Rowan lips remain focused, never once missing an inch of skin. He’s always been thorough with his praise and adoration. He’s thorough with his love and his lips and his hands, holding me in a way that can only be translated to those three words that make my heart call out to him.
“Rowan,” I gasp, my hips bucking.
Rowan’s hands wrap tightly around my hips, his thumb pressing into my hipbones as he holds me down. His lips presses just below my belly button. “I’m here.”
My fingers delve into his hair, one of their favorite places to be, as he kisses down, down, down…
His hands on my ass lift my hips, tilting me the way he needs me before his mouth meets my slick, sensitive flesh. With every stroke of his tongue and thrust of his fingers, my hips buck, grinding against his face.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls against my clit. “Ride my face.”
The mixture of his tongue, words, and fingers pushes me over the edge and I come, frantic and wild. I’m still trembling when he settles between my legs, his fingers still circling my clit, and I think I still might be coming.
“Rowan?” I breathe.
He removes his hand and the head of his cock presses against me. He brushes his lips over my forehead and then I feel him where I want him and wait, expecting it to be how itusually is—all at once and quick and hard. His first thrust is anything but.
It’s patient and calm and slow. It’s as though he is scared he may never feel me again but he is so, so wrong.
“We don’t have sex like this,” I pant, my fingers twisting in and tugging at his hair.
I want to keep having sex like this.
Rowan presses deeper and whispers, “How do we have sex then?”
“We fuck,” I gasp when he thrusts slowly—hard.
“Well, I don’t feel like fucking you tonight.”
“Then what are we doing?”
“I’m making love to you, sweetheart,” Rowan moans in my ear and my nails burrow into his back, potentially breaking through skin, marking him. “Is that okay with you?”
He presses in slow, hard, and deep.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Rowan makes love to me and I reciprocate everything he gives me. It’s a quiet confession of the words I can’t find—words I wouldn’t know how to say to his face. Words I might not say out loud just yet.
“Natalia,” Rowan breathes against my neck and picks up his head.
“Rowan?”
He presses his forehead to mine. Our fingers link together and he presses our hands into the mattress on either side of my head. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yes. Yes, you feel…” I arch, my eyes rolling back with a particular movement of his hips that presses down against my clit with each rock of his hips. “So good.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rowan hisses, his hips slowing. “Shit, Natalia.”
“What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head and kisses the corner of my mouth. “Nothing. It’s perfect.”
He pulls out to the tip, and pushes back inside me in a slow stroke that makes my eyes roll, my lungs tighten, and my head presses back into the mattress.
“Say it again,” I manage.
“Nat,” he groans, his forearms bracketing me in and holding him steady as he peers down at me. A hand comes over my head, his palm touching the crown of my head in a way that makes my heart sore with emotion. “I love you.”
