39. Behave Yerself
Behave Yerself
Milo
Rowan’s short beard is still wet from our shower.
It dampens his T-shirt he insisted I wear when he sucks another bruising kiss onto my neck.
I managed to count seven in the steamed-up bathroom mirror—not including my beautiful silver bite mark—before he scooped me up and carried me off.
This is going to become a thing, I can tell.
Not that I’m mad about it. I secretly enjoy that he likes to be around me so much that he’ll just take me with him somewhere. Like into the kitchen. Because apparently, not even sex so mind-blowing that it makes me pass out is reason enough to forgo making dinner.
I swipe a tuxedo cookie from the countertop as I sway my way into the pantry to stuff my face in secret.
“I saw that, Pup.”
“Shore wot?” I mumble, unconvincingly, around the crunchy mouthful.
“What indeed. Yer in here so I can keep an eye on ye, but it seems that I need to keep ye occupied as well as supervised. Fetch me four potatoes and those neeps from the basket will ye?”
I slow my chewing while I think. Neeps.
The pantry isn’t that big. It’s also amazingly well organised… and yet. Neeps.
Neeps from the basket. There are some baskets on the floor, more still in the cubbies that form the lowest tier of shelves, and smaller baskets that contain herbs and things set at counter height. Potatoes are easy, they’re right there by my foot. But neeps…?
Swallowing my cookie, I hinge at the waist and bend to collect four of the bigger looking potatoes from the giant basket of them. Rowan’s hands slide under the hem of my T-shirt to take a firm grip of my hips, and his wolf rumbles a desirous purr.
I let out an ungainly squeak, followed rapidly by, “I can’t find the neeps.”
He presses himself closer, until his half-hard length slots between my butt cheeks, then grinds his pelvis against mine. “They’re right there. Two should do it, don’t ye think?”
“Ungh… Yeah.” I widen my feet and push back a little. “Two should be fine.”
“Take them, then.” He folds himself along my back, and his hot breath fans over my new mating mark.
“Taking them, then.” I blink to refocus. Wait. What?
Growling at the ease with which this horndog can turn my brain—and my libido—to mush, I straighten. “What’s a neep?”
Rowan moves with me but keeps his hands on my hips. Then he helpfully supplies, “Those are neeps.”
“You’re not bamboozling me with that mighty fine weapon of yours, sir. Not until you give clear and precise instructions.” I juggle the potatoes into a one-armed hold, then use my other to indicate the eleventy billion food items set out before me. “Which ones are the neeps?”
“First, we’re going to circle back to ye calling me ‘sir.’ Second, how do ye not know what a neep is?” He points at a basket of rutabaga with one hand, and the other settles into place right on my ass.
“Those are… neeps?”
“Aye. What did ye think I meant?”
“I don’t know. Not rutabaga, that’s for sure.”
“Ruta— what? Milo, I’m making us neeps and tatties.” Finally relinquishing his hold, he impatiently selects a couple of neeps and backs out of the pantry.
Following, I dump my potatoes on the counter next to him. “All this time…” I muse out loud. “Wait, so, that day when I showed up here, the password to the Nest was root vegetables?”
He smirks at me, indulgently kisses the top of my head, then hands me a neep and a peeler. “Aye, and I’ll bet yer next question is why?”
Nodding, I mimic his hold and technique as I peel my first ever neep. It’s deceptively difficult, and takes quite a bit of hand strength. I watch closely as Rowan uses his thumb to control the rotation of the neep for the peeler, determined to be helpful.
Unfortunately, those tendons in his forearm are distracting.
As is the width of his wrist. As is his superb manual dexterity when he rolls his thumb joint just so…
Is that how he worked me open earlier? I know for sure he got three fingers inside me because I felt that delicious burn, but did he tuck his thumb like that?
Did I take more than three? He did say something about his fist at one point, but surely I didn’t… ?
Could I? I suck my lip between my bottom teeth and worry it.
That had been the motion Tuesday had used—his fist proudly in the air.
And when Rowan pinned me in place like he did, when he fucked my brains out…
I’ve never felt so floaty like that before.
Is that what happened then? When his knot… Did it get that big?
Will I feel floaty every time?
Will he knot me every time?
If he doesn’t, would he use his fist?
Rowan takes the unpeeled neep and the peeler from me. “Go open the window, Pup.”
His voice is strained, and I stare at him for a moment as I struggle to switch tasks from peeling vegetables to thinking about… that, to opening a window. Nodding, I step away to do as instructed.
