Chapter 14 Kiren #2
She whimpers from anticipation, pushing her ass back in search of my cock. I angle the tip of it between her folds, but instead of thrusting inside her pussy, I pull it out and push it into her puckered hole.
Rowan cries out in surprise as her ass stretches to accommodate my girth. Inch by inch, I push it in until it’s fully inside her ass. She throws her head back, spreading her legs wider.
“Yes, baby, p-please, f-fuck my ass,” she begs.
I tighten my grip on her hips, groaning as I sink into her. My fingers dig into her flesh, and I begin hammering into her. I’m ruthless now, but I know she can take it from each cry of pleasure.
Curving myself over her, I slide one arm around her waist while rolling her clit between my fingers with the other hand.
“Come for me,” I whisper into her ear.
With one more thrust, Rowan arches her back, crying out as her orgasm tears through her. Flipping her over onto her back, I drag her to me, hooking her legs over my shoulders. I thrust my cock into her pussy, groaning as she ripples around me.
“I want you to look in my eyes when I fill you up with my come.”
I fuck her like a man possessed. The sight of her, all flushed and restless, with her nipples rock hard, pushes me closer to the edge. Her eyes are sex drunk, and her lips are swollen as I watch her pussy suck me in again and again.
She begins to tighten around me, but I refuse to let her come yet.
“No! You come when I tell you too,” I growl.
“P-please, Kiren…I can’t…” she whimpers.
“You’ll wait until I tell you to come,” I order, draping myself over her and spreading her legs wide. I plunge my cock into her even deeper.
“Tell me who you belong to,” I groan.
“You! I belong to you, Kiren,” she cries, wrapping her legs around my waist and locking them at the ankles.
“Mine,” I growl against her mouth. “Come for me,” I demand.
Her pussy contracts around me, and I climax so powerfully it almost hurts. Burying my face in her neck, I slam my cock into her one last time, shooting stream after stream of come inside her.
I pull my cock out, shaking as her body vibrates with pleasure. Sliding down her body, I hold her legs open as I lap up every drop of her sweet pussy juice. She writhes and squirms beneath me until I’m satisfied.
Collapsing at her side, I breathe deeply until my heart stops racing. I’ve never come that hard or for that long. And I’ve never felt this satisfied. It’s bone deep, reaching the edges of my soul.
Panting, Rowan lies in my arms. Limp and sated. Her eyes are open, dark, and certain. I lower my head and kiss her deeply, my hand sliding into her hair, and she arches up to meet me.
“I’m not walking away from this,” she murmurs, her thumb tracing slow, absent circles against my chest. “From you.”
“Neither am I,” I say, steady and sure. “That decision was already made.”
I ease back and settle beside her, my hand resting at her hip. She turns toward me, and I feel the warmth of her breath against my chest when she exhales again, slower now, evening out. She gives in fully then, her body relaxing into mine, the tension leaving her muscles until she’s asleep.
I remain awake. Her breathing becomes the only sound in the room. I listen, noting the rhythm and letting it become familiar as sleep deepens. Eleven minutes pass before rapid eye movement begins. Her eyelids flutter as she dreams.
My thoughts drift back to Marian’s house. To Ethan’s laugh, loud and unguarded, and the way it filled the room without apology. To the ease of that space that’s been earned over time. Years of loss, yes, but also years of rebuilding. Nothing erased. Just reshaped.
Rowan’s family isn’t an idea anymore. They’re real to me now.
Faces I recognize, voices I could pick out in a crowd.
I know how Ethan moves closer when Rowan enters a room.
How Marian listens first, considering carefully before she answers.
I’ve seen how they move through their home, and how the day naturally organizes itself around habits formed long before I arrived.
That knowledge creates vulnerability. And vulnerability becomes leverage. Which makes them my responsibility.
I don’t debate it or wait for circumstances to decide. In my world, responsibility is taken before someone else can use the opening.
I remain still as morning light traces the edges of the room, pale and cold as it filters through the gaps in the blackout curtains.
Rowan is still asleep on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, her face turned away from me.
I can see the line of her spine from here, the slow rise and fall of her back, the dark fan of her hair against the pillow.
There’s a small bruise blooming at her hip where my fingers gripped.
