him. Learned the feel of his body. The sound he makes when he can’t contain his hunger.
But this feels different.
More intimate.
More dangerous.
Once he drops his shirt onto the floor, he pulls me against him and I melt into him as he touches his lips to mine.
His fingers find the hem of my sweater, and he breaks away to lift it over my head, discarding it along with his clothes. His hands roam my body, as if imprinting every inch of me to memory. When his fingers tease the waistband of my jeans, a shiver rolls through me.
I allow him to lower the zipper and push them down my legs. I kick them to the side, feeling more vulnerable than I ever have. And I’m not even naked yet.
He curves toward me, capturing my mouth in another kiss I feel in the deepest parts of my soul as he unclasps my bra, removing it. He spins me around, splaying a hand on my stomach and pressing soft kisses to my neck.
I crane my head, allowing him better access as he worships my body. When he pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger, I release something between a yelp and a moan, hunger curling through me.
I’m on the brink of telling him to get on with it already. To throw me on the bed and fuck me.
But I’m enjoying this. The buildup. The anticipation. The need.
He slides his hand from my breast and down my torso. My muscles tighten as he teases my hipbone before moving toward the apex of my thighs. I widen my stance slightly in invitation.
“Is this what you want?” he murmurs against my neck. “For me to touch you?”
“Yes,” I whimper, my breathing increasing as his hand moves closer and closer.
“Then I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.” The word rushes from me. “Whatever you want.”
And in this moment, it’s true. I’ll give him anything if he touches me.
I’ll get on my knees. I’ll beg. Hell, I’ll fucking crawl if that’s what it takes.
But that’s not what he wants.
His lips brush my neck, his unshaven jawline rough against my skin.
“I want you to watch.”
I shift to look at him, confused.
He nods toward the mirror across the room, and I follow his line of sight, swallowing hard at our reflection staring back.
“I want you to watch yourself get off, Rowan.” He moves a free hand to my throat, locking my head in place as his other hand continues moving toward my clit. “Want you to see what I do when I make you come.”
His other hand inches further and further south, and I hold my breath, bracing for his touch. When he finally slides a finger through my folds, I release a shuddering gasp.
Hayden doesn’t talk. Doesn’t tell me how wet I am. Doesn’t tell me how much he loves my pussy.
Instead, he keeps his stare trained on mine through the mirror as he rubs my clit, bringing my body to heights I’ve never experienced before.
This is intimate in a way I didn’t expect, looking directly into his eyes as I watch him work my body with his expert touch. And the man has certainly become an expert over the past several weeks. He knows exactly where to touch to make me sing. Make me fly. Make me soar.
And he knows the moment I’m ready to do all three.
He tightens his grip on my throat, keeping me locked in place as I gently thrust against his hand. I’m so lost in the moment, I close my eyes.
“No, Rowan. Look at me.”
I snap my eyes open once more, meeting his through the mirror.
“Look at what I do to you. What only I can give you.”
I’m not sure if he says it because he’s starting to sense my confusion.
But it’s the last thing on my mind as wave after wave of one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had crashes through me.
But Hayden doesn’t stop. He drags it out, keeping my body upright when it feels like the world’s given out beneath me.
Moving his hand to my hip, he turns me around and slams his mouth against mine, his tongue brushing against mine as he fumbles with his pants, pushing them down.
“I will never get tired of watching that. Seeing what I do to you.”
Once he kicks off his pants, he lowers me onto the mattress and brings his erection up to me.
I expect him to thrust inside.
He doesn’t.
He braces himself over me, his eyes wild with hunger as he eases into me, savoring every inch. Once he’s fully seated, he releases a long exhale, his mouth hovering over mine, giving me his breath.
When he starts to move, he’s slow. Deliberate. He takes my hands in his, his eyes glued to mine as he circles his hips against me. I wrap my legs around his waist, attempting to urge him on.
“Faster.”
“No, baby. Like this. I want you to feel me like this.” He lowers his mouth back to mine.
I try to resist. Try to encourage him to pick up the pace.
But as his tantric rhythm propels me higher once more, I surrender to him completely.
My mind.
My body.
And my heart.