Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ROWAN
Soft rays of sun peek through the blinds, stirring me from one of the most restful nights’ sleep I’ve had in a long time. I stretch against the sheets, and an ache blooms between my thighs, along my hips, even on my ass. The things I did last night… The things I felt…
I stare at the ceiling and wait for the guilt to arrive.
It never does.
Old Rowan would have been spiraling by now. Making exit strategies. Creating lists of reasons this is reckless. Inappropriate. Complicated.
Old Rowan would have insisted we never do it again.
But this Rowan knows better. Knows how fragile life truly is.
Why shouldn’t I grab joy when it offers itself up in broad shoulders and sinful dimples?
Granted there’s the small matter of the secret I’m keeping that can complicate things.
But only if I let it.
Like I told Hayden… We’re not building a future together. As far as I’m concerned, there is no future for us. This is temporary. Nothing more.
He needs someone to infuse a little life back into him. Someone who makes him smile. Who makes him laugh. Who makes him feel all the things he’s deprived himself of this past year.
I’m more than willing to volunteer for the position, especially after the way he made me feel last night. My god… The man was incredible.
I had a feeling it would be, especially after that kiss. You don’t have such a strong, visceral reaction to something as innocent as a kiss and end up unsatisfied in bed.
And Hayden definitely satisfied me. If my count’s correct, by the time he finally went back to his bedroom at around three this morning, he’d satisfied me five times.
I’ve never done anything five times in one night except binge a Netflix show.
As much as I want to sleep, my body’s on a schedule, thanks to the medication I need to take.
With a quiet groan, I push the covers off and pad into the bathroom. The tile is cool under my feet as I retrieve the little container I keep tucked behind my toiletries — my collection of orange bottles with labels I’ve memorized by heart.
My morning companions for the rest of my life.
I swallow them one by one with water, the routine as automatic as brushing my teeth, before lifting my eyes toward the mirror, studying my reflection.
Flushed cheeks. Kiss-swollen lips. Hair wild and unapologetic.
I look…happy.
Which is strange, since I’ve spent the last several months following whatever brought me joy.
But a delicious piece of pie isn’t the same as the things I experienced last night with Hayden.
After pulling my dark hair into some sort of messy bun, I tug on a pair of soft sleep shorts and an oversized tee, then head toward the kitchen.
The house is quiet this early in the morning, the sun starting to filter through the windows, washing everything in pale gold. The air smells faintly like laundry detergent and something distinctly Hayden — something woodsy and clean.
As I step into the kitchen, I expect it to be empty.
Instead, Hayden’s standing by the sink, staring out the window.
Shirtless.
Of course, he’s shirtless.
The morning light catches along the planes of his back, highlighting the broad line of his shoulders. He looks almost contemplative, like his thoughts are weighing him down. My stomach immediately dips.
Does he regret it?
Regret me?
But when he turns and his eyes land on mine, a slow, devastating smile spreads across his face.
No regret.
Just heat.
He crosses the room in three easy strides and pulls me into him.
We didn’t discuss the limitations of whatever this is.
I figured it would be a friends with benefits situation.
Or, more accurately, boss with benefits.
We’d satisfy our cravings when the mood strikes, but that’s it.
I certainly didn’t expect him to wrap me in his arms and bury his face in the crook of my neck.
But that’s exactly what he does. And I didn’t realize how much I’d been craving this simple contact until this moment.
“You’re up early,” I say. “I thought you’d sleep in today.”
“I woke up with a massive hard-on,” he murmurs, peppering soft kisses along my neck. “I wonder why.”
“I wonder.” I tilt my head, giving him better access because apparently I have no self-control.
He slides his hands under my shirt, his palms warm against my skin. “It could be because I’m a guy and sometimes my dick does what it wants.”
“It’s a possibility,” I breathe, my body coming to life with every gentle caress.
“It could be because it wanted attention this morning.” His thumbs trace upward, and my breath hitches as he nears my breasts.
“Could be.”
When he ghosts a finger over my nipple, I can’t reel in the whimper that escapes, desire flooding through me, especially between my legs.
“Or,” he says, his voice deepening, “it could be because I had a dream.”
“What kind of dream?”
“One where I threw caution to the wind and finally did what I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.”
He squeezes a nipple, and I release a desperate moan, which he swallows with a kiss.
“I got to touch you,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my jaw. “Taste you. Fuck you.”
“It wasn’t a dream,” I whisper.
“Thank god.” He slams his mouth against mine, yanking my body against his.
Despite the desperation in his hold, his kiss isn’t rushed or frantic. It’s slow and claiming and warm. His hands continue roaming my frame, moving toward the waistband of my shorts, and for a moment, I forget we’re standing in the kitchen of the house where I’m technically employed.
Until Jemmy’s babbles sound from the monitor, calling for his dada.
Hayden groans against my mouth, but doesn’t immediately release me. Instead, he rests his forehead on mine, staying in this moment, his thumbs absent-mindedly brushing my hipbone.
“My friends always said kids are the most effective form of birth control,” he mutters. “Turns out they weren’t lying.”
I laugh, still somewhat breathless from his kiss. “They always have terrible timing, don’t they?”
“The worst.” He drops one last kiss to my lips before reluctantly stepping back. “Guess I’m on duty.”
“Do you want—”
“It’s your day off,” he interrupts before I can finish my question. “Go do something fun. Walk dogs. Do yoga. Whatever it is twenty-nine-year olds do.” He flashes me a smile before his expression shifts into something darker. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
He leans in, brushing his mouth along the sensitive spot below my ear. “Promise you won’t touch yourself today.”
My stomach somersaults.
“I want all your orgasms. Every single one. Okay?” He pulls back slightly, one brow raised in challenge.
The audacity.
The confidence.
The very unfairness of how good he looks saying that.
Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He touches a gentle kiss to my forehead. Then he turns toward the stairs.
“Hayden?” I call out before he can disappear.
He pauses, glancing over his shoulder.
I give him a coy smile, nibbling on my lower lip. “What if I break my promise and get myself off?”
His eyes darken, and he stalks back toward me slowly. Deliberately. Like a predator who knows exactly how this ends.
Without breaking eye contact, he turns the volume down on the monitor. Then he grips my hair, forcing my head back, firm and controlled.
My god… This man.
For someone who hadn’t had sex in over a year before last night, he has some serious game.
“If you do,” he says quietly, his mouth hovering just shy of mine, “you’ll be punished.”
My heart pounds so hard I’m confident it’s about to burst out of my chest.
“Promise?” I whisper.
His hold tightens, just enough to remind me he’s in control of this moment.
Of me.
“Absolutely.” His breath brushes over my lips, warm and slow, and I swear I can taste him in the air between us. My entire body is strung tight, every nerve ending waiting for impact.
The space between us feels heavy and charged. I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his pupils have blown wide, the slight flare of his nostrils like he’s breathing me in.
The restraint is exquisite torture.
His thumb brushes lightly along my scalp, almost soothing, completely at odds with the way he’s holding me, my body humming with anticipation so sharp it’s almost painful.
“You have no idea how hard it is not to kiss you right now,” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent.
“Then kiss me.”
His nose grazes mine, and I brace for the crash of his mouth against mine.
But instead of closing the distance and giving me what I’m silently begging for, he releases my hair.
The loss of contact is immediate. Cool air where his warmth was. Space where his body had mine caged in.
I sway forward slightly before placing my hand on the counter to steady myself.
He steps back like a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
Like a man who understands the power of anticipation.
He lets his gaze drag over me — slow, heated, promising. Then he turns, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
I stare at the space where he just was, my heart racing.
It’s official.
This just became the longest day of my life.