She nods once in a single downward motion.
The silence draws us closer. She steps toward me. Four steps. Maybe five. The space between us closes. Her hand brushes mine first, warm knuckles against my palm, her fingers lingering for half a second before she turns her hand and presses her palm to mine.
The air changes, and my breath tightens, my chest muscles drawing inward as her presence brings everything into focus. She looks up at me, searching rather than uncertain, her pupils already dilated.
I lift my hand to her face, my thumb resting along her jaw asher warmth transfers immediately to my skin. Her pulse meets my palm where my fingers curve behind her ear.
She leans into me, her balance coming forward as she trusts me to hold it. The kiss begins quietly, unforced, her mouth moving against mine with gentle pressure that builds as her hands find my jacket and her fingers curl into the fabric. I meet her there, matching her pace, keeping the restraint intact by choice rather than hesitation.
This isn’t an escape. This isn’t hunger seeking relief from constant threat assessment. This is recognition. She knows what I am and chooses me anyway.
I slide my hands along her back, the line of her spine clear through the fabric as I draw her closer until there’s no space left between us. Her breath catches, the sound moving into me as a low vibration against my chest.
I guide her toward the bedroom without breaking contact, and she follows my lead. Her hands remain on my jacket, her grip adjusting with each step as if she needs to confirm I'm still here. That I'm real. That this is real.
Inside the bedroom, the light stays low, softening the room's lines. Rowan gasps as my mouth takes complete possession of hers, greedily feasting on her lips. My tongue licks into her mouth, boldly taking everything. I've never kissed a woman theway I kiss her. With everyone else, it was transaction, appetite, release. With her, it’s something else entirely.
Her hands fist into my jacket, pulling me closer, and something in my chest that has been locked behind iron and obligation for as long as I can remember opens a fraction more. I spin her, trapping her back against my chest, her spine curved into me.
“Ty moya,” I breathed against her neck.You’re mine.
I reach down and slowly slide her skirt up, exposing the warmth of her legs beneath my palms until they rest at her waist. There’s nowhere else I need to be. No call I'll answer, no obligation that exists beyond this room and this woman. My entire life has been a succession of debts and duties, men who needed managing and empires that needed feeding. This stillness is its own kind of revolution.
I spin her to face me and bring my mouth down hard on hers again, and she gives everything back, refusing to be merely received.
“Tell me what you want,” I murmur against her swollen lips.
“Fuck me.” She says it without shyness or performance. Just the truth of what she wants, offered to me plainly. “I want you to fuck me.”
Thrusting my hand into her panties, I slide a finger between her folds, finding her deliciously wet.
“Mmmm,kiska,” I rasp. “You're such a good girl. Already wet for me.”
She clenches around my fingers, her head tipping back against the wall, throat exposed. I watch every expression move across her face, the way a man watches something he can’t afford to look away from. I’ve memorized her topography. The particular furrow of her brow when pleasure sharpens. The way her lips part on a silent breath before the sound arrives.
Sliding my free hand up, I collar her throat as I plunge my finger in and out of her pussy. Driving a second finger inside, I up the pace, angling my fingers to hit her G-spot.
“Yes Kiren!” she cries out, pushing her pussy deeper onto my fingers. “Just like that.”
I fuck her harder and faster until her pussy clamps down on my fingers. With a throaty cry, she falls apart all over my hand. My cock throbs, needing to be in her. Claiming her.
“So sweet,” I groan, sucking my fingers clean.
She recovers quickly and reaches for my jacket with the focus of a woman who knows what she wants and has decided to take it. There’s nothing passive about Rowan. She’s never simply accepted what I've offered. She has always reached back, and I love her for it in a way that I haven’t yet found words to tell her.
My jacket hits the floor. My belt follows. My cock springs out long and thick. Taking it in her hand, she strokes and twists, keeping her grip tight. She runs her fingers from the tip to the base. I rest my forehead against hers and let myself be touched. It is, I’ve discovered, its own act of surrender. One I’ve never trusted anyone else with.
Knowing I can’t hold back any longer, I push her onto her knees. Cupping my balls in one hand, she guides my cock into her mouth with the other, sucking and licking. As the pressure builds, I hold her head still and fuck her mouth until I shoot my hot come down her throat with a growl.
She swallows every drop, licking her lips, standing up slowly. Shedding our clothes, I ease her onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her as I remain above her. I take a moment I didn't use to take. A breath. A pause. And I look at her.
Her hair fans across the white linen, dark and disheveled, and the low light highlights the curve of her throat, the rise of her chest, and the place where her collarbones meet. She watches me watching her, and she doesn't look away. She simply lets me look.
Lowering my head, I press my lips to her collarbone, slowly moving along the ridge of it. Her breath deepens, then hitches when I reach the hollow at the base of her throat. I feel her pulse there, rapid against my mouth. She tips her head back, giving me more access.
My hand travels the length of her side, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip. She moans when my fingers graze her ribs. I notice the slight tightening of her fingers when I drag my mouth lower across her sternum.
She says my name once. Not a plea. Just locating me, reminding herself that I'm real and present and here.
