Even if it’s a little cloudy, Rowan is still my smiling sun. And I will be his too.
“It’s almost like I’m still here, right where they all left me, waiting for something,” he croaks. “I just don’t know, Natalia. I don’t know…”
“That’s okay,” I cry quietly. “It’s okay, come here.”
I pull him to me and roll so his head is on my chest and my hands cradle the back of his beautiful, blond head. I soothe him, letting him take his time to settle into himself and let himselffeel.
We rest for quiet minutes. Rowan lets himself cry in whispers, and tears drip on my skin. He sniffs and holds me tighter, arms squeezing my ribs into my organs—the pain so wonderful.
Rowan sniffs a bit louder again. “How is therapy?”
I rake my fingers through the thick, golden strands and scratch gently. “I’ve been going twice a week,” I say. “It’s…good. I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to think of me differently.”
He lifts his head and gives me a look. “Natalia?—”
“I know, I know. You won’t.” I sigh. “The therapy has been intense. Sometimes very triggering, but in a good way, if that makes any sense. But we’ve been talking about the possibility of antidepressants.”
“There isn’t anything wrong with that,” he assures me. “Help is help. If it’s what you think you need then…You know yourself.”
“How are you like this?” I ask. “You never judge anyone for anything.”
“I have no business judging anyone—I’ve done things too. I’ve been mean to people who were only trying to help me. I’ve made horrible mistakes. I’ve wanted to die. I’ve taken medication. I can’t ever judge,” Rowan says and kisses me once, softly. “Is it what you want?”
I shrug lazily. “They’ve helped before. I just don’t—I don’t know. I don’t want to be on them my whole life, but if it’s the only way to keep me alive, then so be it. I’d rather be alive with you.”
He smiles. “I love you.”
“Rowan…”
He wants everything from me, and he wants nothing fromme. He only wants this silly little blood pumping organ inside my chest that he makes race and relax.
“I know, sweetheart,” he says. So patient, so sweet, so him. So mine. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
My hand curls around his nape and I pull him to me as I move closer. Our mouths don’t crash against each other the way they used to. I think maybe, after so much time, so much of falling in love with him, and realizing how perfect we fit, our lips simply mold together by memory.
His lips do this, my lips do that, and they fit.
I throw my leg around his waist and push against his chest so I’m straddling his large, warm, muscled body. Christ, he’s so hot.
Rowan’s hands roam and feel and remind me of what it means to feel special. He reminds me of what it means to own my skin, to wear it, to love it. He reminds me of who I am, of all the dreams I had as a little girl. He’s my prince and I’m princess. A solider and a warrior, slaying demons together.
He doesn’t try to rescue me, he helps me rescue myself. He hands me the weapons and the swords, and says, “Here you go. If you go for the neck or the abdomen, they’ll fall.”
I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Rowan Asher.
I roll my hips over him, feeling him hard between my legs as his tongue grazes mine and my teeth nip at his lip. My fingertips brush along the side of his head before digging into the hair behind his ear. Sometimes I can’t tell which I like more—Rowan after a fresh hair cut, or Rowan when it’s a tiny bit grown out on the sides.
I pull back so my forehead is pressed to his, our breaths mingling, and settle my hands over his heart.
“I want to make you love me forever,” I say softly against his lips.
“You don’t have tomake medo anything,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you for years, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” I nudge his lips with my own, grazing skin on skin, and kiss his bottom lip—lingering there. “Okay.”
As our lips finally touch and press together, a deep grumbling sound comes from Rowan’s stomach. His cheeks go pink and I chuckle. “Hungry?”
“A bit.” He laughs.
