Chapter 34
ROWAN
The bike rolls to a stop on the gravel driveway. I ease off the back seat, steady myself against the frame, and straighten. Pain flares through my hands and ribs.
“You’re limping,” Ciaran grunts after he’s killed the engine. He dismounts, steps into my space, and eases an arm around my waist before I can protest.
“The vibration from the bike jostled me, but I’m fine.” I reach for the door handle, but Ciaran catches my hand before I can open it.
“You are not walking up those stairs alone.”
Before I can argue, he pushes the door open and steers me inside. The front door has barely closed behind us when Damaris’s voice drifts from deeper inside the house.
“When did he get here?”
“Apparently before us,” Ciaran mutters.
We pass the kitchen. My best friend is perched on a stool with a mug in his hands while Lucan hovers nearby, one tattooed hand wrapped around his multi-slate. His gaze drags over me from head to toe the moment we step inside.
“He’s limping.”
“I’m standing right here,” I call.
“Mm.” Unconvinced, Ciaran steers me toward the stairs despite my annoyance.
“I can manage the stairs,” I protest, but the third step jars my ribs.
“For fuck’s sake,” Ciaran mutters, ushering me upstairs. “Not a damn word.”
The moment the bedroom door closes behind us, the tension drains from my shoulders. Damaris is downstairs. Lucan is prowling around the house somewhere. Rafe is lurking in a corner looking dangerous, while Marius is making the entire mansion look prettier than it has any right to.
And for the first time in days, nobody is hunting me. Nobody is waiting around the next corner with a weapon or a demand.
I cross the room and perch on the edge of Ciaran’s massive bed, letting the exhaustion settle into my bones. I barely have time to reach for the hem of the oversized shirt Damaris dressed me in before Ciaran catches my wrist.
“I can manage.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I have been dressing myself for years.”
“Congratulations. Now sit back, mouse.” He chuckles, but before I can swat him away, he’s already crouched in front of me, gathering the hem before carefully easing the shirt over my head.
I grumble but lean back against the headboard as cool air brushes my skin, drawing a shiver from me.
Ciaran notices. Of course he does. His fingertips skim across my shoulder as he pulls the shirt away, and my skin buzzes beneath every touch.
“What?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “So beautiful, mouse.”
“I look terrible,” I grumble.
“You don’t.” His thumb brushes my shoulder. “Your freckles are like little stars. So pretty.”
“I hate them.”
Leaning in, he brushes his mouth over my collarbone and drops featherlight kisses on each freckle he can find. “So.” Kiss. “Pretty.” Kiss. “And…” Kiss. “All…” Kiss. “Mine.”
I shiver, shake my head, but my stomach flips anyway. “You are a possessive asshole, you know that?”
His eyes gleam with satisfaction. “Correct. I’m glad we’re finally in agreement. Let’s drink. To reunions and more.”
“And more?” I ask, but he doesn’t reply.
After one final peck on my throat, he gets up and crosses to the sideboard where he has his aunt’s whiskey stored.
“Here,” he says after he pours two glasses, setting one on the bedside table beside me. “Pretend you like it. You’ve met her now; you don’t want trouble with Marina.”
“No,” I agree, which is an understatement. Those three mobster princesses together are bad news, and I have no intention of ending up on their bad side.
Still, the alcohol burns a hot path down my throat before it settles deep in my belly, loosening the tight coil of tension in my chest. I watch Ciaran drain his glass, his dark eyes never leaving my face before he sets the empty tumbler down with a soft click.
“Let’s get you in the bath, mouse. Before you fall asleep sitting up.”
I want to argue, but the words die in my mouth as he disappears into the adjoining bathroom. It will be nice to get clean. With a grimace, I finish the last mouthful of whiskey. I still don’t understand how he drinks this stuff voluntarily, but fighting him over it stopped working weeks ago.
Before I can stand, Ciaran reappears in the doorway and holds out a hand. “Come here, princess.”
I roll my eyes but place my hand in his. His fingers close around mine as he guides me toward the bathroom. Steam curls through the air the moment we step inside.
“People actually live like this?” I mutter.
Ciaran’s grin widens. “Oh, they do, Rowan. And you’re going to get used to it.”
He guides me toward the tub, one hand steady at my waist as I step into the water. A low hiss escapes me as heat sinks into aching muscles.
“Better?”
“So, so good.”
A small smile touches his mouth. “I’m glad. Go on, stretch your legs. Make yourself comfortable.”
