I shove the heel of my hand over my aching dick. “Rowan, please.”
He pushes off from the doorway, stalking forward with predatory intent.
“You’re beautiful like this.” He unbuttons his shirt with deliberate slowness, revealing tanned skin and hard muscle. “All needy and wet for me.”
As the shirt joins the tie on the floor, my mouth waters at the sight of his chest, broad and tattooed with a story I’m still learning. His abs flex as he breathes, the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his belt, drawing my focus downward.
His hands move to his belt, fingers working the buckle, before the leather slides through the loops with a slithering sound that sends a pulse of heat straight to my groin. My thighs fall open wider in mindless invitation.
“Look at you.” He drops the belt, the metal buckle hitting the carpet with a soft thunk. “Spreading your legs for me. You want it bad, don’t you?”
I nod, beyond words now. My body burns from the inside out, skin too tight to contain the fire raging beneath. Every nerve ending screams for his touch, his cock, his teeth in my neck.
Rowan kicks off his shoes, his stare never leaving mine. His hands work the button of his slacks, lowering the zipper with excruciating slowness.
“You left the bedroom door open.” He steps out of his pants, standing before me in black boxer briefs, which do nothing to hide his massive erection. “What if someone had walked in and heard your whines? Scented your pheromones?”
The thought should horrify me, but in my Heat-drunk state, it brings on more slick. A whimper escapes me, high and needy.
“Does that idea turn you on?” Rowan hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, pulling themdown inch by torturous inch. “Someone hearing how desperate you are for my cock? How wet you get for me?”
His cock springs free, thick and heavy, the head already leaking. My mouth waters, tongue darting out to wet my lips.
“Please,” I manage.
Rowan climbs onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress. His hands find the button of my jeans, popping it open with a flick of his thumb. The zipper parts under his fingers, and he tugs the denim down my hips.
“Fuck,” he breathes, nostrils flaring again. “You’re soaked through.”
My underwear clings to my skin, transparent with slick, and when Rowan peels them off, the fabric makes an obscene wet sound as it pulls away from my body. Cool air hits my heated skin, drawing a gasp from my lips.
His fingers trace the inside of my thigh. “So wet for me, precious. Your body knows who it belongs to.”
I whine, hips lifting in a silent plea. His hand drifts higher, fingertips brushing over my entrance but not pushing inside. The tease sends a shudder through me.
“Tell me what you want.” He brings his slick-coated fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a groan that vibrates through my bones. “Say it.”
“Fuck me,” I pant, words slurring together. “Please, Alpha.”
The title slips out unbidden, and Rowan’s pupils blow wider. His hand moves to my throat, fingers tracing the edge of the nape guard protecting the spot where his bonding bite would go.
“What about this?” His thumb slides beneath the leather to rub bare skin. “Do you want to keep it on? Or do you want my teeth here instead?”
The question penetrates the haze of my Heat, triggering a spike of clarity that’s almost painful. The thought of Rowan’s claim, permanent and irrevocable, sends conflicting waves of want and terror through me.
I paw at the guard, fingers clumsy and uncoordinated. A sound of frustration tears from my lips as I fail to release the clasp.
“Shh.” Rowan catches my hands, bringing them to his lips. “We don’t have to decide now.”
“I want—” My voice breaks, uncertainty warring with instinct. “I want you to, but I can’t?—”
“I know, precious.” He kisses my palm. “Not like this. Not when you can’t think straight.”
Relief and disappointment war within me before the Heat surges again, washing away the brief moment of lucidity and dragging me back under. My body arches, seeking his, desperate for the relief only he can provide.
“Turn over for me.” Rowan’s command cuts through the fog. “Hands and knees.”
I comply, muscles trembling as I position myself. Rowan grips my hips, his thumbs finding the dimples at the base of my spine.
