Chapter 9 #3
I smile, because letting is generous. Letting means I get to have free play. And we all know how much of a player I am.
"Don't what?" I murmur, keeping my voice low, almost curious, my hand still moving. "Touch you here?"
My thumb grazes the line of his shoulder, right where I'd noticed him favoring the injury in the water, and his breath catches so hard it nearly turns into a gasp.
No. Not there. Hmm, interesting.
"Or here?" I drag my fingertips from the curve of his shoulder to the side of his throat, and his breath goes ragged, his lips parting on a sound he bites back.
He shivers under my hand, and the water has nothing to do with it.
The filters hum softly around us, water lapping against tile, and the whole pool feels too small for how close we are now, chest to chest, his hand still trapped between us.
His eyes are on mine, bright and furious and too wide, those ridiculous dark lashes wet and clumped, his whole face open in a way he would probably kill me for noticing.
My hand slides higher. "Or here?" I ask again, my thumb brushing along his jaw before I tip his face up and drag the pad of my thumb slowly over his lower lip. "You have a dangerous mouth, little mouse. You keep looking at me like you want to bite."
"Don't flatter yourself," he manages, but the line comes apart on a shaky breath, his chest heaving once under the water like his body has already betrayed him.
My hand slips into his wet hair, just enough to push it back from his forehead, my fingers brushing the shell of his ear, then tracing behind it, down the sensitive line where neck meets jaw. This time he shudders, a low sound catching in his throat before he can swallow it.
"Stop." The word slips out on a shaky breath, and his whole face tightens like he regrets it the second it's audible. His gaze drops to my mouth before jerking back up.
I laugh, too pleased to hide it. "You don't sound like you mean that."
His fingers curl harder against my arm, not enough to stop me but enough to keep me there, and that tiny betrayal nearly undoes me.
I lean in again until my mouth is just beside his ear, my lips almost brushing skin as I murmur, "If you want me to stop, little mouse, you're going to have to tell me what part of you can't take it."
His breath catches, his grip tightening the second the words settle between us.
When he opens his mouth, probably because he's about to argue again, I don't give him the chance.
I move in slowly enough that he sees it happening, slowly enough that he could turn his face, shove me off, or swim for the other side of the pool if he really wanted to.
But he doesn't.
He just stands there with his hand still locked around my arm, chest rising too fast, pupils blown wide, lips parted on a breath that sounds almost angry.
Then my mouth brushes the corner of his, just once and barely there, more a test than a kiss.
A shudder runs through him, rough enough that I feel it before I hear the sound that catches in his throat, and his grip tightens instead of letting go.
I smile against the edge of his mouth. "Just a taste, little mouse. I want to see if your mouth tastes as sweet as it looks."
"In your dreams," he manages, but the line breaks on a shudder, and the second it does his whole face tightens like he knows exactly what he just gave me.
My hand slips from his hip, gliding over the side of him until my fingertips find the line of his ribs under the water, then lower, tracing the flat of his stomach slow enough that he feels every inch of it.
"D-don't," he breathes. "P-please."
"Ever been kissed by a guy, little mouse?"
His green eyes blink wide and startled, the flush already high on his face climbing deeper. And for one brutal second he looks so young, so thrown, so obviously out of his depth that the want turns possessive, hard enough to make my grip tighten before I can stop it.
His silence tells me enough, but I'm greedy now, and I want to hear it. I tilt my head, still watching him. "Ever been kissed at all?"
His mouth parts, then shuts again. He licks his lips without seeming to realize he's doing it before he gets out, "That's n-none of your business."
Oh, fuck me.
The answer is all over him. In the way his chest keeps rising too fast. The way his body can't seem to decide whether it wants to shove me off or stay right where it is. The way he keeps looking at my mouth like he hates himself for it.
No one's had this.
No one's had him like this.
And if he keeps looking at me that way, I'm about to be the first.
I grin, unable to help it. "That's what I thought."
His face burns hotter. "Sh-shut up."
"Make me."
Then I kiss him without warning, not giving him one more second to hide behind the fight, my mouth on his as one hand locks at his waist under the water and the other slides to the back of his neck.
By now we've drifted into the shallower end without either of us noticing.
For one suspended second, he goes so still it feels like impact, and then I drag my mouth over his again, slower this time, giving him one last chance to pull away.
He doesn't. He just stands there with his breath caught high in his throat and lets me drag my tongue along the seam of his mouth, making a strangled, furious sound against me that gives him away before he can stop it.
I take the opening and kiss him deeper. This time he breaks with a low, angry sound and shoves right back into it, kissing me hard enough to make my grip tighten, like he hates me for making him want this and intends to punish me for it with his mouth.
There's nothing careful about him now, nothing soft, and that alone hits harder than it should, because Rowan doesn't kiss like someone surrendering.
He kisses like he's still fighting, like he wants to bite and bruise and make me pay for every second of this.
His lips are hot and slick against mine, the water rocking around us, his hand landing against my chest like he needs to hold onto something.
I give him exactly one second of that before I take control again, angling my head and kissing him slower, filthier, letting my mouth work over his in a way that makes the fight harder to hold onto.
I catch his lower lip between mine and suck just enough to drag another sound out of him, then lick into his mouth when he parts for it, swallowing the breath he loses and feeling the exact second his body jolts.
He snarls against my mouth and shoves at my shoulder.
"That's it," I murmur.
"D-don't touch me like that."
"Then make me stop."
His fingers curl hard against my chest, not shoving this time, just holding on. When I slide my hand from his waist to his side, lower this time, gliding over wet skin and the hard line of his stomach, he breaks the kiss with a sharp inhale that sounds halfway undone.
"Good," I murmur, dragging my thumb once over his lower lip.
Maybe he's not a little mouse after all. Maybe he's something sharper, all hissing and claws, a pretty little thing that bites back the second you try to hold him still.
His eyes fly open, but I don't let him get far.
I follow him in, dragging my mouth over his, then catching his lower lip between my teeth just enough to hold him there for a beat before I soothe it with my tongue when he shudders.
My hand keeps moving while I do it, tracing over the tense plane of his stomach, feeling him flinch under my palm.
Then I brush lower, just enough to make him jerk hard against me and break with another breathless sound that goes straight through what's left of my restraint.
"C-Ciaran—"
I lick into the kiss before murmuring, low and rough and far too pleased, "You taste good, little mouse."
His whole body tightens.
"So angry," I whisper against his lips, slow enough to feel the tremor in them. "And still opening for me."
The words hit exactly where I want them to. His fingers clutch harder into me like he can't decide whether to push me off or pull me closer.
I break the kiss just enough to look at him, at the flush high on his face, the water clinging to his lashes, the way his lips look swollen now, and I let my thumb drag over his mouth before I murmur, "Sweet enough to make me wonder what else you've been hiding."