Chapter 22 #2
That’s exactly what I want. I want to see him fall apart for me, to know I can wreck him as much as he does me.
I moan around him again. His hips thrust once, twice, and then he’s pulsing hot and thick on my tongue.
I swallow and let him ride it out, savoring the way his jaw goes slack, how the usually controlled Rowan Wolfe is nothing but pure, unguarded pleasure.
Eventually, his hands loosen in my hair, gently stroking instead of gripping.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, voice hoarse. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he pulls me up to him. “Come here.”
His mouth crashes into mine, his tongue slipping between my lips. My knees go weak, even though I’m not using them. His hands are everywhere, cradling my face, gripping my hips, holding me steady. His tongue dances with mine, licking into me, coaxing out every hidden want.
He pulls back only when we’re both breathless. “You okay?” he asks, searching my eyes.
I nod as his thumb traces my swollen lips.
“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he marvels.
I blush under his intense gaze. “It was okay?”
His eyes widen in disbelief. “Baby, I’ve gotten off to the thought of you on your knees more times than I care to admit, but nothing—and I mean fucking nothing—comes close to reality.”
“You’re perfect,” he goes on, not letting me shy away. “The way you looked at me while you used that sweet mouth to suck me off? I’ll be dreaming about it for the rest of my life.”
My chest is heaving, my cheeks burning hot with a blush I can feel spreading down my neck. I curl against him, burying my face into him.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Violet?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” he says. “For trusting me with that.”
My heart is trying to find its way back to normal, but my head is in the clouds. It’s as if I’m drunk, but it has nothing to do with the drinks earlier. It’s him.
“Still with me?” he asks.
“Barely,” I tease, though it’s true. My brain is just a swirl of sensation and disbelief.
“Stay,” he murmurs into my hair. “I want you to stay tonight.”
I lift my head to meet his eyes. “Just to sleep?”
His lips quirk in a soft smile. “Just to sleep.”
I nod, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Okay.”
He stands, pulling me up with him, and leads me up the stairs to his bedroom. It’s surprisingly tidy, with a king-sized bed dressed in navy sheets, a dresser, and a nightstand with nothing but a lamp. The windows are open, letting in the cool night air.
“I don’t have anything for you to sleep in,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Unless you want a T-shirt?”
“That would be great.”
He rummages through a drawer and pulls out a faded gray shirt that looks impossibly soft from years of wear.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he says, nodding toward a door on the far wall. “There should be a new toothbrush in the drawer if you need it.”
I slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. The countertop is clean, just a razor, toothpaste, and a bottle of cologne that smells exactly like him. I change quickly, pulling his shirt over my head. It falls mid-thigh, soft against my skin and carrying his scent.
He’s not getting it back.
When I emerge, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, scrolling through his phone.
He’s all lean muscle and solid lines, tattoos stretching over his arms and across his chest. He looks up, catches me staring, and the way his eyes darken sends heat rushing straight to my cheeks and settling somewhere much lower.
“You look good in my shirt,” he says, voice low.
I tug at the hem. “It’s comfortable.”
He sets his phone on the nightstand and pulls back the covers, patting the space beside him. I slide in, the sheets cool against my bare legs, the contrast enough to make me sigh.
He lies back next to me in a careful manner, leaving space until I close it myself and shift closer. That’s all the invitation he needs. His arm comes around me, pulling me in until my cheek rests against his shoulder.
“Is this okay?” he asks quietly.
“More than okay,” I tell him, listening to the rhythm of his heart beneath my ear.
We don’t rush anything. We just breathe. His hand traces slow, absent circles on my back as I sink into him.
“You know,” I say after a while, “I used to imagine what it would be like to fall asleep next to you.”
His arm tightens, just a little. “Yeah?” he says. “And how does reality compare?”
I smile against his skin. “Better. Warmer.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I can feel him smiling. “I thought about it, too. Even when I tried not to.”
The confession hangs between us. I trace my fingers along his chest, following the lines of a tattoo I can barely see in the dim light.
“What else did you think about?”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Well, for starters, I thought about whether you still sleep like a starfish. You used to fall asleep during movies and somehow end up with your limbs in four different zip codes.”
I gasp, playfully smacking his chest. “I did not!”
“Oh, you absolutely did. Remember when we fell asleep watching that horror movie at Wes’s house? I woke up with your foot in my face and your arm hanging off the couch.”
I bury my face in his shoulder. “That’s a gross exaggeration.”
“I have witnesses,” he says, grinning down at me. “Beau still talks about the time you nearly karate chopped him in your sleep when he tried to wake us up.”
“Oh my god,” I groan. “Please tell me you’re making this up.”
“Scout’s honor,” he says, raising three fingers. “Though to be fair, I was never really the Boy Scout type.”
I laugh, too tired to do more than nuzzle closer to his chest and let his warmth pull me under.
I don’t remember when my eyes drift shut, only that sleep comes easily.