Chapter 22
Rowan
I wake alone… and it’s morning.
Jason must have gotten up a while ago because the sheets are cool beside me.
I brace for the dread to hit. The awareness that I’ve done something I can’t undo. The fear of repercussions, named and unnamed and…
There’s nothing.
Nothing but the gentle falling rain in the dim morning light and this dawning sense of amazement over the events of the past three days.
Okay, and a deep and abiding wish that my phone worked so I could call Jill.
Because Jason Stanvic gives good escape.
Like life-changing, earth-shattering, enthusiastically-making-you-reevaluate-your-entire-existence-to-this-point level good.
So good that midway through his proving just exactly how much I’ve been missing via his goodbye kiss, “Just this once” somehow became “Just at the cabin.”
Jason’s savage sound of agreement followed by something about me being the sweetest thing he ever tasted… and making me come two more times in rapid succession… suggests he was cool with it too.
And as if orgasms on demand weren’t enough, when he collapsed beside me, instead of immediately getting up after, so he could take a shower, he wrapped a big arm around my waist to pull me in so that my back was against the solid heat of his chest. He kissed my shoulder, simple and sweet.
And the last thing I remember before drifting off was his deep voice at my ear. “Just let me hold you a minute.”
It felt so easy. Perfect.
And now there is no small part of me hoping that I’m not the only one regret-free and living my best life.
Rifling around in my bag, I find a pair of leggings but cast them aside when I realize that the scrape on my leg isn’t actually as painless as I thought. Instead, I pull on a pair of blue flowered sleep shorts that shouldn’t catch on the bandage and a long-sleeve tee before padding out front.
There’s a fire going, and the air is warm and fragrant from the logs crackling within. But I’m more interested in Jason, who’s standing shirtless in the kitchen, one arm braced against the counter, muscles upon muscles flexing as he writes something.
“Morning,” I say, trying to sound normal but probably landing a little closer to breathless-invitation meets are-we-good?
He looks up, straightening slowly as he looks me over appreciatively… which is not terrible at all.
“Beautiful morning,” he says, despite the gray skies and falling rain, the sweetness of his crooked smile making my belly flip.
He looks like he might come to meet me but then stops, leans a hip into the counter and crosses one long leg over the other at the ankle. And I wonder if he’s feeling as uncertain as I suddenly am.
Probably not. This man is a professional athlete and has undoubtedly dated movie stars and supermodels and women with the muscle tone and flexibility of someone out of Cirque du Soleil. A casual hookup strolling out of his room is undoubtedly a familiar scenario. For him.
And he does not need to know that for all my big talk about wanting an escape and him proving that he knows how to deliver one… this is the first time I’ve ever had sex with a man I wasn’t in a relationship with. Which means confidence.
I close the distance between us and hop on the counter all casual-like. “So… not exactly how I saw yesterday going. You?”
He laughs, head back, deep and real and everything I need to let go of the insecurities stemming from the whole actually-my-first-rodeo thing.
“Oh, yeah. Exactly how I saw it going.” His hip bumps against the outside of my knee, and his hand slides onto the counter beside my other hip. My space and his become ours as naturally as breathing. “Just like this.”
I roll my eyes, loving every word. Every second.
“Except for this part.” He’s looking down at the bandage on my leg.
He’s such a big man. And his strength is incredible. But when his finger skims an inch below the scrape, his touch is feather-light. “Does it hurt?”
“A little,” I admit, taking his hand in mine, meaning to give it a reassuring squeeze. But somehow he threads our fingers together instead.
I swallow, and clarify, “Not bad though. I promise.”
Nod. “How about some food to keep your strength up? Bacon and eggs?”
“Time to open the fridge, huh?”
“If the power’s actually out as long as they’re thinking, we might as well start using up what we can while we can.”
Jason helps me down from the counter, his hands lingering at my hips, my waist, the nape of my neck, the line of my spine while we pull a meal together. We eat, standing at the breakfast bar, the right quadrant of his chest slotting in against the left quadrant of my back.
It’s simple, nonintrusive… deliciously prolonged contact. His knee at my thigh. His biceps at my shoulder.
Every touch adding to my awareness of the man beside me… behind me… brushing my hair from my neck so he can trace the length with his knuckle. Every light graze reminding me of its opposite. What it was like to have him on top of me… inside of me… And so on and so on.
