“I’m protecting what’s mine.” The possessive statement should anger me, but instead, it sends electricity crackling through my system.
“I was never yours to protect.” My voice wavers, undermining my declaration.
Rowan moves into my space, close enough for the heat radiating from his body to invade mine. His breath brushes my cheek as he speaks, low and dangerous.
“Liar.”
The accusation slices through the air between us. His irises shift to molten amber, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of gold remains.
We move at the same time, crashing together. One hand grips my jaw with bruising possession, the other yanking me against the hard plane of his body. His mouth claims mine with punishing force, teeth scraping my bottom lip until the tang of copper joins the kiss. My back slams into the edge of the bar, the wood digging into my spine.
I bite back, refusing to surrender. My nails rake down his shoulders, marking him through expensive fabric while slick trickles down my thighs, my dick straining the front of my jeans.
He growls into my mouth, the sound primal and satisfied, as if my resistance only proves what we both know. I’m fighting myself more than him.
“Fuck,” he groans against my lips. “I’ve missed you, precious.”
My body arches, starved for my Alpha after being without his touch. His palm slides under my shirt, branding my stomach, and my muscles tighten. His fingers spread across my skin, marking me without leaving a single visible bruise.
“Mine,” he growls into my mouth, the word vibrating through my bones. “My Omega.”
I bare my teeth as my body clenches in response. I want to deny him, to maintain the line I drew when I walked away. But my treacherous hands fist in his hair, yanking him closer, surrendering to the brutal kiss while some last defiant spark in me refuses to submit.
Rowan lifts me onto the bar, his strength effortless, my weight nothing to him. Glasses scatter, napkins fluttering to the floor. His hips thrust between my thighs, the hard length of his cock grinding into me through our clothes, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body.
My head falls back, exposing my throat to his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin where mypulse hammers wildly, then catch on the cheap nape guard I replaced his with, and a frustrated growl tears from him as he bites down on it with a promise of the claiming Mark my treacherous body craves.
His fingers hook at my belt buckle with possessive certainty, tugging roughly, and the metal clinks as it loosens, the sound slicing through the fog of desire clouding my mind, a warning bell I can’t ignore.
This is how it always goes between us, fire and need and the surrender of thought to sensation. Sex as communication, as apology, as a reset button. The path of least resistance.
His teeth find my collarbone, biting down hard enough to mark, reclaiming territory that belongs to him. The pain blends with pleasure, pulling a sound from my throat that’s half protest, half surrender. My body trembles beneath his hands from the effort it takes not to give in to this gravitational desire.
It would be so easy to let his hands continue their path. To lose myself in his touch, his scent, the familiar rhythm of our bodies moving together. To accept the temporary peace that comes after, when words aren’t necessary, and complications fade beneath the blur of satisfaction.
I grip the bar top, knuckles aching with strain, and sweat beads at my temples despite the cool air ofthe empty lounge. Rowan’s breath comes hot and fast against my neck as he works to open the button on my jeans.
But this isn’t a solution. This is another form of avoidance, us running from the conversation we need to have. From the truth that lies beneath our anger and hurt.
And I promised myself I wouldn’t run anymore.
22
My fingers close around Rowan’s wrist, stopping him before my jeans come open. His skin burns my palm, pulse hammering beneath my fingertips. We hover inches apart, rapid, shallow breaths feeding on each other. I’m flushed with want, aching for his touch, but for once, my mind breaks through the fog of desire.
“We can’t keep doing this.” The words scrape my throat, raw and painful, but necessary.
Rowan’s body stills, his weight balanced on his forearms, caging me in place. His pupils are blown, the amber of his irises reduced to thin rings of fire.
A muscle jumps in his jaw as he processes my words. “Doing what?”
“This.” I push against his chest, creating spacewithout force. “I can’t let sex be the reset button. I can’t let my body make decisions my head hasn’t agreed to.”
His breath catches, nostrils flaring as he inhales our combined arousal, hanging thick in the air as a reminder of what we’re both denying. His fingers flex at my waist, torn over whether to drag me closer or release me.
“It’s not just sex.” The words rumble from his chest.
“I know.” My thumb traces the ridge of his wrist where his pulse thunders. “That’s why we can’t use it to avoid talking.”
