I almost leave. I tap the arms of the velvet chairs and look around, the silence between us overbearing. I cross and uncross my legs. I glance back at Dylan and Cheyenne, who are pretending not to watch me, but Cheyenne is clearly cringing and looking out the corner of her eye.I’m not giving up that easy.In the name of a collection of Irish doctor friends,I blurt out, “Just tell me about yourself. What’s your deal?”
He quirks an eyebrow and slams the book shut. “My deal?”
“Yeah. Like…who are you? What are you doing here?”
He smiles, plants his hands on the arms of his chair, and repeats, “Aye, what am I doing here?” and then he pushes himself to a standing position and bows, ever so slightly, before turning to leave.
I let him take a few steps before standing and calling to him, “Why don’t you like me?”
“I don’t know you,” he corrects, surprised. He tucks his book under his arm.
“Would you like to?”
His mouth curves—not a smile, exactly. More like he’s amused at the question. “Are you always this…relentless? And direct?”
“Only when it’s worth it,” I say.
There’s a pause. He readjusts his weight to the other leg and lifts the arm holding the book. “And you’ve decided I’m worth it?”
“I have. I think you’re special. And I have excellent instincts,” I say lightly, lifting my nose into the air.
“Well, let’s see if that’s true, then.” He turns and walks away, and I watch his retreating form before he calls over his shoulder, “Are you coming?”
His cabin is smaller than Sean’s, messier than Declan’s. He closes the door with his foot and leans back against it, watching me like he’s still deciding whether to let me in—figuratively, not literally.
“Last chance toleg it,” he says.
“Last chance to kiss me,” I counter.
That earns me the smallest huff of laughter. “Don’t reckon that’s true.” And then he’s moving—long strides, lean body, hands cupping my jaw like he’s been wanting to since I sat down across from him. The kiss is sharp, urgent, nothing like Declan’s slow build or Sean’s easy warmth. It’s all tension finally snapping, and I melt into it, letting him press me back against the wall.
“Wait,” I say quickly. “What’s your name?”
“Rowan,” he answers, his eyes locking with mine, dark and steady. He drags his fingers up the inside of my thigh, underneath my skirt, slow, deliberate.
“Don’t you want to know mine?” I ask, breath caught in my chest.
When his fingers find the wet spot on my underwear, I gasp, and he smirks faintly, victorious. “Sure,” he says casually. “What’s your name?” He pushes his fingertip into me, pressing the fabric of my underwear inside my wanting pussy. His eyes stare through me, and I feel myself shrinking beneath his gaze.
“Willow,” I whisper hoarsely.
His smirk sharpens, but his voice is steadier than I expect when he murmurs, “I knew you’d be soaked for me already, Willow.” His tone is cutting, but his eyes never leave mine, as if daring me to flinch away.
Heat floods my cheeks, and I whimper, but I don’t look away. My hips arch helplessly toward his hand. He slips his fingers under the fabric, the slide of skin on skin making my whole body jolt. He strokes me between the warm lips of my pussy, watching with a smile as I mewl at each touch.
When he lets his fingertip prod inside me, where I’m slick and hot with lust, my head tips back with a cry, and he looks ruthlessly satisfied, a sparkle in his eyes that borders on cruel as his fingers move deeper into me.
He pulls his fingers out of me with a soft squelching of my juices, leaving me throbbing and empty. I whimper at the loss, but he doesn’t soften. His gaze is dark, sharp, and he licks me off his fingers before he says, “Take these off” and snaps the elastic of my underwear.
My hands fumble, but I push them down, heat flooding my cheeks. He watches like he’s devouring me, and then with an exasperated groan, he pulls them off me himself, throwing them to the ground.
I’m still against the wall, unsure of where to go, unsure of my next move. As if reading my mind, he points to the bed and says, “Lie on your back. But keep your legs open. Let me see that pretty pussy drip.”
I look at him for a moment, my eyes searching his, the heat between my legs urgent, my breath gone, my blood still andelectric. He watches me, not pressuring, just waiting. He tilts his head, the amusement gone from his eyes, and he whispers, “You’re trembling.” He folds himself forward to kiss me once, slow, before nipping my bottom lip. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I breathe. “God, don’t stop.”
That earns me another of those almost-smiles, dangerous and amused. “Careful, Willow. You don’t get to give me orders.” He kisses me once, slow, and nips my bottom lip. Then he kisses me sharper, deeper, and his hand finds a fistful of my hair.
