Chapter 16 Rowyn
Rowyn
My heart beats harder in my chest as he rips open the condoms. It’s not just anticipation that makes me tremble—it’s the quiet realization that he trusts me. He doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to. The simple, unguarded way he moves, the steadiness in his eyes when he looks at me, says enough.
And maybe that’s what unnerves me most. I haven’t done anything to earn that trust…
but I haven’t done anything to break it, either.
Still, my job—what I do—would be reason enough for any hockey player to question my motives.
To wonder if there’s a camera hidden somewhere, if this is just another game.
But not Jaxon. He looks at me like I’m more than the story I tell the world. Like he sees the woman under the armor.
I shift, rising onto my knees, the mattress dipping beneath me.
Jaxon’s brow arches in mild curiosity as I reach for the condom, brushing his fingers in the process.
The brief contact sends a current through me, and my entire body reacts with a hard quiver.
I hold the foil square between us, my decisions made.
He wraps his hand around his cock, slow and unhurried. “You want to put it on me?” he murmurs, half-teasing, half-inviting.
“While I think that would be a good lesson,” I manage, voice unsteady but laced with a smile, “How about no.”
I toss the condom onto the nightstand, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air stretches thin between us, full of questions.
Then he touches my face—just his palm, warm and steady, cupping my cheek like he’s memorizing the shape of me. “Row,” he says softly. “Are you sure?”
The tenderness in his voice nearly undoes me. “I am if you are,” I whisper.
“I am.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone. “I’m clean. And I’m protected.”
The words are simple, but they carry truth. Trust. Something fragile and precious. I sink back against the pillow, heart fluttering wildly. “I know,” I say quietly. “I believe you and I’m clean too.”
He climbs onto the bed, one knee sinking into the mattress, and my breath stumbles. The way he moves—controlled, deliberate—reminds me of a hunter closing in, but there’s no danger here, only desire and a strange kind of safety.
When his mouth touches the inside of my thigh, a tremor ripples through me. He trails slow, reverent kisses up my skin, his breath warm, his lips soft. Each one lands like a promise, like he’s worshipping instead of wanting. By the time he reaches my hips, I’m trembling for more than just release.
His hands brace on either side of me, careful not to crush me beneath his weight. He toys with my nipples, watching my reaction, and I arch into his touch, caught between wanting and feeling. Between lust and something far riskier.
“Need something?” he teases, voice dark and low.
I nod, lifting my hips, the confession tumbling out before I can stop it. “I need you.”
His eyes darken, but not just with hunger. There’s something else—something tender that nearly undoes me. He swallows hard, gaze sweeping over my face like he’s trying to read what I’m not saying.
“You need my cock, babe?” he rasps.
The words snap me back, a sharp reminder of what this is—sex and lessons and nothing more. I force a shaky breath, trying to shove the ache in my chest back where it belongs.
“Yes,” I whisper, finding my composure. “I need your cock. I need you inside me.”
But even as I say it, I know the truth in my chest has already shifted—this isn’t just about needing him inside me. It’s about wanting him close. And that’s a much more dangerous kind of wanting.
He lowers his head, finding the soft hollow of my throat like he’s been there a thousand times before in his imagination.
The first brush of his lips is gentle, exploratory, as if he’s memorizing me one breath at a time.
When he kisses the tender skin there, I can’t stop the sound that escapes me—a low, trembling moan that gives away everything I’ve tried to keep hidden.
“Have you been thinking about me being inside you?” he murmurs, his voice rough velvet against my skin.
The truth slips out on a shaky breath. “Yes.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, and for a second, the tension softens, turning warm, almost playful. God, I never realized he could tease like this—every word calculated to draw me closer until I’m ready to surrender completely.
His head lifts, that mischievous grin lighting up his face, and my heart stutters. There’s something so boyish in it, so him, it almost undoes me.
“Is that why your panties were all wet?”