I can’t stop smiling. I can’t stop stealing glimpses of this man I thought I knew but who keeps surprising me at every turn.
“What’s that look about?” he asks around a bite of eggs with spinach, Romas, and feta.
“You.” I point to the space between us or the lack thereof. “You’re unexpected.”
That quizzical look has me shaking my head with a laugh.
“In a good way. It’s just… Pretty sure we’ve touched more in the making of this breakfast than in all the months we lived under the same roof in high school.”
He forks up another bite, then stalls in a holding pattern halfway to his mouth to ask, “You mind?”
“Nope.” I lean into the contact, pressing my hip to his thigh as I smile down at my plate. “I guess, I just… I’ve never been with anyone who…” Okay, slow your roll, Rowan.
“Who can’t keep his hands off you? Because, not going to lie, this?” He circles the air between us. “Is me showing restraint.”
“What?”
Shoveling the bite into his mouth, he chews. Swallows. Gives his head a little wag before adding, “I like touching you. Feels good.”
Wow. “In what universe am I living that Hot-and-Sour Jason is the touchy-feely type?”
He coughs out a laugh, and I pat his chest like it’s going to save him from choking or something. “What did you—”
“But I think what surprises me the most is that… maybe I am too?”
Double brow lift. “You mean… the touchy-feely type?”
“Your hands feel pretty good on me,” I murmur as they slide over my hips.
“Glad to hear it. But before we jump to any conclusions about what type you are or are not… we should probably do some more testing.”
Something about the way he says it has me leaning that much closer, my heart beating that much faster. “What have you got in mind?”
He draws me in, turning me around in his arms so he’s fully behind me again, his stubbled jaw finding the length of my neck as his hands start a slow roam low across my belly and then lower over my thighs. “How’s this?”
I bite my lip, leaning back into his hold. “Nice.”
He reverses his path, skimming up my body and under my T-shirt so I can feel that callused, rough touch teasing my bare skin in a way that starts a low simmer deep in my belly.
“And this?” he asks, his breath warm at my ear as he shapes my waist, my ribs… my breasts.
“G-good,” I stammer as his fingers splay wide and then come together, catching my nipples in a gentle pinch that has liquid heat spilling through my center.
He hums his approval, playing with my breasts until I’m breathless, pressing into where he’s hot and hard behind me. Moaning as he kneads my flesh and gasping as he tests my nipples with gentle tugs and pulls.
Then better still… less gentle.
“Jason.” The intensity of pleasure nearly has my knees going out, but he’s there. Behind me, around me, one hand releasing my breast to slide down my belly and into my sleep shorts.
I stop breathing as he skims over my drenched panties, stroking me through the cotton before retreating just far enough to tuck beneath the fabric and dip in again.
“And this, baby?” His lips brush the shell of my ear in time with one thick finger slipping between the swollen folds of my sex.
“More,” I beg, rocking into the hard length of his dick as he teases me with a barely there touch. “Need more, please.”
“Fuck,” he breathes out, sounding tortured in the same way I am. And then he’s giving me what I asked for, painting slippery circles around my clit… once, twice, three times… each revolution bringing me close, closer, almost there… before sliding back and—
I gasp, clenching hard as his thick finger pushes inside.
“Tell me,” he growls against my ear, teeth grazing the edge and then catching it in a light clasp, hips rocking against my ass as he slides in and out in steady pumps.
“So good. Jason, you feel—” My hands meet the countertop as he adds a second finger. “Good.”
“So wet, beautiful. So slick and tight and perfect.” He strokes and stretches me, groaning like he’s the one on the brink of release. “You going to take another for me?”
I’m already so full, he can’t possibly mean…
But yes, he does. And oh my God, he’s working a third in as I spasm and pulse around his penetrating knuckles, gasping something unintelligible that he rightly takes to mean, Yes… More… Everything.
He swears and groans at my ear, telling me how good I am at taking his hand. How bad he wants to fuck me, but that he needs to feel me come like this first. All the while, filling me up with his rugged, gentle, possessive touch.
“You want me to make you come, Rowan?”
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. “Please.”
Thrusting deep, his fingers curve to meet that singular spot inside me… just as he brings the heel of his hand against the spread of my sex and—
I’m there. Crying out as I tip over the edge, tumbling in the freefall of a release that takes me apart and then pulls me back together again and again. Or maybe it’s Jason doing that, because he’s the man holding me against him, tenderly whispering how beautiful I am.