24. Erik #3
I catch her wrist gently and move her hand away before this ends in a manner I'll regret.
Rowan gives me a look that borders on triumphant while I settle between her thighs and guide my cock to her entrance.
I push inside her slowly, watching her face while she takes me inch by inch.
Her lips part when I'm halfway in, and her legs wrap around my waist as I press deeper until I'm fully seated inside her.
I hold still for several seconds because everything about this moment is different from every time before.
There is no argument pushing us here, no threat behind the door, and no anger to use as cover.
Rowan is warm and wet around my cock, and she moves beneath me first, rolling her hips in a slow circle that sends heat through my entire body.
I follow her rhythm. Long, unhurried strokes that let me feel every inch of her each time I pull back and push forward again. She meets me on every thrust, lifting her hips to take me at the angle she wants while her fingers dig into my back.
Nothing about this resembles the first time.
There's no fury to burn through and no challenge to win.
Rowan touches me because she wants to, and I know the difference now.
When she wants more, she pulls me closer.
When I change the angle so that the base of my cock drags against her clit on each stroke, the response comes before she can disguise it.
I do it again.
Rowan grips my shoulders and gives me an accusing look. "You're smug."
"Yes."
"I hate that." She shifts beneath me to meet the next thrust, and her pussy clenches around me hard enough that my composure slips.
"No, you don't."
Her laugh breaks into a moan, and she pulls me down for another kiss. I reach between us and stroke her clit with my thumb while I keep the same deep rhythm. She gasps against my mouth, and her legs tighten around me.
I slow when her body begins to tense beneath me, keeping her close to the edge instead of letting her cross it.
Rowan opens her eyes. "Don't you dare."
"You were insulting me." I smile when she glares at me.
"I'll apologize."
"That would be unprecedented."
She digs her fingers into my shoulder. "Erik."
I give her what she wants. I increase the pressure on her clit and thrust deeper, and Rowan comes with her face against my neck, saying my name while her pussy pulses around my cock in long, rhythmic contractions that drag me toward the edge with her.
I keep moving through it, each stroke drawing another aftershock from her body until I bury myself deep and follow her.
The orgasm hits hard enough that I groan against her hair and hold her against me while my body empties inside her.
I stay over her until my arms begin to complain.
I shift beside her without leaving the bed. Rowan pulls the comforter over us, then settles against my shoulder while the house creaks around us in the wind. For several minutes, neither of us speaks.
When the storm moves farther down the shoreline, Rowan traces the edge of the scar on my shoulder. "You'd really want three?"
I turn my head toward her. "Children?"
"Yes."
"I said maybe."
She smiles against my skin. "Coward."
"I'd want however many we decided on."
Her fingers stop against my shoulder.
The question she hasn't answered downstairs returns. Whatever Rowan is keeping from me, children are connected to it somehow. Maybe not directly. Maybe she has made some decision about us that she isn't ready to explain.
I'm not going to drag it out of her.
The ring is in the penthouse safe because bringing it here while Orell's people track university vehicles would've been idiotic. I could still ask without it. After tonight, the ring suddenly seems less important than the answer I want from her.
Rowan lifts her head and studies me. "What?"
I touch her cheek. "When this is over, I want?—"
My phone rings on the nightstand. It's Makari at one-fifteen in the morning. I sit up and answer immediately. "What happened?"
"Peter's gone." Makari's voice has none of the irritation he usually reserves for late calls.
Rowan pushes herself upright beside me while I swing my legs off the bed.
Makari continues before I can ask. "His phone is at his house. His car is there. The complete shipping audit is missing from the secure office."
I get out of bed and reach for my trousers. "When did anyone last see him?"
"Just after eleven." Paper moves on Makari's end of the call. "He left one cargo message in the outgoing queue."
Rowan is already reaching for her clothes when I pull on my trousers. "What does it say?"
Makari reads the routine routing language first. Port, container group, transfer window, and a phrase I've heard Peter use for ordinary cargo all my life.
Then he reads the final line again.
I stop dressing. "That isn't routine."
"I know." Makari pauses before continuing. "It took me three reads to understand why."
Rowan gets her shirt over her head and comes around the bed while I listen to the message again.
Peter didn't leave a shipping message.
He left us a warning.