Ciaran peels his shirt over his head. Every easy movement sends muscle rippling across his chest, shoulders, and arms beneath the ink, the wildcat stretching to life across his pecs as though it might leap free at any moment.
My stomach drops. He’s devastating.
Dark eyes lift to meet mine as he reaches for the button of his jeans. “Still pretending you’re not staring, mouse?”
I swallow hard, the water swirling around my chest suddenly feeling suffocating. “You are impossible.”
“Mm, but you’re not looking away.” A smirk touches his lips as he pops the metal button, the rasp of the zipper cutting through the steam. He pushes the denim down his thighs and kicks it aside, leaving him in nothing but dark boxer briefs.
And no, I’m not looking away. How can I when he bites his lower lip, eyes bright with amusement as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband?
“There’s enough room for both of us,” he says.
“Yes,” I croak, my own cock growing heavy and throbbing beneath the warm water.
He drags the fabric down, letting it fall to the floor. The motion frees him, and his hard cock springs upward, curving against the flat muscle of his belly. The sight makes my throat tighten, heat coiling low in my gut as he steps into the bath, naked and owning the space between us.
Every time I think I’ve grown used to him, he proves me wrong.
Some part of me still can’t believe he’s mine.
His gaze drifts over me where I sit submerged in the water, lingering long enough to make my pulse stumble.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, his tone turning serious.
My throat tightens. “Ciaran—”
“You have no idea what you look like when you look at me like that.” He settles in behind me and pulls me back against his chest. Water sloshes over the copper brim, splashing onto the stone floor.
I gasp as his cock presses against my lower back, hard and warm despite the water. Strong arms wrap around my chest, drawing me back against his heartbeat until I am surrounded by heat.
He leans over my shoulder and kisses one nipple, licking it before catching it lightly between his teeth. Desire sparks through me. My fingers tangle in his hair as he repeats the attention on the other side, his mouth tracing a path down my skin.
I can’t just sit there and take it. I shift in the narrow tub, turn toward him, and lift a hand to his jaw, my palm settling against the rough scrape of stubble. He leans into my touch, and something deep inside me softens.
Ciaran’s hand curls around my wrist. “Fuck, mouse,” he mutters, guiding my hand down until my fingertips settle over the wildcat stretched across his chest. I trace the ink without thinking, following the curve of its shoulder.
“I like touching you.”
“I can see that. Do you have any idea what that fucking does to me?” He turns his head just enough to press a kiss into my palm. A rough laugh escapes him when I don’t answer, and he clicks his tongue. “Of course you don’t.”
I slip my arm around his shoulders, keeping him close as he turns his head and presses another kiss into my palm.
His mouth lingers there before drifting higher, soft lips tracing the inside of my wrist, my forearm, my shoulder.
I tilt my head without thinking, giving him the space he silently asks for.
His lips find my throat next, then the corner of my jaw before finally claiming my mouth.
He kisses me slowly, nipping at my lower lip before coaxing me open. His tongue strokes lazily against mine until I shiver against him, breathing him in as though he might disappear if I stop.
When he finally pulls back, something in his expression catches me off guard. Devotion, raw and unguarded. It shines through the possessiveness until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Catching my chin between his fingers, he angles me exactly where he wants it before his forehead brushes mine. “I’ll be your villain, baby.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs.
Then I’m not the victim in this story.
You’re my villain. That means I chose you.
“And you’ll be my melody. Sweet...” He reaches out of the tub, grabs a bottle of oil, and pours some into his palm before working it across my shoulder blades while I let him guide me forward, my eyes drifting to the golden tiles. “Like a flower. Do you have nightbells on Düren?”
“Hmm, I don’t think so.”
Warm oil glides across my shoulders as Ciaran works his thumbs into a knot beside my spine. A groan escapes me, my shoulders beginning to relax beneath his hands.
“It’s a rare flower on Sero, because it only blooms after sunset,” he murmurs. “It has silver petals.”
“They sound pretty.”
“They are. Just like you.” His hands slide higher along my neck, working away the last stubborn knots before settling at the base of my skull. Another moan escapes me as my head tips back against his shoulder.
“Feeling better?” He chuckles, and his fingers trace a slow path along my jaw, careful to avoid my bruises, before he brushes a kiss near my ear. “I think it’s time to get you out of this bath, mouse. I can think of a much better use for this.”
After one final peck, he lifts himself out of the bath, sending me a wolfish grin when he tracks my gaze on his body as he reaches for a towel, moving with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he looks like. The bastard is insufferable.