“I’m going to answer yer questions in turn, because a lot happened in a short space just then. ‘Neeps and tatties’ is the safe word we use because it’s what I always cook for my unit after a successful mission. I like to think it brings us luck to use it that way.”
He adds the now peeled rutabaga to the other and selects a potato to work on.
“But to answer yer other questions, no, Milo. Prepping ye is nothing like peeling a neep, although I do both with love.”
Stretched over the countertop to open the window, I pause. I didn’t say all that out loud? I know I didn’t. So then… how? A blush floods my cheeks and I pretend to fumble the handle just to keep facing the yard.
“When ye marked me with yer magic, it seems yer spell cast was spot on. And really, that’s on me for underestimating ye, because I should know better than that.
But it’s only right that ye know it means we share a bond now that runs between us like a road.
So when ye have a strong thought, emotion, or… wish, I’ll know about it.”
Pushing the window wide open, I inhale the cool evening air. “So… when I was thinking about… you knew?”
The distinctive chock-schlop sound of cutting vegetables is the only sound until he says, “Aye. Yer mind is an interesting place, Pup, I’ll give ye that. Because I don’t know if I’ll look at a neep the same way again after this.”
Welp. But also… new fun fact unlocked.
Sinking back onto the flats of my feet, I stare hard at the grass and visualise Rowan stepping up behind me like he did in the pantry.
He lifts up the hem of my large T-shirt, strokes his fingertips up my spine until he reaches that spot between my shoulder blades, where he splays his hand wide and pushes me down flat onto the counter.
I imagine him kicking my feet apart, like he nudged my knees open in bed, his other hand trailing up my leg from the backs of my knee, and then he—
“Ow! Fuck! Goddamnit, Milo.”
I whirl on my heels to find him sucking his thumb into his mouth, and blazing golden eyes pinning me exactly in place.
Oh, oooh. This is going to be so much fun. A creeping smile blooms along my lips.
“Get over here.” He almost growls the command.
Slowly, teasingly, I saunter with my most sexy walk, then bat my lashes at him.
“In the bottom drawer under the stove, ye’ll find the pans. I need two filled with water, each one big enough to boil the neeps and tatties. I’d do it, but…”
My jaw drops open. Did he just…?
“Aye, Pup. I did. And after I’ve fed ye, we’re going back to bed so I can show ye what that little game looks like when yer alpha plays.”
I swallow. Then nod. My alpha. I like that. My smile grows wider and Rowan huffs a laugh.
“Set up the pots while I see to this. And behave yerself,” he warns, landing a stinging slap to my backside when I turn.
Pouting, yet still smiling—but making sure he knows I’m pouting—I retrieve the pans, fill them with water, and set them to boil on the stove.
Checking first the countertop where I remember seeing Rowan use it last, I look for the salt shaker, but only the black pepper is there.
I check the other side of the stove, but it’s not there either.
“I’m in charge of the salt in this relationship,” Rowan’s Scottish brogue declares. “Unless we need to kill a man by pouring it all over the floor so he slips and cracks his head open like an egg, in which case, it’s all yers.”
He twists a sprinkling into each pot while I decide if I’m offended or not, then he sets it down and picks me up instead.
“Hey!” I protest, but soon stop when he seats me on the countertop and steps between my legs. Okay, you may continue.
Still, I fold my arms across my chest and feign indignance.
“Ye,” he says quietly, then leans closer and brackets me between his arms. “Are…” He comes so close that the tip of his nose almost touches mine. “Absolutely…” He rolls his forehead until his lips are against my ear. “Fuckin’ perfect.”
He places a tender kiss right over my mating bite mark, and my whole body shivers.
Rowan’s dark chuckle makes my toes curl, and I uncross my arms to loop them casually around the back of his neck. Totally cool. Unbothered. Not at all covered in goosebumps.
He keeps his open mouth against that spot on my neck, and suddenly my core body temperature rises so fast I get fever-dizzy. Woah, what is…?
The angry and loud vibrations from an incoming call douse the flames of whatever Rowan just started, and he pulls off my neck with a parting kiss. “Sorry, Pup. We’ll finish this later.”
Fishing the phone from his pants pocket, his brow lowers and a frown creases his forehead. Ah, there’s my grumpy Lieutenant Colonel. Releasing one hand, I stroke the pad of my thumb up the bridge of his nose and smooth out the deep furrows.
He sighs and accepts the call. “Admiral Guerrieri.”
I retract my hand, but Rowan captures it and rubs over my knuckles while the Admiral talks to him.
“Affirmative. As of approximately zero one hundred this morning, Operation Magpie was successfully completed.”