Chapter 25 Paeonia #3
“W-well,” she stuttered, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. “I just… I’ve never enjoyed… I wanted to ask… But if you don’t want to…” She swallowed the dryness coating her mouth and finally met his eyes.
He moved toward her, and she froze. Didn’t try to stop him. Didn’t say a word. Her gaze stayed locked with his until his frame shrouded her, towering above her.
He appraised her once before pushing and guiding her toward her bed. Her heart hammered in her chest, afraid Rowan might be able to hear the thundering beats. The back of her thighs hit her mattress, and he crowded her. His hands gently stroked down her sides.
She didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.
Rowan’s eyes flickered. “Does your body not want me?”
Something low thrummed rebelliously in her belly, something that kept her feet grounded to the floorboards.
She didn’t have to strain trying not to recoil from his touch.
If anything, it ignited sparks across her skin.
Lit her from within. His handsome, yet scarred face entranced her.
His presence, no matter how foreboding and overbearing, fueled her.
She craved his dominance. Craved how well he seemed to know her.
Knew her ministrations so acutely that he could tell whenever she wasn’t speaking her mind. Craved his devotion.
“What you’re feeling now,” he said softly, “is the feeling foreign to you?”
Her throat bobbed, and she nodded.
“And do you wish to explore these feelings?” His eyes narrowed, like he could see how she thought about Barth—about how she thought about her role as a woman.
How she shouldn't shy away from others’ touch, especially a man courting her.
And she didn’t want to continue to feel that way.
She wanted to know how it should feel when a man she liked touched her.
Or perhaps when a male she liked touched her.
“I don’t know how,” she whispered, her voice wavering. Perhaps if Rowan showed her how it could be, taught her how lovers were supposed to act, she’d learn. She’d be able to be normal when she got back to Findale.
“Let me show you.” His words were terse. When she didn’t respond, he grasped her hips and lifted her onto her bed, placing her on the edge. His fingers moved with dexterity, with confidence, as they traced over her gown, no skin but her face and hands exposed for him to caress.
He grabbed the hem of her skirts, his eyes meeting hers, asking permission. When she didn’t say no, his jaw clenched. “I need you to say it, Pae.”
She bit her lip, her words breathy. “Yes.”
That seemed to be all he needed because he began to move the fabric, exposing her stockings.
Just as she had told him Barth had done to her.
But this time, Rowan was asking permission.
Was being gentle and slow. Was watching her face for any sign of distress.
He was shifting her memories. Forging the cracked ones into new, fully-whole pieces.
When she had to shift so he could bunch the skirts around her thighs, her cheeks bright red, she mumbled, “You don’t even like me.”
He traced her curves over and over before he rested the palms of his hands flat on her thighs, pushing her gown up, his eyes watching patiently, waiting to expose her.
“Right now, I cannot think of anyone I like more. Nothing I’d rather be doing.
” His voice rumbled darker than usual, sounding similar to how he had in his beastly form.
The guilt consumed her. This wasn’t proper, wasn’t right—
“We are wed, Pae.” Another one of his glimpses into her tattered mind.
They were wed. This was proper. This was exactly what they should be doing.
And still, she felt like she might be sick.
Here she sat, her legs spread for a fae creature while her father thought her lost, dying slowly in their cottage.
Her teeth chattered, her eyes stinging, and Rowan gripped her thighs tightly, her skin billowing around his fingers. She gasped.
“Enough of your thoughts,” he growled. “Do not think any longer.”
“I…I can’t.” She shook her head, a frown forming on her lips.
He pushed her skirts all the way up, as far as they could go, and he hooked a finger on her undergarments.
“Focus on me.” He stroked her, and her eyes widened, her legs closing on instinct but blocked by his expansive frame. They must have looked so silly; he was so large, so tall, as he kneeled before her. “No more thoughts,” he insisted.
He brought his mouth toward her clothed center, his warm breath panting against her. She stopped breathing. And before she could think more, his mouth was on her. Wetting her over the thin cotton fabric. So very warm as his tongue moved against her.
She collapsed back onto her elbows, too stunned by the pleasant feeling to do anything but let her jaw go slack.
Her fingers clutched her duvet. She looked down, his dark hair in arm’s reach, moving beneath the skirts of her wedding dress.
She had the urge to run her hands through it.
Her mind went blank; no more thoughts. All she could see was Rowan and feel how he wanted to please her.
She gasped his name, shocked and overwhelmed.
He growled, and she figured that must mean she did something right.
He hooked a finger in the band of her undergarments, and her skin went hot as he torturously pulled away the clothing blocking his access to her, dragging it down the expanse of her legs. Her mouth went dry.
“Easy,” he coaxed almost like he could hear the way her heart thrummed erratically in her chest. “Let me taste you.”
Paeonia’s dress began to feel restrictive as his eyes burned through hers. She gulped and nodded. He lowered his mouth toward her again, and Paeonia sucked in a sharp breath, waiting. She knew her entire body was covered in a bashful blush, her cheeks searing.
