Rowan’s hands slide beneath my shirt, pushing the fabric up to uncover my stomach. “We don’t have to rush.”
His palm flattens over my ribs, his fingers spanning wide enough to cover an alarming amount of real estate on my torso.
“I’m not noisy, anyway,” I tell him.
I’ve spent years conditioning myself to silence, biting pillows and knuckles during hurried encounters in apartments with too-thin walls. The idea of letting go now is more intimate than the act itself.
Rowan’s huff of disbelief warms my skin. “Let’s test your conviction.”
He strips my shirt off in one fluid motion, tossing it aside before returning to cover my body with his. The contrast between his clothed chest and my bare skin adds friction as he rocks his hips forward, his still-hard cock grinding through layers of fabric against my own stiffening length.
My teeth sink into my lower lip to trap the moan threatening to escape. Rowan notices, because of course he does, and his mouth captures mine in a kiss deep enough to steal my breath. His tongue sweeps inside, tasting of the whiskey he drank after dinner, and I forget to resist as I clutch at his shoulders.
“Arms up,” he commands when he breaks the kiss, his voice dropping into that Alpha register that bypasses my brain and speaks directly to my body.
I obey without thinking, lifting my arms above my head. Rowan catches my wrists in one large hand, pinning them to the mattress with enough force to make clear his intention but not enough to hurt. The position stretches my body beneath him, taking away my control of this encounter, and panic flutters in my chest.
“You’re going to let go for me,” he says, his free hand working my sweatpants down my hips.
The cool air hits my skin, my dick springing free to lie hot and heavy on my stomach. Rowan shifts to kick off his jeans and boxers, maintaining his grip on my wrists the entire time. When he settles back between my legs, the hot, silken skin of his cock slides alongside mine, drawing a hiss through my clenched teeth.
His hand releases my wrists only long enough to strip off his shirt, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
This is the first time I’ve seen him naked, without the cramped shadows of the car or the rushed urgency of not getting caught. Rowan isn’t just strong, he’s carved, every line of muscle defined by years of work and discipline rather than vanity. Ink wraps his arms and shoulders in dark patterns that demand a longer look at the breadth of his chest and down the hard ridges of muscle that flex as he moves.
Without clothes, he appears bigger, more dangerous, more real, like the final layer of distance between us has been stripped away.
Rowan notices my appreciation, and a slow, knowing curve lifts the corner of his mouth. Heat flashes through his eyes, darkening as if my attention feeds the hunger inside him.
Without breaking eye contact, he recaptures mywrists above my head with one hand, anchoring me in place. The other hand drifts lower, fingers trailing along the inside of my thigh with deliberate slowness.
My breath stutters as he clocks every reaction I fail to hide, his touch unhurried, possessive without cruelty, savoring the moment as much as he’s taking control of it.
“Spread wider for me,” he instructs, pressing my thigh outward.
The position leaves my entrance visible to his gaze, and heat floods my cheeks as his fingers circle the tight ring of muscle, teasing out my slick without breaching.
“Rowan,” I choke out, his name a plea for what, I’m not sure.
“Patience, precious.” His finger pushes inside, the intrusion both familiar and shocking after days without this. “We have all night.”
My back arches off the bed as he adds a second finger, stretching me open. The burn fades into a building pleasure as he curls his digits, finding the spot inside me that sends sparks shooting up my spine, and a rush of slick pours out of me.
A moan builds in my throat, and I swallow it down, determined to maintain some semblance of control.
Rowan’s fingers withdraw, only to be replaced by the blunt head of his cock. He positions himself at my entrance, the pressure insistent but not yet breaching. His hold on my wrists tightens, and his mouth hovers above mine, close enough for our breaths to mingle.
“Remember, these walls are soundproof,” he reminds me and pushes forward in one slow, inexorable thrust.
The stretch and burn steal my breath as my body struggles to accommodate his size, my rim stretched taut around his girth. A deep ache radiates from my core, sweet agony making my thighs tremble around his hips. Even with preparation, the fullness borders on an exquisite edge between pleasure and pain where my nerves sing and my vision blurs.
This is usually when I’d push through the discomfort to chase the pleasure, always aware of the ticking clock. But Rowan stops once he sheaths his cock inside me, forcing me to live in this moment.
My inner muscles clench and flutter around the intrusion, gripping him in pulses I couldn’t control if I tried. Rowan’s cock throbs inside me, a living heat that brands me from within. His forehead rests on mine, our sweat mingling, his breath coming in ragged pants across my lips as he watches me struggleto take all of him, waiting with predatory patience for my surrender.
“Breathe, Ash,” he murmurs, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.
I take a shaky inhale, oxygen flooding my veins with liquid fire as my body yields to his invasion, relaxing around him. The maddening pressure on my prostate sends lightning streaking up my spine, drawing a whimper I can’t suppress.