“Oh my God,” I groan, hiding my face, though the heat crawling up my neck is impossible to hide.
He catches my chin, coaxing me to look at him, his smile softening.
Then he brushes his lips over mine, feather-light, then over my cheek, as if he can’t help but taste every inch of me.
“Did you touch yourself, thinking about me doing this to you?” His voice is a low growl that vibrates against my skin.
Then he shifts his hips, his cock brushing against my entrance, the friction a slow, torturous tease that steals the breath from my lungs.
I lift toward him, instinctively chasing the contact, but he moves with me, denying me what I need most. “Jaxon,” I growl, half-plea, half-warning.
He grins, his voice dipping into that dangerous whisper that seems to find its way straight to my pulse. “Tell me, and I’ll give you what you want.”
“When I was in the shower earlier…”
His eyes darken, a flash of surprise followed by something raw and hungry. “Aww, babe,” he rasps, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “You needed to take the edge off? Maybe I should’ve taken you back to bed this morning.”
The way he says it—half regret, half promise—sends another wave of heat through me. But I find my voice, the spark of mischief returning. “But the anticipation,” I murmur, tilting my head, “That was the best kind of foreplay.”
He freezes, watching me, his breathing slowing, deepening.
“I was thinking about you,” I continue softly, drawing out each word, savoring the way his pupils dilate.
“The water was hot, steam everywhere. My skin was slick, my body already aching, so I slipped my hand between my legs…” I pause, biting back a smile as his jaw flexes.
“I closed my eyes and imagined it was you touching me. Then I took the shower handle and turned it to pulse. God, Jax, it was so good.”
A sound escapes him, low and guttural, as his body tenses above mine.
“Baby,” he says hoarsely, his voice roughened by need. “I thought the whole point of us was so you didn’t have to finish yourself.”
My heart twists, a tender ache blooming in my chest. “It is,” I whisper.
He studies me for a long moment, and I see something flicker there—something softer than lust. Then he leans in, his tone steady, commanding, but wrapped in a tenderness that reaches deeper than I expect. “Then let me take care of you.”
The words hit me. This is supposed to be about lessons, about play and pleasure—not about someone seeing me like this, wanting to care for me.
“Keep your hands right here, okay?” He lifts my wrists, pressing them gently to the pillow beside my head. His gaze holds mine—strong, steady, reassuring. “Let me give you what you need. You, my sweet Row…” His voice softens, a low promise. “Just need to relax.”
My chest tightens, emotion catching in my throat. I nod, though my heart is beating too fast to make that sound easy. “What if I can’t?” I whisper. “What if I wasn’t built right, to…you know. To climax while a guy’s inside me.”
For a moment, everything goes still. His eyes soften, the teasing gone. And I realize this—this—is what makes him dangerous to my heart. Not his body. Not his talent. But the way he listens. The way he looks at me like there’s nothing wrong with the way I’m built.
He brushes the back of his knuckles over my cheek, the touch feather light.
His eyes are half closed, the look in them so full of quiet determination.
“There is nothing wrong with you. Don’t ever think that.
It’s the guys you were with. They never gave you the care you needed or deserved. I’m going to change that.”
“But—”
He grins, like he’s working to lighten my worries. “We’ll take our time. All night if we have to. Until it feels right. Now, relax for me.”
I do as he says, filling my lungs, letting it out slowly.
The air between us hums with anticipation, but under it all is safety, a feeling I haven’t known in far too long.
When he touches me again, it’s with purpose and care, guiding rather than taking.
I feel every heartbeat, every tremor of restraint in him.
“I want you perfectly still,” he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle. “Just let me take care of you.”
Something about surrendering like this—about trusting him enough to let go—sends heat through me that has nothing to do with lust. It’s the pleasure of being seen, of being wanted without question.
“That’s it,” he breathes, approval threaded through the command.
Heat races through me, and I take another deep breath.
