Then he takes me home.
CHAPTER 25
Natalia
It happens the way it usually does, but slower. More calculated and thoughtful. More loving…
He kisses me softly, slowly. With nudges and gentle nips, his tongue grazes mine before they dance and tangle. It’s a dance we’ve mastered, a song we know every word to. I know every line of his body—every curve and dip and ridge. Every inch of him is engraved in my memory for however long this life will last me. And if I can’t ever have him—if the universe won’t let me—the permanent memory will haunt me.
Rowan’s arms lift and hold me together the way they always do when I’m one gust of wind from falling apart. But, somehow, he is the gust of wind that comes during the pinkest sunset to chill your cheeks and remind you that you’re alive.
He tears me open, rips me apart, shreds me to dust, but only so I can be set free.
I wonder if I make him feel that way. I wish I could.
Do I?
As if he’s answering the question, he groans into my mouthand presses me into the wall after closing the door with his foot. He presses himself into me like the final piece of a puzzle and I think there is something wrong with me because now I might crumble if he ever lets me go.
“Rowan,” I say.
“Natalia,” he breathes against my skin like poems and promises as he brushes his lips down my jaw and neck.
And for my poor heart’s sake, I let Rowan have me anyway he wants tonight as the rain falls around us like an omen. Good or bad? I don’t know. Blessing or a curse? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Either way, my heart beats to the syllables of his name and if I listen close enough it’s singing it too.
Rowan, Rowan, Rowan.
“Rowan,” I moan, his lips still kissing my neck and causing my head to drop back with a thud against the wall.
“Yes. Yes,” he breathes back and takes us into my bedroom. “Fuck, Natalia.”
I whimper at the loss of him pressed so tightly against me that I want to beg him to lie on me tonight. To keep his weight on me so I can sleep soundly and safely. So I can feel loved and cared for by him even in my sleep.
His clothes come off first and fast, thanks to my frantic little nimble fingers and the ache in my core urging me on—leading the way. He’s naked, I’m naked, and his lips chase every inch of my skin but he won’t let me touch any part of his, aside from his sharp jaw and cheekbones.
Rowan touches me—god, does he touch me. His fingertips send electric waves through my veins, zapping me every so often and turning me on beyond anything I thought possible. He touches and touches and touches until it hurts. Untileverythinghurts.
Even when he kisses down my body, tasting every inch before his tongue is between my legs, it isn’t enough. Will it ever be enough? Rowan will always be enough but I’ll never get enough of him.
Who will I be if I can’t touch him? Who will I be if he doesn’t touch me? Will I even exist if his fingers don’t brush mine when we walk or if his lips don’t kiss my temple when he calls me his sweetheart?
I wish I could see myself the way he sees me. I wonder what I would find. Maybe he can pull me out of my body and I can stand beside him while he points out his favorite parts of me—the things he inexplicably loves. He could say,“Here. This is my favorite freckle. Or here, look, you see that color around your irises? You see this curl? This one is my favorite.”
Maybe then I would feel like someone special. Because if there is anyone who can make me feel it, it’s him.
Oh my god.
His tongue sends me into an abyss that is always easy to get lost in if I weren’t tethered to him with strings knotted around each other at both ends. My body writhes and trembles and breaks, and he holds me down—together. All the pieces that shatter off, he picks up and puts back together.
And no matter how many times I beg him toplease,because I need him inside me, but he says no because he wants this, he lovesthis. So I let him continue because I love this too.
Rowan kisses up my body, chasing everything he wants from me with his lips and leaving a path of his devotion with the tip of his tongue across my skin, circling my nipples, before he finds what he’s looking for in my lips.
Refuge—that’s what I find. A place I can be and existeasily. No work required, only breathing and heartbeats that magically come at the same rhythms as his.
His lips fit with mine before he whispers, “How do you want me, sweetheart?”
“Close,” I breathe.
