I sigh, overcome by the pleasure only he brings to me.
He says he loves me again and I turn us over.
Words don’t always have to be said, I think. Words can be expressed in silence and looks and actions. So when I sink down onto him, using my hands on his chest for leverage, I tell him everything.
Every moan, every gasp, every kiss, every touch.
I tell him I had a crush on him when we were fifteen. I tell him blond guys were never really my type but my type was always him. I tell him I’m a mess and he’s perfect but I love that he loves me anyway. And when I lower myself over him, my forearms on either side of his head and his hands gripping my ass to urge on my movements, I tell him I love him the way he loves me, maybe even more—that I think I have for longer than I thought and that I hate that I’m too stupid.
Rowan shifts slightly, sitting up against the pillows and headboard, adjusting our angles enough to feel him deeper so he can capture my nipples in his mouth as he moves me upand down on him. It only takes another minute until everything crashes and burns to ashes, my bones melting and my existence connecting with his.
Rowan comes inside me with deep, breathy moans that I will never get tired of hearing. I feel myself die a little for a moment, only to be brought to life by him when he kisses me—both of us panting and sweaty.
Gently, he rolls me over onto my back and stands. What’s that saying?I hate for you to leave but love to watch you go?Well, that’s how I feel staring at his ass as he walks toward the bathroom for a washcloth.
Never thought I would be jealous of a man’s ass but…
He disappears out of view and my eyes flutter closed for a moment. This is like a dream I don’t want to wake up from. It’s perfect, and if I touch it, even just tap it lightly, it might crumble at my feet.
“Sweetheart,” Rowan whispers, pulling me out of an oncoming slumber. “Open your legs. Let me clean you up, then I’ll let you sleep.”
“Hmm.” I smile, reaching up to kiss his chin. “Thank you.”
My legs fall open. Overstimulated beyond belief, I twitch at the contact, but he’s soft and light, and I love him like this. I loveuslike this.
Quiet and soft and safe.
It’s everything I always thought a home should be.
Rowan kisses the inside of my knee before he closes my legs and sets them down on the mattress, allowing me to sink into the bed while he throws the wash cloth in my hamper.
I shift to make enough space for him, which he claims quickly, pulling me to him. Knees against knees, face to face, with his arm around my waist.
“You have seventeen freckles on your nose and cheeks,” he whispers. “I’ve counted them so many times.”
I giggle quietly. “Why?”
“Because they look like stars.” The tip of his index fingers traces a line down my nose before moving left across my left cheek. Then my right. “Hydra is the constellation with seventeen stars. But yours look like…Pisces.”
“I didn’t know you knew so much about astrology.”
Rowan snorts quietly. “I don’t. I only know those two. And our star signs.”
I smile and tap his nose. “Taurus for you.”
“And Pisces for you,” he says. “Just like the freckles.”
The smile on my face does not fade. “Do you know all of our friends’ signs?”
Rowan smiles too. “Grace is February third, so she’s an Aquarius.”
“The best one.”
“Exactly,” he agrees. “Christian is a Cancer. Lana is a Scorpio. Luca and Isabelle are both September twelfth so?—”
“Virgo.”
“Nico is also a Cancer and Julian is a Sagittarius.”