His mouth connected with her flesh, and she held back her whimper.
Rowan trailed a wandering hand up her side, against her stomach, and then groped her breast. She squirmed as Rowan’s tongue seeped into her in tandem with his pawing hand.
Her thighs clenched around his head, the wet sounds emitting from his mouth making her go hazy.
He hummed in satisfaction, his hand sliding to grip her hip, keeping her flat on the mattress. She wiggled beneath him, little embarrassing moans slipping past her lips. Sounds she had never made before. Her breathing became heavy, his tongue circling her.
Then his free hand moved with his mouth, an exploratory finger sliding into her excruciatingly slow. She couldn’t stop the groan at the foreign feeling, his finger sinking deeper.
“Gods,” he mumbled. She looked down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. He pulled his mouth away just enough to grin at her, removing his finger before adding another to sink into her warmth. “Have you ever unraveled before?”
She gulped. How could she have? “No.”
“Fuck,” he rasped, his eyes darkening, his fingers struggling to make their way inside her.
She panted, her eyes fluttering, as he forced his way, the feeling unfamiliar, her hands squeezing the duvet, a groan escaping between her clenched teeth.
“You sound heavenly,” he praised.
He forced both fingers all the way to his last knuckle, and Paeonia wanted to explode from the overwhelming feeling. Her core uncomfortable, like her body should expel the intrusion.
“Tell me how it feels.”
She swallowed thickly, her breathing rapid, her chest moving too fast. “It-it”—she shuddered—“feels so—ugh.”
She groaned when Rowan teased her by shoving his fingers roughly inside her again. Then again. And again. And finally, after the relentlessness, a rush of warmth, and a buzz of pleasure, shot all the way to her neck. Paeonia’s head flew back, her thighs falling wider, wanting him to keep going.
When she looked back at him, her vision slightly blurred in her bliss, he began to remove himself from his trousers. Her eyes widened in horror, just spying the tip of his… Oh my stars. She couldn’t fully believe the debauchery unfolding before her eyes.
He thumbed himself before pumping in sync with his rhythmic fingers. Her face warmed several degrees, wanting to pry her eyes away from where he exposed himself, but she couldn’t. She had never seen a man before, not like that.
He tilted his hand so that every time his fingers bottomed out, his knuckles would graze her core. “First time seeing a cock, sweet Paeonia?”
She whimpered in response, her eyes squeezing shut, unable to steady herself. So many feelings blossoming in her chest. Jolts of anxiety clenched her gut with each of his thrusts.
“Open your eyes,” he demanded. “I want you to watch.”
She didn’t know if he meant he wanted her to watch as he pleased her, or as he pleasured himself to her. Perhaps both.
“I want you to watch as I unravel you for the first time. Watch as I take my own release from pleasuring you.”
When she hesitated, he stopped moving his hand, and her eyes fluttered open. She bit her lip, unable to stop the inhibition. “Please,” she begged.
He raised a brow.
“Please,” she tried again, hating how needy she sounded.
He grinned, and in reward he leaned forward and kissed her again, moving his lips and tongue against her as his fingers sheathed in and out.
A little cry sounded in the back of her throat each time his fingers hit her deep.
An odd sensation grew in her belly, the warmth spreading, her body loosening and tightening at the same time.
“R-Rowan,” she stuttered, wanting him to stop, feeling like this might be too much. Like she might combust. With his name on her lips, he moved faster. Thrusting into her more forcefully, his lips suctioning around her.
She thought she might erupt into flames, her chest leaden with fire. “Oh my—” she muttered, her breathing clipped. Her body shook, her legs clenching, an unfamiliar burst of pure ecstasy ebbing in her bloodstream as it peaked.
She remained lost in bliss for several moments, trying to catch her breath as Rowan slowed, finally releasing her. When she focused on him again, he grunted in satisfaction as if he was just waiting for her eye contact to spurt into his hand, groaning as he pumped, his eyes never leaving hers.
They stared at each other for several moments, both in shock, before he stood and tucked himself back into his dark trousers as if nothing had happened.
Gods, he was so unfairly handsome. So masculine and large. So threatening and yet soft. Something dark overcame her because she suddenly wanted to grab him. To pull him toward her. To have him kiss her again. To fully consummate their marriage.
The sun’s golden horizon danced across Paeonia’s skin like a gilded kiss. Rowan’s eyes roved over her, darkening. She blinked foolishly at him, her lips parted and panting. She sat forward, her arm hesitantly reaching for him, his body rigid.
He took a step back, out of her reach, and her hand fell to her lap. She quickly shoved her skirts down. It took all her might to not let him see her disappointment—the desire she had for him. She thought he might say something, but with a swift movement, he turned and left, slamming her door shut.
Her breath hitched in the back of her throat, and she sank into her bed, staring solemnly at the wall.