I reach out and rest my hand between her shoulder blades. Not to wake her. Just to feel her breathing. She stirs anyway.
“Kiren.” She turns her head on the pillow and looks at me with one eye open, the other still pressed into the pillow. A slow blink. Then a small, unguarded smile that she probably doesn't know she's giving me. I catalog it the way I catalog everything important.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Early.”
She closes her eyes again. “That's not a time.”
“Five-fifteen.”
She releases a sound that isn’t quite a groan but is related to one. “I have to be at the hospital soon.”
“Come,” I say.
I help her sit up slowly, my hand at her back, and she lets me without comment.
The bathroom is warm when we step inside. I reach past her and turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature until the steam begins to rise. Behind me, I hear her inhale deeply, the sound of her body beginning to come back to itself.
When I turn around, she's sitting on the edge of the tub, still loose-limbed from sleep, looking up at me. The morning light spills through the frosted window, softening her face in pale gold.
I hold out my hand. She takes it.
The water is hot. Not scalding, but close.
The type of heat that opens you up and unknots the places you didn't know were knotted.
She stands under the spray and tips her head back, letting the water take her hair flat against her shoulders, and I watch the tension leave her.
Her shoulders drop, and her jaw unclenches.
I reach for the shampoo.
“Kiren, I can─”
“I know you can.” I turn her gently by the shoulders until her back is to me. “Let me.”
She pauses, and then she lets me take care of her.
I work the shampoo into a lather between my palms first. My hands slide into her wet hair at the base of her neck, and she makes a sound so soft it’s swallowed by the water.
I take my time. My fingers work in slow circles from the nape upward, moving through the dark weight of her hair, and I feel the moment it gets to her because her hands come up and wrap loosely around my wrists. Not directing. Not stopping me. Just holding on.
“That's feels good,” she says quietly.
I don't answer. I just keep going.
I rinse her hair slowly, tipping her back into the spray with my hand at her forehead so the water doesn't run into her eyes. She lets her head rest against my shoulder. The small of her back is against my chest. The water runs down both of us, and I stand there in it, holding her like this.
I rinse the last of the shampoo from her hair.
She turns slowly to face me, water tracing unbroken paths down her face, and she doesn’t lift a hand to stop it.
I reach for her, cupping her face, slowly guiding her closer.
She leans into my palm, just slightly, eyes closing as if the choice requires no thought at all.
The simplicity of it lands harder than anything else.
Something I didn’t realize I was holding back gives way, and the last distance between us disappears.
“Ty moya,” I say. You're mine.
“Yours,” she agrees.
I wash her shoulders and her back with the same attentive patience.
She stands and takes it, sometimes leaning back into my hands, sometimes just standing still.
The soap lathers between my palms, and I move down her spine, the curve of her lower back, and she hums once against her teeth in something that is half contentment and half a sound I file away for later.
When I finish, she turns and surprises me. She takes the cloth from my hand and reaches up, dragging it across my face. Slowly. Intentionally.
I go still. I don’t interrupt.
She looks up at me while she does it, eyes fixed on mine, unafraid of the closeness.
No one has touched my face like that since I was a child. I say nothing and let her finish. I let the water run over both of us, and I don’t step back.
Afterward, I wrap her in a thick towel. I bring it around her shoulders, holding the edges while she steps out of the shower, and then I tuck it at her chest while she mock-glares at me.
“I can dry myself,” she says.
“I'm aware of your capabilities,” I say.
I reach past her for my own towel to hide whatever expression is currently trying to happen on my face.
She's smiling. I can hear it.
While she gets dressed, I stand in the doorway and drink my coffee, watching her move through the room with the focus of a woman who has calculated the exact number of minutes she has.
She moves between the wardrobe and the mirror with no wasted motion, and I watch the capable, formidable version of her reassemble itself piece by piece.
She notices me watching in the mirror and raises an eyebrow.
“Aren’t you going to be late for a meeting?” she asks, smiling.
“My meetings wait for me.”
“Of course they do.” But she says it without edge. She pulls her hair back and pins it in place.
She turns from the mirror and picks up her bag. Then she crosses to me in the doorway and stops.
I take her face in one hand, tilt it up, and press my mouth to hers once. She leans into it for a moment, her hand resting flat against my chest before she steps back. The smile she gives me is small and unguarded.