“Definitely not here.”
We’ve both been moving towards the wall, and now Rowan leans back with her hands pressed against it, as if she is trying to force herself not to touch me. I know the feeling well.
“What would you do? If you could?”
I groan. “London.”
“What? It’s just a question.”
But it isn’t, judging by her stiff nipples, the rise and fall of her chest, her flushed cheeks. I want to devour her.
“First, I’d find out how high this slit goes.” I let my fingers trail up the hint of exposed thigh, dancing over her sensitive skin.
This is a bad idea.
“And then?”
“Then I’d see if my suspicions are right, and I’m not the only one missing their underwear.”
“You’re not.”
“Fuck.” I’m breathing heavily already, and I’ve barely touched her. Won’t touch her. Not here. Not now. This is nothing more than words. “I’d trace the line of your hips, and dip my finger into your pussy to find out how wet you are.”
Rowan moans. “Dripping. I’m dripping for you, Angus.”
“Then I’d worship you the way I really want to. On my knees. Your legs spread. Tasting every part of you, until you come undone on my tongue.”
“Please.”
“London…”
“Please. I need you to touch me. Angus, please.”
I draw in a breath, my willpower at an all-time low. There’s no one around, after all. How bad can it be?
Then the door to the barn swings open, and a newly familiar head of sleek blonde hair appears.
“Seriously, Rowan? Oh, come on!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rowan
“Sophie! Sophie, wait up! I’m sorry!”
I chase my sister through the grounds of the farm. Both of us are wearing heels, so the chase is comparatively tame, but to give her credit, Sophie can really hoof it in a pair of four-inch stilettos.
“Where are you even going?” I call. As far as I can see there is nothing this way but another field, which descends rapidly into forest. It certainly isn’t good terrain for formal clothing.
“I don’t know, Rowan,” she calls back. “Away fromyou!”
“It’s muddy! You’ll ruin your dress.”
That gets her attention. She stops, bracing her hands on her hips.
“What iswrongwith you?” Sophie spins to face me. Her eyes, blue as mine, are alight with anger and her usually cool complexion is flushed, blotchy red patches extending beneath her make up and down her neck and chest.
The last time I was saw her this red, Tommy Evans stole her barbie doll and cut off all its hair.
