Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
SIERRA
My heart is pounding away in my chest as I stare up at him, trapped by the breadth of his arms, and the air in the butler’s pantry feels twice as thick, all the oxygen siphoned out by those four words.
Then I kiss you. He doesn’t move, just watches me with those stormy blue-gray eyes.
His expression is hard enough to stop a train in its tracks.
I want to say something witty, to toss him back on his heels with a sharp comeback. But all I do is nod, once, barely. My voice is a ghost when I whisper, “Kiss me.”
Rogan closes the last inch between us, hands still braced on the counter, and his mouth hovers over mine for a second. The warm, musky scent of him flows through me.
He makes a noise deep in his throat, then his lips crash onto mine.
The first touch is a jolt, like he’s not sure he’s allowed, but he’s going to risk it anyway.
The kiss is careful, for about two seconds.
After that, the world tilts and I’m plastered against his chest, my hands trapped between us as his body molds to mine.
This kiss is immediate, all-in, out of control. His lips claim mine, rough and sure. A sound, humiliatingly close to a whimper, escapes from my throat. He swallows it whole.
Somewhere in my brain, I register that I am up on my tiptoes and have grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt.
I don’t remember deciding to do this. Rogan pulls me closer, so close my toes barely graze the ground, and his arms lock tight around my waist. The world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his stubble against my face, the impossible hardness of his chest against my breasts.
“Jesus Christ,” he growls into my lips, like a curse and a prayer in one. “You taste—fuck.”
I want to say something snarky, but my brain has short-circuited.
His tongue traces my bottom lip, and I open, hungry, and suddenly his hands slide up my back.
Palms broad and hot, fingers spreading under my shirt, searching for skin.
I moan, and the sound seems to fuel him.
The kiss turns raw and desperate, all teeth and tongue and days of pent-up need.
I lose track of time. Could be a minute, could be an hour.
There is no before or after, just this. I tangle one hand in his hair, desperate to keep him there, and the other grips his shoulder so tight I feel the muscles flex and jump under my fingers.
He bites my lip, soft and quick, and the shock of it sends a bolt of heat right to the core of me.
He’s the first to pull back. Barely. Our noses bump, lips still brushing. I can see the dazed look in his eyes and know, with a flash of wild satisfaction, that he is every bit as gone as I am.
“Fucking hell. Why did I wait so long to do that?” His breath ghosts across my mouth, rough and uneven.
I swallow, fighting for composure. “Yeah.” I blink up at him, breath coming in gasps. “Stupid for waiting.”
He grins, crooked and cocky and so unguarded it makes my knees wobble. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“And what a page that,” I shoot back as I try to drag air into my lungs.
Rogan studies me, expression shifting from hungry to something softer, almost reverent.
His thumb brushes along my jaw, gentle and careful, like he can’t believe this is really happening.
I can’t believe it either, honestly. “First, we’re going to get to know each other.
Then, we’ll take things from there.” His voice is soft, but the way he looks at me?
Anything but gentle. Like he wants to devour me and memorize every damn inch, but he’s got the patience of a saint.
Or a predator. Or maybe both. Holy cow. I’m in so much trouble.
My heart knocks around in my chest like it’s trying to find the exit.
“Getting to know each other sounds good to me,” I say, and I’m proud of how steady my voice sounds even with his thumb slowly brushing back and forth along my jaw. “I’m betting you have a sticky note about this, too.”
He huffs a laugh. The tension in his broad shoulders melts just an inch, but the heat in his eyes definitely triples. “I have a sticky note for just about everything.” His hands skim down my sides, settle on my hips. His pinky grazes bare skin where my shirt rides up; I could actually combust.
For a full second, we just stand there in the jittery silence, breathing the same air, faces so close I could count every shade of blue in his eyes. I want to press my mouth to his again, see if it’s possible to get drunk off kisses alone.
But Rogan’s in control now. He studies me, those calloused hands holding me like I might vanish if he lets go. “We could start with dinner,” he says, and oh my God, the way his mouth curves turns my insides to goo.
“Dinner?” I echo. “You mean, like, eating a meal together?” My voice nearly squeaks on the last word. I sound like a total dork. He seems to like it.
“Yep. Not just a meal. A date.” He smiles, and the edges of his eyes crinkle.
Something about Rogan smiling lights me up from the inside.
I’m not even sure what to do with the version of him who smiles like that—it’s softer, but also infinitely more dangerous.
Like getting a look at the real thing, stripped bare.
I swallow, leaning into the hand still cupping my jaw. “A date,” I repeat, testing out the word. My brain does a complete blue screen of death at the thought. “Like, an actual date? Where we eat and make awkward eye contact from across a table?”
He laughs a low, rough bark that makes my belly clench. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m planning.” Then he leans in, nose brushing my cheek, breath hot in my ear. “But there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’m gonna devour you for dessert.”
His hands never leave my waist. His thumb draws slow circles, dragging the fabric up until his skin meets mine. Hot. Like his fingers are burning little brand marks into my flesh. Good lord. My whole body goes liquid from the contact.
I tip my head, still trying to get my lungs to work. “So… when are we planning this date?”
“How about tomorrow night? It’s Saturday, so I have all day to plan.” He laughs, this crazy-low rumble that I feel in my bones. “I’ll cook, and you can pick the after-dinner movie.”
“Movie? So, we’re going all out with dinner, a movie, and possibly dessert after it?”
He corners me even closer, and there’s nowhere to go except into the solid wall of muscle making up his chest. His lips brush my temple, hot and careful. “That’s my plan.”
Fudge muffin. I’m already getting a little dizzy just thinking about it. He leans in, his lips feathering over my temple, and I swear the room tilts.
“Tomorrow night,” he murmurs, and the promise in his voice is so thick it could smother me. “Seven o’clock. Wear something comfortable.”
My cheeks flush ten shades of red. I’m grinning like an idiot. “It’s a date.”
He gives me this look, damn near predatory. “I can’t fucking wait.” His voice is a growl. It vibrates through my ribs, straight to my core. My knees buckle, but he’s already holding me up, one massive hand splayed across my lower back, daring gravity to try anything funny.
My heart pounds like crazy in my chest. “You know this is crazy, right?” I whisper, and my words are a half-laugh. “We skipped, like, thirty steps between communicating via Post-it notes and dating.”
He grins, hot and wolfish, his hold on my waist tightening just enough to make me gasp.
“Nah, I’d say we’re right on schedule. I knew the minute you walked in that door, I’d be crazy to let you go.
I just had to use the Post-it notes until I figured out how to get my mouth in gear.
” He leans down, mouth brushing my cheek, his breath pure fire.
I can’t argue with that. Not with his hands on me, holding me steady, my body basically melting into a puddle of want. My heart tumbles around in my chest, fast and wild.
“I have to admit,” I rasp, voice trembling, but hell, I’m still proud of myself for forming words. “Your Post-it notes grew on me.” My hand slips under the hem of his shirt, skimming hot skin, and holy hell, that feels even better than I imagined.
He sucks in a sharp breath. For a second, the look he gives me is pure, unfiltered hunger. “Good to know. I’ll make sure to pull out the Post-its every now and then to keep you on your toes.”
I laugh, maybe a little breathless. Especially when his thigh is wedged tight between my legs and every nerve ending is screaming yes, please, more. “I look forward to it.”
He growls, low and rough. “Good. Because I don’t have a brake pedal when it comes to you, Sierra.” His grip on my waist is unbreakable. “I’m all fucking in.”