Chapter 25
Captain Kendra’s Log: When in doubt, pick the nuclear option.
When Rowan emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, steam followed him like an ethereal veil. I lay across the bed, only wearing a sheet that barely concealed my spicy bits. Once again, I used flimsy bedding to protect me from a dangerous man.
Rowan almost walked past me, lost in his own world, until the sight of me made him halt mid-step, his breath catching in his throat.
The moment stretched between us, electric and charged.
His eyes widened in surprise, then flickered with something deeper—a blend of desire and tenderness that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Holy shit, Kendra.”
“Oooh. Sexy talk. Give me more.”
“Kendra, you don’t have to do this.”
“Do what? Have another orgasm from my fake fiancé? Um. Pretty sure I do.”
“Remember when you said you didn’t want pity sex?”
“This isn’t pity sex.”
“What is it?”
“It’s sexy sex. Now get your underwear off and get in here,” I commanded, throwing back the side of the sheet.
“No. Kendra. We need to talk.”
“We talked. Now we sex. Sexy Sex. Good plan. Come on.”
“Kendra. Goldilocks.”
Fine. If he wanted to play hardball. I whipped the rest of the sheet off of me and rolled to my side, trying my best to strike a sexy pose while sideways in the bed.
I ignored the worries about my belly pooch and my breasts that weren’t as perky as they were in my 20s.
If he could bare himself to me, I would bare myself to him—end of story.
Well, not the end of the story. The man looked like he blue-screened on me.
“Earth to Rowan? You in there?”
He rubbed his hand down his face, dropped the crutches, and hopped onto the bed with me. “I must be losing my mind.”
“You say that like it’s a future event,” I teased. “We’re already there, my friend.”
Rowan’s jaw clenched. He rolled on his side and growled. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
“Me neither!” I grinned, reaching for his boxer briefs, but I stopped. “What can I do to make you more comfortable?”
Rowan blinked a few more times, then caressed my face. “You’re already doing it.”
The man brushed his lips across mine in a soft kiss that felt like a feather. I brought my hands up to his face and traced that strong jawline with my thumbs. He was so strong and sexy. It’s a wonder my panties hadn’t caught fire before my boat did.
That made me snicker.
Rowan pulled back. “This funny?”
“Sort of. I was thinking about how you nearly set fire to my panties before my boat caught fire.”
“That’s a weird thought to be having right now.”
“I am who I am.”
“Indeed.”
“Kiss me, then. I want you to kiss the stuffing out of me, then I want that ‘feasting’ on me thing you promised the other night.”
Rowan's eyes darkened with desire, the rich blue of his irises nearly swallowed by his black pupils as he drew closer. His hand came up to cradle my face, thumb brushing softly across my cheekbone in contrast to the intensity blazing in his gaze.
When his lips finally met mine, it wasn't gentle. This wasn't a sweet first kiss or a tender greeting. This was a raw need, days of wanting crystallized into a single, burning moment. His mouth claimed mine with fierce possession, drawing a gasp that he swallowed hungrily.
His other hand tangled in my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. I clutched at his shoulders as he seemed to pour everything he’d been holding back into the passionate press of our lips. He tasted of coffee and something darker, more primal, that made my head spin.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against mine. His thumb traced my lower lip, swollen from his kiss. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, lost in the heated aftermath.
“Goldilocks, I want you to sit with your back to the wall, knees bent, hands on knees,” Rowan ordered.
“Yes, Boss.” I crab-walked into position.
“Say that again.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“Maybe I don’t hate that nickname.”
I smiled at him and nervously did as he asked.
“Pull your knees wider,” Rowan demanded. “I want to see that pretty pussy. I want to see how affected you are by my kisses.”
An old twinge of embarrassment tried to rear its ugly head, but I beat it into submission. I felt like a powerful sex goddess when Rowan stared at my core, then swept one finger through my arousal, and then sucked on it.
“You taste so good, Goldilocks,” Rowan said. “Now, I feast. And you have to sit still.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“That’s my good Goldilocks.” Rowan kneeled on the bed before me, wrapping his arms around my upper thighs. “And what happens if you’re not screaming my name when you come?”
“Bad things, Boss. Bad things.”
“Yes. That’s right,” he said before diving between my legs.
I cried out when his tongue circled my clit. I was already overly sensitive from being turned on all night. “Stop. Stop. Stop.”
Rowan paused and looked up at me. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Don’t stop. It’s too much,” I breathed.
“You’re going to take what I give you, Goldilocks, but if you tell me to stop again, I will, and you’re on your own,” he warned.
“No. No. No. Don’t want that. Want more.”
“Then more you’ll have.” Rowan dived again into the promised land and tortured me even more slowly this time.
He spread my legs embarrassingly wide, pressing my knees back against my breasts. With his arms wrapped around my thighs, the hair on his arms tickled my nipples, peaked in arousal.
“Yes,” I hissed.
I felt his rumbling laughter against my core as his tongue darted between my lower lips and curled. My toes curled on the bed, and I would’ve thrown my head back in ecstasy, but that would probably give me a concussion.
My ass came off the mattress when he added one finger, then two into my vagina, curling them toward the front wall as he sucked on my clit.
I grabbed a handful of his hair. “Yes. Oh god yes.”
Rowan began tracing a figure 8 against my clit and labia with his tongue while finger-fucking me with three fingers. I thought I might end up pulling his hair out by the roots it felt so good.
With my other hand, I reached up and squeezed my breast, pinching the nipple. Everything felt so good, and I knew I was two seconds away from falling apart.
“Rowan! Yes. Rowan!” I screamed as he brought me to orgasm. But when I thought he’d let off the gas, he sped up his ministrations, dragging one orgasm into two.
“Fuck! Rowan!”
He slowed his licking until only his fingers were inside me, languidly stroking in and out. My pulse was racing from the orgasms, and a fine sheen of sweat broke out across my skin.
“Rowan, that was—”
He cut me off by pinching my clit, sending me right over the edge a third time.
“Fuck-tastic!” I squeezed my eyes shut and rode the wave.
I was spent. There was nothing left of me.
I was a puddle of orgasmic goo. My obituary in the Pleasure Point News would read: Kendra Jarrett, failed boat Captain, spinster, daughter, sister, and friend.
She died having the best orgasms of her life and finally understood why Thomas Hardy called them les petites morts - the little deaths.
“Kendra?” Rowan hovered to my side. “Say something.”
“Fuck.”
“We can do that too, but maybe you need to rest.”
“No resting. More.” I yawned.
“You bet, Goldilocks. Close your eyes, and we’ll get going again in a few minutes,” Rowan said.
That sounded like a great idea. I’d rest for a few minutes.