But I’m not missing Rowan now, because he’s right here.
He stands smoothly, elegantly, that hand coming around to the small of my back again, anchoring and pulling me to him so we’re flush from hip to torso. He’s tall, but so am I, and that means he only has to dip his head down slightly to capture my lips with his.
It’s instantly the best kiss of my entire life.
Rowan kisses me like he can’t breathe and I’m the path to oxygen. He kisses me like we’ve just met and like he’s known me all his life, that one hand staying planted on my back, the other roving, tugging at the tips of my hair, skating up and down my arm, and ghosting, tantalizingly, over my throat.
As we kiss, he walks me backward, toward the living room and the hallway, and when I think he might try to take me all the way back to the bedroom, I know it’s too far away. I want him now.
So I try being bold again. I pull back, breathing hard, and look pointedly at the couch, where I slept all those nights, hoping he would come out to me, hoping he would wake me up in the morning by sliding his leg between mine.
Now, he kisses me again, nodding against me, moving me toward the couch, and I push him down, breathing hard as I grab for the hem of my shirt and strip it up over my head.
His gaze goes dark, focused on my chest, and I don’t even have the presence of mind to blush about the sports bra I’m wearing. I only packed sports bras, the only practical thing about this entire camping trip.
Rowan’s hands land on my hips, and he pulls me down roughly on top of him, right back into the kiss, as though it neverstopped. I settle neatly into his lap, gasping at the feel of him, already hard and straining against his pants, and he uses it as an opportunity to suck on my lower lip, a move that goes straight to my core, turning me molten.
His hands span the width of my back, traveling up, skating over the back of my bra, then again, thumbing at the material there.
I realize he’s looking for the clasp and pull back from the kiss, laughing and pointing to the front of the bra, where the zipper is.
“Wow,” Rowan says, his voice like gravel, and I feel it in my bones. It makes me laugh, thatwow, until the look on his face darkens, and he reaches for the tab.
When he drags the zipper down slowly, revealing my chest one inch at a time, it feels like time stretches out around us, turning to putty in the air.
The moment the straps slip over my shoulders, the bra falling to the floor with a quiet clatter, he’s dipping his mouth hungrily, taking one of my nipples in his mouth. A gripping, desperate need spirals through me, branching out from the point of contact and dancing along my spine. I arch back from him, gasping, my hair falling back over my shoulders, so I’m completely bare for him.
I’m held in place by that constant hand at my back, like he doesn’t want to let me go too far. I grind my hips down into his, feeling wild. Feeling like my feelings are too big for me to look at them all at once. They eclipse my brain, until the only thing that’s left is the need totouchhim.
“Rowan,” I whisper, tangling my fingers in his dark hair, and the groan he lets out rumbles against my chest, over my skin, down to the palms of my hands. I love everything about him, touchinghim like this. I’ve never been so present in my body before, so aware of everything he’s doing, like my mind is categorizing every touch, every place we collide, so I can save it for later and come back to this moment a million times.
I need to touch more of him, and he must be thinking the same thing because he maneuvers me, sliding my leggings down over my hips, tucking me under him. His own pants and boxers come off, and as much as I want to pause, to take him in and really,reallyremember this moment, I also don’t want to stop.
I don’t want to slow down at all.
And maybe that’s because part of me knows that if we slow down right now, Rowan might do what he’s done before. Realize that he’s doing something he shouldn’t.
His last relationship didn’t end well.
And I don’t care. I don’t care about what happened to him before; this isn’t that serious. But it’s not like this is a rebound, right?
Even if it is, I’m too far gone at this moment to think that through. Too lost to the rough, insistent press of his hands over my body, the reverence of the touch, to really give time to mature, settled thinking.
Rowan kneels down, his knees digging into the couch cushion, and grips my hips with both hands, drawing me up and to him in one swift motion. In the same movement, he props my hips with a pillow.
It’s only when I feel his breath against the inside of my thigh that I realize what he’s going to do, and I barely have time to register it before his hot tongue is sliding up against me, making me cryout, reaching for the back of the couch, his hair, anything to keep me from flying completely out of my body.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, grinning at me, pausing for a moment to press a kiss to my most sensitive spot, lingering there. “Stay still for me, okay?”
I nearly black out as he moves again, his tongue mapping every inch of me, taking me in. Rowan ishungry,and it’s clear that tasting me is fuelinghispleasure, too, his hips jerking with each stroke of his tongue.
My fingers tighten to a fist in his hair with the effort ofstaying still. As he works, he talks to me, praising me, telling me how good I taste, and it just takes me higher and higher. Nobody has ever talked to me like this during sex. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a man talk to me like this,period.
Rowan murmurs nonstop, his voice low, so I sometimes only catch snippets of it.So sweetanddreaming of thisandmine.
And it’s that last one that makes me orgasm, my body shaking, my fingers tangled in his hair. He keeps the same pressure and tempo through it, his big hands on my hips, that growl low in his throat a constant hum that I ride all the way through.
“Fuck,” I whisper, once I’ve gone still, and Rowan is sitting up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
