Chapter 19 Rowan #2
His fingers work inside me, a relentless, possessive rhythm that has my back arching off the mattress, but just as the crest threatens to break, he withdraws.
The sudden emptiness draws a ragged groan from my throat, my hips chasing his retreat, desperate for the friction he denied me.
Kiren doesn’t leave me wanting for long.
His hands hook into the waistband of the panties.
With a rough tug, he peels the fabric down my legs in one fluid motion.
The cool air of the room hits my overheated, slick skin, sending a shiver racing up my spine.
He tosses the discarded panties aside without a second glance, his dark eyes fixed on the exposed curve of my belly and the wet heat between my thighs.
I lie there, vulnerable and open, the heavy swell of my pregnancy rising and falling with my shallow breaths.
I am completely bare before him, every inch of my changing body on display.
“Ty u menya dykhaniye perekhvatyvaesh,” he murmurs, the Russian words low and reverent. You take my breath away.
He stands then, his hands moving to his belt.
The metal buckle clinks, a sharp sound in the quiet room.
I watch, propped up on my elbows, as he strips.
His shirt hits the floor, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the map of old scars that trace his history.
Then his pants follow, kicking them away until he stands naked, his erection jutting thick and heavy.
The sight of him makes my mouth go dry, a fresh wave of arousal pooling between my legs.
He is magnificent, hard muscle and raw power, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only water in a desert.
He climbs back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and crawls up the length of my body.
But he doesn't stop at my mouth. Instead, he grips my hips, his hands strong and demanding, and pushes my legs apart.
“Kiren,” I gasp, my hands tangling in the sheets as he nestles between my thighs.
He hooks one arm under my knee, lifting it high and draping it over his shoulder.
The position opens me completely to him, leaving me nowhere to hide.
He leans down, his breath hot against my sensitive, swollen folds.
The first touch of his tongue is a shock.
A broad, flat stroke drags through my wetness from bottom to top.
I cry out, my head falling back, my fingers gripping his hair.
He devours me. There’s no other word for it.
He eats my pussy like a starving man, his tongue delving deep inside my hole to gather my juices before swirling up to circle my aching clit.
He sucks the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth, his teeth grazing it just enough to send a jolt of electricity through my nervous system.
He licks a stripe from my entrance all the way up, bypassing my clit to tease the sensitive skin at the very top of my thigh before diving back in.
He fucks me with his tongue, thrusting it in and out in a mimicry of what I know is coming, while his nose rubs against my clit.
The pressure builds low in my belly, a tight coil of pleasure that winds tighter with every lick of his tongue.
I grind my hips against his face, chasing the friction, using his mouth for my own pleasure.
He lets me, encouraging me with a growl that vibrates against my flesh.
“Please,” I beg, though I don’t know if I’m asking him to stop or keep going until I explode. “Kiren, p-please.”
He pulls away just as the orgasm begins to crest, leaving me panting and trembling on the edge.
He lifts his head, his chin glistening with my arousal, a dark, predatory look in his eyes.
He lowers my leg from his shoulder but keeps it spread wide.
He moves up my body, his skin sliding against mine, the heat of him searing me.
“I need you,” he rasps against my lips. “I need to be inside you.”
He reaches between us, gripping his thick cock and guiding the head to my entrance.
He pushes forward, stretching the tight ring of muscles.
I moan as he sinks into me, inch by thick inch, the feeling of fullness overwhelming.
He fills me completely, the head of his cock kissing the entrance of my womb.
He pauses there, letting me adjust to his size, his forehead resting against mine.
“You feel so good, kiska,” he whispers, his voice strained. “So tight and wet for me.”
He begins to move, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in.
The sensation is exquisite, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine.
He starts slow, a deep, grinding pace that hits every sensitive spot inside me.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my nails digging into the muscles of his back.
The weight of him on top of me is grounding, the solid reality of his body anchoring me as the pleasure builds.
He kisses me, a messy, open-mouthed kiss that tastes of him and me.
His tongue dominates mine, moving in time with his hips.
I can feel my core tightening again, impossible and intense.
He adjusts his angle, and suddenly, he’s grinding against my clit with every thrust. I tear my mouth from his, gasping for air, my vision blurring at the edges.
“Kiren, I’m... I’m going to...”
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice rough.
My body locks up, and then I shatter, waves of pleasure crashing over me, pulsing around his cock. I cry out his name, my body convulsing beneath him as the orgasm rips through me. He fucks me through it, prolonging the sensation until I am a boneless, quivering mess.
But he isn't done. Before I can catch my breath, he withdraws and flips me over onto my side.
He spoons up behind me, his chest against my back, his arm hooking under my leg to lift it high.
This position allows him to penetrate even deeper.
He slides back into me, the new angle making me gasp.
He feels huge like this, splitting me open in the most delicious way.
He sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against my ass.
The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, loud and rhythmic.
One of his hands grips my breast, squeezing the sensitive flesh, his fingers rolling my hard nipple.
The other hand slides down to my clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that push me toward another peak.
“You’re mine,” he growls in my ear, biting down on the sensitive cord of my neck. “All mine. This pussy, this baby, you.”
“Yours,” I moan, the word torn from my throat. “Only yours, Kiren.”
The possessiveness in his voice drives me wild. I push back against him, meeting his thrusts, taking him as deep as I can. The dual stimulation of his cock inside me and his fingers on my clit is too much. I can feel another orgasm building, fast and fierce.
“Come with me,” he grunts, his rhythm becoming erratic.
He thrusts hard, burying himself to the hilt, and stiffens behind me.
I feel the hot pulse of his cum as he spills inside me, coating my insides.
The sensation triggers my own release, and I come again, my walls clamping down on him, milking him for every drop.
We ride out the waves together, our bodies moving in sync, until we are both spent.
He collapses against me, his body heavy and comforting, his face buried in the crook of my neck.
We stay like that for a short time, our breathing slowly returning to normal, the sticky evidence of our passion cooling on our skin.
I can feel his heart beating against my back, a steady, reassuring rhythm.
I am full of him, in every way possible, and for the first time in a long time, I am completely at peace.
“You realize,” he murmurs, “Lila will be furious if we keep her guests waiting much longer.”
A quiet laugh escapes me.
“You proposed ten minutes before my baby shower.”
“The timing felt appropriate.”
I shake my head slowly, still smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“Perhaps.” His lips brush mine once more before he pulls away. He slides off the bed and dresses quickly.
“Finish getting ready,” he adds gently.
As he turns toward the door, my hand lifts again, my fingers brushing the ring now resting on my finger. I remain stretched across the bed, watching the sunlight spill across the floor while the reality of everything slowly sinks in.
Laughter drifts faintly up from downstairs, warm and alive in a way this house once wasn’t. Life, family, and a future waiting just beyond that door.
Sunlight fills the gardens by the time I step out onto the terrace. Warm air brushes across my skin, bringing the soft scent of fresh flowers and the faint sweetness of something baking in the kitchen below.
Rows of pale pink roses climb along the stone walls bordering the garden paths.
White hydrangeas bloom beside the fountain near the center lawn.
Someone has strung delicate ribbons and soft fabric along the terrace railings, the fabric stirring gently each time a warm breeze passes through the yard.
I pause at the top of the stone steps and take it in.
The transformation feels almost unreal. Not just the gardens.
The house feels different now, too. Months ago, the estate had been filled with tension.
Men moving quietly through hallways. Security calls whispered through radios.
Doors closing softly behind guarded conversations.
Now laughter floats through the open doors.
Voices overlap across the lawn. The entire property feels alive in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Rowan!”
Lila’s voice cuts through the sound of conversation below.