“You were exhausted.” His tongue skims over his bottom lip. “Would you rather I had woken you up by crawling into your bed?”
Water continues to run in the bathroom, the pipes knocking in the walls. I have maybe ten more minutes before Lena finishes.
“I’m fine. Lena’s fine. We don’t need your help or your concern.” I tilt the knife for emphasis, letting light glint off the blade. “So you need to leave. Now.”
“And if I don’t?”
“This isn’t a negotiation.” My fingers tighten around the handle. “You’re not welcome here.”
Rowan studies me for a long moment. “You don’t mean that.”
“I don’t care what you think I mean.” The tip of the knife trembles. “Leave, and don’t come back.”
Rowan steps forward, closing the distance between us until the knife point indents his shirt, but he doesn’t flinch.
His eyes hold mine, the challenge burning in them sending heat cascading through my body despite my anger. One slight movement, one twitch of my hand, and the blade would pierce his skin.
“Go ahead,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath washing over my cheek. “If you’re going to threaten me, follow through.”
My fingers tighten on the handle, knuckles bleaching white. I could do it. I’ve already killed. But the trembling blade betrays the war between my brain and my body.
With a curse, I spin away, flinging the knife into the sink where it clatters loud enough to make me wince, and I freeze, listening for any sign Lena heard, but the shower keeps running, covering the sound of our confrontation.
“Next time you draw a knife on me,” Rowan says in an Alpha rumble that vibrates through my bones, “you better plan to use it.”
Before I can respond, he seizes the back of my neck, fingers digging into my hairline as he yanks me forward. His mouth crashes onto mine, teeth catching my bottom lip in a bite that borders on painful.
The contact short-circuits my brain, anger colliding with desire in an explosion that wipes out reason. I should push him away. I should grab the knife again. I should do anything except open my mouth to him, a desperate sound scraping my throat raw.
His tongue invades, claiming territory, carrying traces of coffee and mint and male heat that flood my senses. His hand slides from my neck to my bare back, palm flat between my shoulder blades as he pulls me flush against his body.
“I hate you,” I breathe into his mouth as I fist his shirt, dragging him closer.
Rowan laughs, the sound dark with the same desire that fills me. “No, you don’t. You hate how much you want me.”
His grip on my hips tightens, lifting me off my feet in one powerful motion. My back hits the counter, and he slots his hips between my legs as if he’s made to be there.
We don’t make it to a bedroom. We don’t even make it out of the kitchen.
His hands yank free the drawstring of my sweatpants while I tear at his belt, our mouths never separating as we fight for access to each other’s bodies. My hips buck upward when hisfingers find me already hard, already leaking for him.
“Fuck,” he hisses when he discovers I’m not wearing underwear. “Were you planning this?”
“Shut up,” I command, yanking his jeans open with enough force to send the button flying across the kitchen, pinging off the refrigerator. “Just shut up.”
I grip his shoulders, nails digging in through his shirt as he yanks my sweatpants down.
When he wraps those thick fingers around my dick, I slap my own palm over my mouth, catching my moan before it escapes. The cold kitchen air pebbles my exposed skin while heat blazes everywhere he touches.
“Fuck, precious, one of these days, you’ll let me hear those sweet moans,” he breathes into my ear, teeth grazing the shell with deliberate slowness. “I’ll let you muffle them this time, though. Don’t want your sister to wonder what we’re doing out here.”
The mention of Lena should douse my desire like ice water. Instead, it sends a fresh pulse of heat through my veins, the forbidden nature of what we’re doing adding a dangerous edge that heightens every sensation.
Rowan lifts me higher onto the counter as he fits his big body between my legs. My sweatpants hangfrom one ankle, the fabric bunched and twisted, my dick pinned between our heated bodies.
His hands slide beneath my thighs, fingers digging into muscle with bruising force as he positions me. The grip spreads me wider, leaves marks I’ll feel for days, reminders I’ll trace when I’m alone.
The sound of the shower continues in the background, water pipes creaking in the walls. We have minutes, maybe less, before Lena finishes.