His jaw ripples as he offers me an inch, and I whimper as I instantly clench around him. “That’s good,” I murmur, resisting the urge to rise up, force him to give me more.
He angles his body, dips inside me a little more, and I groan, and turn my head to the side.
“Eyes on me.”
Right. I look back at him. “You like me watching you, huh?”
“Yes, but I like watching you, Row. I love feeling the want in your body but I love seeing the pleasure on your face, in your eyes.”
My God, who is this man?
I take in the intensity, the concentration on his face as he inches back out. I open my mouth ready to cry, beg for more, but he slides in, deeper this time. My protest turns into a deep, guttural moan as he hits my cervix.
“Like that, babe?” he asks and before I can answer, he takes my nipple into his mouth. Without thought I arch my back and he places his hand on my hips, holding me down. Why does being restrained like this come with so much pleasure?
His palms splay, his big hands warm, imprinting on my flesh and I grab the bedding behind my head and curl my fingers around it.
But then, his hands slide up, and his big fingers link with mine.
It’s not an intimate connection, not really, but the comfort, the connection it provides, feels poignant and profound, more than him being inside me.
He moves his body, sliding in and out, and I forget all about my inadequacies, that my body wasn’t meant for orgasmic sex as I let go and fully relax beneath him. He must sense it because his eyes meet mine and his smile is warm, full of pride…in me.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, pulling out only to slide back in. With each thrust he grinds his pelvis against my clit, and I soar higher and higher. “You are so wet, and feel so good, my cock is right there.”
Knowing that I do that to him, hearing him voice it, does things to me, fills me with a new kind of confidence, and I moan, “I want your cum in me, Jaxon. I want to feel it.”
“Oh, there’s no question about it. I’m going to fill you with my cum, but you’re going to come all over my cock first.”
Heat blossoms in me, partly because of his sexy, confident words and partly because he now has one hand between my legs, toying and pleasuring my clit like it’s his job as he continues to pump.
My breath stalls, as my focus begins to shut down to everything except the pleasure coursing through me, centring between my legs.
His moans are guttural, animalistic and I love how he’s not holding back, not carefully choreographing the moment.
We’re simply two people, taking and giving, everything about this is open and honest.
That thought hits me square in the chest and my heart thumps just a little bit faster.
I tighten around his cock and a crazy thought hits.
Have I never orgasmed with a man before because the emotional connection wasn’t there?
I don’t know and I have no more time to think about it.
Not when his finger is swirling around my clit, with the perfect amount of pressure, and his cock is slipping in and out of me like it’s known my body for a long time.
“Jaxon…God, Jaxon…”
“I know,” he grunts out. “I can feel you.” He keeps up the intense rhythm as I burst around him. “Baby, you’re soaking my cock, and I fucking love it.”
“God,” is all I can manage as I keep my eyes on his face as I ride the waves and pulses.
“I want…” I swallow, my throat dry. I try again as he pushes my hair from my face, his gaze locked on me, and the way he gives me all his focus, his full concentration, is enough to mess with my brain. “I want you to soak me.”
His eyes briefly close like I just handed him the Stanley Cup, and a second later he’s pushing deep, in and out, each pump for him now as he chases his orgasm.
I move my hands, wrap them around his back and hold him to me, wanting to give him the same connection as he gave me, because maybe… just maybe it does make sex better.
Which takes me to my next thought. I’m not looking for anything that resembles a relationship. I have an intense, consuming career that takes up most of my time, so will sex that isn’t with Jaxon be worthwhile?
Wait…does this all mean I do have deeper feelings for Jaxon?
“Babe,” he moans and collapses on top of me, pinning me with his weight as he fills me, and there’s something so secure and comforting being under him like this.
We both need a moment to catch our breath. I do it by panting, he does it by pressing soft kisses to my face. “That was incredible.” He gives me a genuine smile. “Told you there was nothing wrong with you.”
I nod, but he could be wrong…because what could be wrong is that maybe, just maybe, I’ve always had a thing for him.